Alcuin at Aa[X]en: Part III

III.

Puzzles. Contradictions.

Here we have this churl:

Rex Francorum, Rex Langobardoum, Imperator Romanorum—

for the love of God—who grudgingly slipped into

the chlamys only at the entreaty of Hadrian the Pope.

Never even went back to Rome after the coronation realpolitik.

This man, given to otter skins and tireless activism for

Liberal Arts education. Measuring up to, as disinterment

by the Victorian scientists evaluated, 6.2416 repeating

feet. This man, downright draconian when it came to

the conquest and conversion of the polytheists,

not to mention all the credal manipulations with the

Filoque, the spleenfulness over iconoclasm and the like.

We're discussing some serious standardization:

yes, there were the stable systems of manufacture

along with, for the times, impressive quality control.

But in his dim, hand-cramped scriptoria

we have the birth of the miniscule. And punctuation.

Finally a readable Benedictine rule.

This man who chafes at imperial coronation fancies

himself an administrator. Of all things. In the age

of high Christology, Alcuin settles into

Charlemagne's crude wooden throne.

There was the dance. More like orthopraxy,

if we are to do our due diligence in the matter.

Alcuin did his best to remain modest about it, though,

and I think we can comfortably say he was

successful—even gracious—in his humility.

And had he lived to see Middle English

and Old French he would have been broadly pleased

with the etymology of the word. Humilis,

"on the ground," from humus, "earth." Primary

meanings indicate semantic exactitude with

terra, but, of course, Alcuin understood

(the quickest glance at his palimpsests will assuage

your doubts on this one) that words do not work

this way. Charlemagne right around this time

would take the first steps of his dance,

the dance given to respectful observance of

the holy mysteries of the puzzle.

Yes, technically Alcuin had authored the puzzle:

as Charlemagne saw it was indeed the hand

of Alcuin that made the puzzle appear on the parchment,

but it was the mind of God that made the puzzle appear

in Alcuin's hand. Alcuin didn't disagree. In fact

couldn't, as there was not even available to him

in their day a theory of pure authorial intentionality,

and, if there was, it would have been impious

and therefore head-on heresy. But, in his characteristic

being-ahead-of-his-time, there was likely the smallest

mustard seed in his head about a theologically sound

framework for a trinity of God, man, and imagination

(with, and the etymology works beautifully here,

imagination serving as the Holy Ghost)

that wouldn't have toppled Aristotle's scaffolding

of the first mover, which, incidentally,

is the beginning of physics. Alcuin knew this,

even if he didn't have a word for it: that to be

a theologian is to be a scientist.