Lost Teachings of the Cathars, page 19
Nevertheless, some interesting facts emerge as Harris tries to make her case. Paintings by Bosch are known to have been found in Venice in 1521, after his death. Although there are no records whatsoever of Bosch having visited Venice, Harris believes that he must have visited the city state around 1500. If Bosch was in Venice at that time, he would have coincided with Leonardo da Vinci, and with the native Venetian artist Giorgione da Castelfranco whose work shares some of Bosch’s aesthetic and imagery. Harris sees a reciprocal influence between their works, suggesting that da Vinci too, although not a Cathar, was influenced by Bosch’s Catharism.
There is no actual evidence that Bosch ever went to Venice, and so it is even less likely that he met da Vinci there. In fact, the suggested influence of da Vinci on Bosch is used circularly as evidence that Bosch was in Venice! Harris does pull out some relevant information on Venice: the city was relatively liberal to heretics for its time, with the authorities often neglecting to enforce papal action against heresy and citizens not paying too much attention to the religious beliefs of others.
That there was heresy in the area is illustrated by the example of miller Domenico Scandella, from the area of Friuli, north of Venice, who was tried for heresy in 1583. As Carlo Ginzburg shows in The Cheese and the Worms, Scandella had an entire heretical cosmology that he may have acquired from books, as he himself claimed, or from contact with other heretics. Also suggestive of heresy is the publication of The Vision of Isaiah in Venice in 1522, a writing known to have been used by the Cathars.
Another suggestive example is the following: Bosch’s real surname was Van Aken, which means ‘from Aachen’ in Germany. Bosch’s family arrived in s’Hertogenbosch from Aachen sometime around 1250 – 1270. His family may have fled the area because they were heretics. This was just after the time of Conrad of Marburg, who was active in the Rhineland having Cathars executed, along with orgying, giant-crab-riding barons (Count Henry II, mentioned in Chapter 2) – an image that itself sounds like it comes from a painting by Bosch.
Despite the Inquisition, heresy had not been completely eradicated from Germany. Hans Thon, an itinerant shepherd from Mülhausen in Thuringia, was arrested in 1564, escaped and was arrested again in 1583. He was executed the next year.
‘Thon told the theologian that there were two “masters.” The good one was the God of light, who had created everything that was invisible and eternal, pure and holy. The evil master was the devil, the principle of darkness, who had made all that was visible and passing. This included the earth and everything on it, as well as the visible heavens, including the physical sun, moon and stars. Thon also denied the human nature of Jesus, and the conventional Christian belief that he had suffered, died and risen for mankind. He spoke of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost as one person. In addition to this he viewed marriage as the unchaste creation of the evil matter. He also rejected the resurrection of the dead, and said that both the Old and New Testament were worthless.’23
As Harris points out, aside from the rejection of the New Testament, this is all straightforward Catharism. While there is a slim chance that Thon may have come up with some of these ideas spontaneously (recall that there were some very unorthodox yet eccentric and individual opinions circulating in the Languedoc countryside at the same time as the Cathars were active), it seems unlikely that an individual could come up with all these Cathar beliefs simultaneously. The arrest of Hans Thon represents the best evidence for Cathar survival beyond the 14th century.
Harris’s theory relies on too many suppositions to be convincing; if any of these is removed the whole house of cards collapses. Much of the book is taken up with interpreting Bosch’s paintings from a Cathar/Bogomil/Manichaean standpoint, an interesting enough exercise in itself but not one that is essential to the understanding either of Bosch or the Cathars. I have trouble thinking of a single example in her book that demands to be considered as something uniquely Cathar. Yet she has dug up much interesting material and on the whole it is a valiant attempt. It is not unfeasible that Bosch’s ancestors were Cathars who fled persecution, maintained the faith as a family tradition, and that in his extraordinary and unorthodox paintings Bosch expressed surviving Cathar ideas.
Since I more or less reject each of the theses presented in this chapter and the more alternative theories described in other places, the reader may think that I am a sceptic. I find myself feeling like a bit of a spoilsport. So let me state that I do not consider these ideas to be stupid or intrinsically unbelievable. I would be quite happy for the watermarks, the Tarot and Bosch’s paintings to contain Cathar teachings, for the caves of the Ariége to be sacred initiation centres of the Cathars and for Arthur Guirdham and his circle to have recalled genuine knowledge of the Cathars independent of historical sources. Perhaps I would even prefer that it were so. However, the evidence presented doesn’t really suggest that any of the above are the case.
I also believe that historical and factual claims should be subjected to verification and logical reasoning. Spiritual or psychological claims are more subject to being verified by experience. Alternative history can also be part of a worldview that is no more confirmed or refuted by science or academia than is esoteric cosmology. The problem is that the progenitors of alternative history often insist on the literal truth of their claims. Lynda Harris is not quite writing alternative history, but her claims often hang on the end of a long chain of conditionals. Each of the above theories takes a leap in the dark with its proposition and then interprets the data in terms of the thesis, rather than allowing the data to lead to a conclusion. Yet this approach can have its place, particularly in areas of history in which the sources are sketchy or non-existent.24
Chapter 12
Forty-One Cathar Bishops: The Modern Revival
Is the Cathar revival a flower budding amidst the Languedoc wasteland left by the Albigensian wars or a fungus emerging from the compost of bad history? The answer probably depends on your appreciation of esotericism, but regardless of that, the emergence of neo-Catharism in its various forms is a fascinating story. The wild beauty of the countryside and the ruined medieval castles, the earlier layers of Roman civilization (‘Caesar’s Vast Ghost’ as Lawrence Durrell put it1) and even more ancient cultures, conspired with regionalism (that is, the nationalism of small countries) to produce a heady blend of mystical romance. The broader area of the Midi had earlier Gnostic associations, notably in Lyon, in which city the Church Father Irenaeus described how he came to write ‘Against Heretics’ when he discovered that a number of the Christians there were Valentinian Gnostics and not the Catholics (or proto-Catholics) he expected.
In the middle of the 19th century the seeds were planted that would bloom between the late 19th century and the 1930s, when individuals and groups became inspired by the Cathars in practical and individualistic spiritual ways. Cathar revivalism would be centred on the Languedoc but Germans, northern French, Italians, Dutch and British would all be drawn in.
Die Albigenser
Nikolaus Lenau was perhaps the first to fashion the romantic view of the Cathars with his long poem, Die Albigenser (‘The Albigensians’), published in 1842.2 (Otto Rahn quotes from the epic narrative several times in Crusade Against the Grail.)
A German-language poet, Lenau was born in Csatàd, Hungary. An aristocrat in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, he wandered restlessly in German-speaking countries before emigrating to the USA in 1832, only to return after a single year in Baltimore. He is most famous for his short lyric poetry but he wrote a number of longer works and, at around 3,500 lines, Die Albigenser was definitely one of the latter. It was also one of the last poems he would write before his mental health swiftly deteriorated and he died in 1850.3
Lenau’s poem relates the history of the Albigensian Crusade, lingering over the implications of the decision of the pope and the actions of the crusaders, with a fairly strong anti-Catholic feel. His verse summary of the Cathar’s beliefs and practices is surprisingly accurate:
‘Now to the old one, comes the “elder son” bending Then, reverently silent the “younger son” crouching At last nears “the helper” by the hand leading The black robed student to his consecrating.
On his head the old one lays the New Testament Solemnly bids him; say what your heart professes.
Who is the cause of the world? Can you answer this question? “Spirits are from God; Bodies are from Evil”
Do you believe in resurrection?“When the tree is felled, Whether facing south or north it lies as it falls”
What is the soul’s fate? “You have fallen from God and must Pilgrim your way through necessity and desire Until the saviour allows you to drink the air of home And forgetting yourself, sink into God's heart”
Profess more; before we consecrate you, How do you see the Church and its sale of Indulgences? “The Church sees the Spirit contrary and back to front. She ushers it to the grave and sings it Songs of death.
The Church’s Eucharist is only baked bread, Extreme Unction changes nothing about death. The marriage ceremony is mostly just fornication, Even when it goes out publicly free of shame. A comrade’s love flowers seldom but once, The heavens blossom even when the fruits are sprouting. Baptism wets the child as the rain the plant’s seed We are urged to entrust the child to nature I swear no oath, for oaths are meaningless The weather rots such bonds I distrust every Image, especially the sign of the cross That neither makes us more godly nor adds anything to God God is not like some illiterate peasant who must Scratch a cross instead of his name After long slumber Spirit awakes curious Then Time and its curtailments dim and hamper it May be what we mean divides and splits Yet we embrace the true Search We do not permit the Spirit to be enslaved and held Vital is to maintain the highest right on Earth On! Let us awaken from death the holy Story That first comes alive in the Spirit and its light The complete Christ did not appear on Earth His human image has to be completedfirstOnly then will salvation be completed by the World’s Healer When God and man permeate each other in the Spirit Also the image of Jesus, reflection of the senses, In the stream of time will melt and quiver away When all testimonies of Jesus are destroyed The God–Man is the light in the heart of the world So take me into your fellowship, you free ones I let myself be consecrated by you even if it is till death”
So spoke the neophyte, the old one stood in joy Gave him consolationwith his raised hand And seven times in joyous he spoke with solemn meaning The beginning of the Gospel of John And seven times the Lord's Prayer he spoke And blew his breath upon his face.'4
Historical assessments begin
Lenau’s poem was followed in 1846 by French historian Charles–Claude Fauriel (1772–1844) who, in his Histoire de la poésie provencale, first made the association between Montségur and the Holy Grail (unless the Holy Grail resided there in actuality at the time of the Cathars, of course.) Fauriel was the first to make the equation ‘Montsalvaesche’ equals Montségur – Montsalvaesche being the name of the Grail castle in Wolfram von Eschenbach's epic poem Parzival.
Montségur is generally interpreted as meaning ‘secure mountain’, which would be rendered as Mons Securitatis in Latin. ‘Montsalvaesche’ is Mons Salvat, ‘mountain of salvation’. Although these two are only really linked by being mountains in which the first element of the name is actually the word for mountain while the second part begins with ‘s’, enthusiasts have been making the association ever since.
Eschenbach’s Parzifal was the basis for Richard Wagner’s opera Parsifal, but Wagner identified Eschenbach’s Grail castle Monsalvat as Montserrat near Barcelona, on the wrong side of the Pyrenees. Montserrat - another mountain with its second element beginning with an ‘s’ – is literally ‘serrated mountain’. Himmler visited Montserrat in 1940, to see if it was the Grail castle (see Chapter 13).5
In 1849 Charles Schmidt of the Protestant seminary of Strasbourg produced, in French, a work of careful scholarship that would provide the foundations for the academic history of the Cathars yet would not inspire the enthusiasm that other, more historically profligate, books of the time would. In 1854 the Félibrige movement emerged in the Languedoc. Oriented towards protecting and reviving the Occitan language, it looked back to the Albigensian Crusade as a crucial factor in the weakening of the status of the language.
In 1865 Amedée Gouet, in his Histore nationale de France, delved into the genocidal aspect of the crusade, which led to him being dubbed the ‘theoretician of genocide’.6 Other writers, such as Antoine Quatresoux de Parctelaine and Jean Bernard Mary-Lafon, had already developed an interpretation of the war against the Cathars and the Languedoc as a papal offence against innocents (Innocent against the innocents), an assessment with which only historians for whom taking sides is anathema would disagree.
Histoire des Albigeois
Napoleon Peyrat’s (1809-1881) five-volume history, Histoire des Albigeois, was published between 1870 and 1872. Peyrat and his book were well loved by all subsequent neo-Cathars and would have a huge romantic impact on the revival. Peyrat was a Protestant pastor who saw the Cathars as forerunners of the Reformation, an accolade that is more suited to the Waldensians who have survived into modern times. Born in the Ariëge, genuine Cathar country, Peyrat moved to Paris when he became a pastor for the Reformed Church of France. It is often exiles and incomers who make the most fervent nationalists. His history reworked existing perceptions of the Languedoc as a highly civilized democratic society that was devastated by aristocratic Catholics – it was no coincidence that Peyrat was writing during France’s tumultuous Third Republic.
Histoire des Albigeois has never been translated into English. He elaborated and romanticized the Cathars, emphasising Montségur as the Grail castle and making Esclarmonde de Foix into an extraordinary figure by synthesizing five different women named Esclarmonde and giving her the post-mortem power of assuming the form of a dove. His version of Esclarmonde has been seen as a response to the, also inventive, 19th-century French Catholic cult of Joan of Arc. As Aubrey Burl put it, the new Esclarmonde was ‘as lovely as Helen of Troy, as valiant as Joan of Arc and as saintly as Mother Theresa. Coustaussa, the site of a small castle, was to be one of the places inundated by treasure hunters looking for the Grail or more straightforward riches.’7
Peyrat’s Protestant standpoint allowed him to take the side of the Cathars against the Catholics, while his Languedocian origins let him side not just religiously but patriotically with the southerners. He was convinced that his own ancestors had been Cathars. Key to the popularity of Peyrat’s work were the flourishes of romantic adulation that he hurled at the Cathars and the mystery of Montségur. Montségur was:
‘...an Essenian Zion, a Platonist Delphi of the Pyrenees, a Johannite Rome, condemned and untamed in Aquitaine. Montségur, from its naked rock, looked out sadly but steadily at the Louvre and the Vatican ... It was from its peak that this sweet and terrible conjuration [of Word, Nation and Freedom] first took wing, under the name of Spirit ...’8
For Peyrat the essence of the Cathars was their Languedocian identity (ignoring those who lived further north and in Italy), their proto-Protestantism and, somehow or other, their role as harbingers of the French Revolution and Republic. The mystery of the treasure removed by the four Cathars was ignited and a spiritual element injected because the treasure itself may have included secret texts. This treasure was hidden in caves.
According to Peyrat, the mountain of Montségur was riddled with secret caves, passages and cellars, which fulfilled all sorts of practical and spiritual purposes for the Montségur Cathars.9 Other caves were important too: Ornolac was said to be a cathedral in which Amiel Aicard had preached in 1270 and where 500 Cathars, besieged by forces led by the seneschal of Toulouse, had been walled in alive.10 Their corpses were discovered in 1578 by Protestants who ensured the relevant cave remained intact due to its sanctity. Bandits subsequently occupied the caves in 1802, holding their own against troops sent after them. It is an alluring story, in keeping with the brutality of the historical massacres against the Cathars, but it seems there is no evidence for any of the claims, and little connection between the Cathars and any other caves, beyond their being a possible hiding place.11
To Peyrat, Mani was not the founder of Manichaeism but a word meaning ‘spirit’: Manes was the carrier of the spirit. Catharism was a monotheistic Manichaeism (or Maneism to use Peyrat’s term). Peyrat was certain, like Otto Rahn after him, that his ancestors had been Cathars. Of course, this is not unlikely for someone who came from Foix. Historian of the Cathars Réné Nelli commented that the real mystery was ‘how cultured, educated people could believe both in the real and secret Languedoc at the same time.’12
Fin-de-siécle headiness
Joseph-Aimé (or Joséphin) Péladin (1858–1918) made a more influential identification of Montségur with Monsalvaesche in his 1906 book Le Secret des Troubadours. His was truly a fin-de-siècle existence: he was an occultist, novelist, a friend of Charles Baudelaire and an organizer of Rosicrucian salons that attracted Erik Satie and most of the symbolist painters.13 These were heady times, an end-of-the-century blend of decadence, esotericism, aesthetic Catholicism, absinthe, kabbalah and independent apostolic succession.
Jules Doinel (1842–1902) is seen by many as the reviver of Gnosticism, or founder of neo-Gnosticism. Doinel was also a freemason, had attended a Swedenborgian church and had been designated the prophet to Guillaume Monod (1800–1896), a new Christ who was also a Protestant minister. Doinel’s neo-Gnosticism was not focused on the Cathars yet it included them, and he had a genuine connection with the Languedoc in his employment as a librarian in Carcassonne.
