THE MEDIEVAL WORLD OF WESTERN EUROPE

Merchants and pilgrims traversed vast distances: on horseback, mules, donkeys, ships, and, of course, foot. The relationship between a traveler and their road was much more personal and natural than our modern experience. The road both connects and separates us, even when we travel in a leisurely fashion. It represents the distance between destinations, the lines on a map, and in recent years, the arrow on a mobile navigation screen. In the Middle Ages, roads were often uncomfortable and perilous. However, each road was a series of successive places, loci. Every village, crossroads, monastery, bridge, town, or hill encountered on the way became a meeting place, an event, and held significance.

The typical medieval road was primarily intended for pedestrians, or at most, horse-drawn carriages. Equestrians, such as royal squads, could gallop ahead across fields, if necessary, but commoners mostly traveled on foot, exploring the world along the path with their own eyes and relying on their physical strength. Strong legs and lungs were valued attributes for workers, travelers, and riders (remember, a horse is not a car). Distances were measured without a standardized system, typically on foot or, less frequently, on horseback, covering about 20 to 40 kilometers per day. In the latter centuries of the Middle Ages, pilgrimage routes crisscrossed Europe, and it is hard to overestimate the role of these pedestrian paths in shaping the continent's history.

Further, the roads leading to distant Compostela in Spanish Galicia 1¹Santiago de CompostelaPresently serving as the capital of the autonomous community of Galicia in Spain, Santiago de Compostela originated around one of the largest Catholic shrines globally: the relics and cathedral of the Apostle James. Within the sacred hierarchy, Santiago held the esteemed position of being ranked third, following Jerusalem and Rome. This city served as the final destination for the pilgrimage route popularly known as the Way of Saint James., where the relics of the Apostle James are venerated, still stand as living evidence of the pedestrian era . By the tenth and eleventh centuries, the cult of Santiago had grown beyond Galicia, attracting pilgrims from all over Europe. A guidebook from the twelfth century, written in Latin, provides clear instructions about roadside amenities and the potential dangers awaiting a pilgrim on their journey. During this time, the magnificent Romanesque architecture witnessed the construction of the grand Santiago de Compostela Cathedral, a masterpiece of the era. It is here that we can find the first smile in the history of European medieval art, adorning the lips of the prophet Daniel. From 1188 onward, Daniel's smiling face greeted travelers at the Portico of Glory, the entrance to the cathedral. This welcoming gesture was a stark contrast to the harsh reminders of the impending Last Judgment, which would have been inappropriate for pilgrims seeking salvation after a long and arduous journey. Even today, on observing modern pilgrims and tourists who walk hundreds of kilometers to reach Compostela, it becomes evident that we have not forgotten the art of walking. The roads that once connected medieval Europe are still traversed with reverence and determination, preserving the tradition of the pilgrimage and the spirit of the pedestrian era.

All through the year, the day was divided into unequal intervals. The monastic day was structured around prayer hours, which inherited both the Jewish practice during the day and the three-hour night watches (‘vigiliae’) of the Romans during the night. The first Christians followed the words of the psalm: ‘Seven times a day I have given praise to thee, for the judgments of thy justice.’ They engaged in communal prayer, rising every three hours during the night (night watches), akin to the practices of the Romans. However, this practice was not about conquering darkness, but rather a response to the fear it instilled. Christianity, originating in the Mediterranean world, spread to the north, where people experienced almost white nights in summer and black days in winter.

The medieval Church conveyed to the believer that the time was a divine creation, and it was the Church's role to manage it on Earth. While the concept of the week was inherited from antiquity, the Christian spirit reinterpreted its significance. Jesus, as we know, somewhat disregarded the Sabbath iReferred to as Shabbat in Hebrew, Saturday bears significance as the seventh day of the week for Jews. As stated in the Book of Genesis, it is a day on which individuals are obliged to refrain from engaging in work activities. Conversely, Christian Sunday, recognized as the first day of the week, maintains the status of a working day in Israel. , leading Christian tradition to shift its focus to Sunday, the day of the Lord. On this day, it was believed that the creator rested after creating the world and humanity in six days. Engaging in any work on Sunday was strictly condemned. During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, people held the belief that every nail they hammered pierced into the body of the crucified, fostering a profound sense of reverence for this sacred day.

Initially, the clanging of metal beaters and later the resonant toll of bells served as reminders that people existed within the domain of the Church, much akin to the voices of muezzins in Islamic nations calling believers to prayer times. As their influence grew, descending from celestial realms to earthly affairs, and as their temporal pursuits began to clash with the cadences of faith, merchants and artisans also harnessed the power of bells. The distinction between them and the church lay in the fact that these bells marked the hours of paid labor. This transformation materialized only toward the close of the Middle Ages as urban communities began erecting tower clocks in the late thirteenth century. Interestingly, the English word ‘clock’ can be traced back to the Middle Latin ‘clocca’, signifying ‘bell’, which, in turn, was derived from Old Irish. For quite a span, the medieval scholars didn't concern themselves much with minutes, and this indifference extended to businesspeople. Thus, the use of the minute hand only gained traction towards the end of the fifteenth century, followed by the second hand a century later. Notably, while mechanical clocks continue to play a role in modern life, the factory buzzers, successors to the medieval shop bells, have faded into obsolescence. Today, the sound of a church bell, even if often regulated by electronic mechanisms, remains as familiar in the Western world as the wail of an ambulance siren.

Let us now delve into the topic of labor. It's important to recognize that the conditions, outcomes, and significance of labor have varied across different epochs and regions worldwide. The very concept of labor, now widely accepted in European civilization, emerged during the early stages of the Modern Age, making it one of the legacies of the Middle Ages. Notably, the notion of wages became prevalent in certain countries during the fifteenth century. Simultaneously, the term ‘labor’ has undergone diverse developmental trajectories in various European languages, assimilating people's perceptions of their actions and endeavors.

The opening pages of the Book of Genesis seemingly established the notion of labor within the Christian mindset as a consequence of original sin. However, a pivotal transformation was ignited by monastic regulations and their extensive interpretations: physical labor was elevated to a virtue for monks, who occupied the apex of the spiritual hierarchy. This perspective endorsed the idea that any individual engaged in labor was treading a righteous path. The Cistercian Order, emerging at the close of the eleventh century, and renowned for their absolute asceticism iDerived from the Greek word askesis, which means ‘exercise’, this term denotes the ancient practices aimed at nurturing spiritual and physical growth in order to attain holiness and esoteric wisdom. , contributed significantly to the reclamation of barren lands. Even today, the legacy persists through ancient Cistercian monasteries like the Burgundian Fontaine, Noirlac, and Senanque, standing apart from urban centers and major thoroughfares. The meticulously tended gardens and orchards surrounding these monasteries serve as a living testament to the extensive acreage of land that underpinned the monks' and local peasantry's prosperity.

The reevaluation of labor is unmistakable: from a form of punishment, a legacy of the enslaved and the downtrodden, it evolves into a virtuous and commendable act. The Protestant 2²ProtestantismA faction of Christianity that originated from its separation from the Catholic Church during the sixteenth century CE. The founding figure of Protestantism was Martin Luther (1483–1546), a German monk and theologian. In 1517, Luther openly voiced his objections to certain practices of the Catholic Church, most notably the sale of indulgences (that is, the forgiveness of sins). Protestantism champions the principle of individual freedom in interpreting the Bible, thereby resulting in the presence of numerous denominations within the movement today. movement of the sixteenth century would cultivate a fresh ethical perspective around labor, which Max Weber 3³ Max WeberA German philosopher, sociologist, and historian (1864–1920) renowned for his various contributions. Notably, he posited the theory that capitalism was propelled forward by a distinct Protestant ethic characterized by a reverence for hard work and self-discipline. In this ethical framework, success in life was interpreted as a sign of divine favor towards an individual. would later associate with the spirit of capitalism. In a sense, it can be confidently stated that the Middle Ages laid the groundwork for what we perceive as labor today—a concept encompassing the constructive rapport between humans and the tools of their trade, a relationship that would gradually adopt cultural, social, and material dimensions, ultimately inherited by the industrial era.

Our textbooks often present the transition from slavery to feudal land tenure in oversimplified terms, masking the complexities beneath clichéd models and patterns of productive force evolution. Domestic slavery and slave markets did not vanish with the advent of feudalism. Additionally, the term ‘slavus’ or Slavonian, which contributed to the term ‘servus’ (slave) in modern western European languages, underscored the trading of Slavic individuals, especially before their political associations solidified. Yet, as antiquity drew to a close, slave labor gradually ceased to be the foundational force driving existence.

The medieval world, whether in the countryside or city, endured rather than thrived over the span of centuries. It grappled with the nature that surrounded it, carving out spaces for habitation. This is evident in the ‘bergs’ (mountains or hills), ‘dorfs’ (villages), fords, Italian ‘Villanova,’ and French ‘villeins’ and ‘châteauneufs’—designations for new cities, villages, and castles—all familiar aspects of the Western landscape. This includes the reclaimed polders of Flanders and Zealand, each a testament to land taken from forests, seas, or marshes and subsequently cultivated and built upon.

The village, as we recognize it today, is essentially a product of the medieval era, albeit with variations influenced by regional characteristics. To grasp this concept, we need to fine-tune the sensitivity of our collective memory. Why is this important? In the Middle Ages, land was the cornerstone of all aspects of life, serving as the fundamental material resource upon which economic and social structures were built. Any modifications to land cultivation techniques carried significant historical implications, altering daily routines for thousands.

Around a millennium ago, a pivotal shift occurred with the introduction of the asymmetric wheeled plow, featuring a moldboard and iron coulter, which supplanted the simpler plow. This innovation led to a remarkable enhancement in the efficiency of peasant labor. The advent of the four-wheeled ‘carucca’ facilitated the cultivation of heavy, stony, and dry soils, granting peasants and lords newfound possibilities for economic expansion. The plow's capacity to lift and throw the furrow to the side improved drainage, a vital factor in the damp northern climate, thereby reducing plowmen’s time and effort. Deeper furrows and looser soil allowed for better absorption of traditional fertilizers, such as household waste, manure, and ash. This optimized the environment and shielded seeds from wind and birds, ensuring higher crop yields.

In addition to these advancements, progress in harness design and the broader utilization of draft power became evident. Innovations ranging from clamps and horseshoes to the yoke and the first depiction of a harrow on the Bayeux Tapestry at the close of the eleventh century further underscored the transformative nature of medieval agricultural practices.

The Middle Ages isn't an era that we readily associate with discovery or any progress, technological or any other. We are not them! We've sent dogs—Belka and Strelka and Gagarin—into outer space, launched Armstrong to the moon, built dams over the Yenisei and the Hudson rivers, harnessed steam power, invented barbed wire, and, by splitting the atom, created nuclear warheads. Unlike people of the Middle Ages, we have confronted plagues and cholera, even though we remain largely powerless against the age-old scourge of cancer and not everything is crystal clear about Covid-19.

It is easy to view the medieval world as a hopeless Arkanar 4⁴ArkanarA fictitious city situated on a planet depicted in the literary work titled Hard to Be a God authored by the Strugatsky brothers. untouched by either rebirth or enlightenment. This grotesque picture is appropriate as an artistic touch or way of describing something important about us, not about them. Many archaeological details are accurate, yet they barely scratch the surface of the authentic Middle Ages. Those intrigued by the history of scientific and technical discoveries recognize that our contemporary breakthroughs have their genetic roots firmly embedded in the past, with their genealogy extending across centuries. The depth of this connection can thus be interpreted in various ways. Our textbooks and encyclopedias tend to exalt the Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, and Chinese, relegating the Middle Ages to a mere footnote, often overshadowed by the exploits of mariners like Columbus. While this tendency in educational materials is somewhat warranted, it only provides a partial glimpse of reality.

The truth is that modern Western civilization, recognizing the crucial role of technology in daily life, has established a system for documenting and validating discoveries made by scientific institutions or skilled artisans. And yet, not all of these discoveries find immediate application, even in our current era. It may take years, decades, or even centuries between a discovery and the moment when that discovery becomes a part of people's daily lives.

Historically, it has been noted that for a new discovery, modernization, or enhancement of a tool, technique, or practice to truly take root, several factors need to align. These include the receptivity of a specific historical context to embrace innovation, the prevailing cultural climate, the collective mindset of the society, and sometimes even an external necessity that drives the adoption of that discovery.

Why, for instance, did ancient thought, despite its intellectual audacity, resist embracing the heliocentric model of the universe, a discovery made during the Hellenistic era? Could the notion of residing on a rotating planet have posed discomfort? Similarly, why did the ancient windmill, which would wait nearly a millennium to become the recognizable, iconic vertical structure of the European skyline, as seen in the works of Dutch artists of the seventeenth century and even in the views of Montmartre, remain largely unrecognized in its time? Was it perhaps due to the comparative affordability of slave labor? In an era of decline, such a consideration could have contributed to desired savings in the economy. Moreover, the Romans exhibited a pronounced affinity for engineering expertise.

A millennium ago, Vikings voyaged to North America 5⁵Vikings in AmericaAround the year 900, a Norwegian Viking ship inadvertently discovered Greenland, a landmass aptly named ‘green land’. Subsequently, Leif Erikson embarked on a journey from Greenland and eventually reached the shores of America around 1000. In the twentieth century, archaeological investigations unearthed remnants of a Viking settlement in the United States. , yet they chose not to settle there, despite their willingness to embrace untamed and scarcely inhabited territories like the Rus' region, vibrant Sicily, or restless Palestine. Why did the Islamic world, which readily incorporated numerous technological and cultural advances from Europe, exhibit resistance toward embracing innovations like printing in the early modern period? Was it a fear of enlightenment or perhaps a sense of envy? Intriguingly, even in Muslim domains, Christian communities used printing to spread their books. Equally puzzling is why Moscovia Russia adorned its capital with an Italian fortress and Italian cathedrals while delaying the adoption of printing for an entire century. Could it be attributed to a lack of content to print or an absence of readership? Although Russian culture of that era cannot be labeled as devoid of books or written material, the volume of written output undoubtedly pales in comparison to the literary production of Italy or France during the same period.

Any phenomenon, object, or practice we consider commonplace often has a convoluted genealogy that traces back to the enigmatic heart of the Middle Ages. As early as the thirteenth century, the understanding of glass with specially polished properties to magnify objects emerged, and just a century later, an Italian preacher marveled at the art of eyeglasses—a curiosity that was already in existence. The concept of aeronautics was distant, and yet the roots of Leonardo's experimental designs for flight can be traced back to medieval aspirations of soaring through the skies. Remarkable advancements in shipbuilding and navigation techniques paved the way for the Portuguese and Spanish maritime explorations. By the end of the twelfth century, Alexander Neckam, an Englishman, depicted the low-wrap loom, a device that facilitated weaving. Craftsmen sat upon it like riders on horses, guiding it with a foot-driven pedal drive, making weaving faster and more efficient.