Hello again, and welcome back to An Aesthetic Education. Today, we are going to explore the idea of illumination. Illumination is a word that evokes our sense of light, decoration, the search for knowledge, and the need for insight into our world and existence. When we find that spot of illuminating light in the world, the darkness is pushed back, and we can maybe get a glimpse at something that is truly beautiful. As I said in our last episode, you and I are on a pilgrimage together. One in which we are searching for a way to unearth that knowledge and sense of understanding, which will allow us to not only appreciate the beauty found in art, literature, and aesthetics, but to carry it forward and bring learning and creativity to the next generation. As we continue our exploration of the art and literature of the Middle Ages it is important to keep this notion in mind. As it was this idea that in my opinion led to the important and fascinating undertaking of the creation of illuminated manuscripts.
Illuminated manuscripts. Those wondrous creations that combine the beauty of art with the power and beauty of words. In the time before the printing press and the concept of mass publication, only the wealthiest of readers, a very small group of people indeed, could commission the creation of a new manuscript to be added to their personal library. Created in places like monasteries or Royal Courts, these illuminated manuscripts were often works of religious importance, but also could contain stories of mythological or historical significance. Each work copied out by hand with the most delicate and careful of care ensured that each word, each design, each border was in the correct place to create a manuscript filled with beauty and meaning. You might be thinking at this stage that if all these illuminated manuscripts are simply copies of other works, then none of this is very original. And if it isn’t original, why is it a significant piece of art? It is important to recognize that unlike today, the medieval mindset towards the creation of art and beauty was not driven by a desire for originality. Artists and the scribes at the time were trained to imitate each other’s styles, if something was considered to be directly connected to something from the past it was given legitimacy, and the work gained a level of status that was far greater than any original concept. We see this desire to have original works defer to inherited ideas throughout the Middle Ages. In literature, both Bocaccio with the Decameron and Chaucer with his Canterbury Tales refer to their stories being found in older texts. This need to connect to the past builds off the belief that the ancient world of Greece and Rome contained knowledge and understanding that had been lost or misremembered through the haze of history. The power of the illuminated manuscripts lay in part due to their connection to the past. They formed a bridge through their words, their designs, and their art that allowed for people to be inspired by the past and feel a part of something bigger than themselves. Let’s now take a step back and take a look at the story behind one of the greatest examples of the medieval illuminated manuscript, The Kennicott Bible.
The Kennicott Bible:
In the port city of La Coruña, in the year 1476, a commission was made to create an illuminated manuscript of the Hebrew Bible. La Coruña had a very prosperous Jewish community dating back to at least 1375. Being a port city with lots of trade and other opportunities this was not too surprising. In addition, the Jewish community of Spain had moved around throughout the country not only in search of economic opportunity, but also in the face of widespread persecution. Most of the community of La Coruña had come from the Kingdom of Castile and moved over to the Kingdom of Galicia in order to escape the widespread Pogroms of 1391. The wealth of the La Coruña Jewish community combined with the population increase allowed it to become a cultural center for the region. Over the course of the 15th century La Coruña gained a reputation for being home to some of the greatest medieval illuminators of the period. What we know of the origin of the Kennicott Bible is limited to a note written at the end of the manuscript by the scribe himself. Isaac, a silversmith, and son of the late Don Solomon di Braga commissioned the creation of the bible.
The bible was the work of two talented individuals, the scribe Moses Ibn Zabarah, and the illuminator Joseph Ibn Hayyim, together these two created a work of artistic genius that continues to fascinate us to this day. The scribe Moses was a master of the Sephardic style of calligraphy and each letter on every folio was placed to perfection. He did not limit himself to simply copying out the text exactly, but was one of those rare geniuses that added his own subtle beauty through his delicate micrography and intricate geometric shapes. The work of Moses Ibn Zabarah while magnificent in its own right, takes on even greater significance when combined with the lavish and stunning illuminations of Joseph Ibn Hayyim. What’s fascinating to consider is that the only reason we know anything at all about Joseph Ibn Hayyim is due to his signing his name on the last page of the manuscript in the most beautiful anthropomorphic and zoomorphic script. He wrote the following: “I, Joseph Ibn Hayyim, illuminated and completed this book.” The script that Joseph used to write out his message, his singular opportunity to ensure that his name lived on, is a fascinating use of imagery. According to Jewish tradition the use of graven images is strictly prohibited. Yet, in the last page of this biblical manuscript Joseph chose to write his message, his commemoration using anthropomorphic and zoomorphic scripts, which included animals, naked figures, and other strange and wonderful creations. The historian Cecil Roth concluded that the Kennicott illuminations were in fact inspired by the Cervera Bible, another illuminated manuscript from the town of Cervera in Catalonia that was copied out around the year 1300, which includes many similar images, motifs, and makes use of zoomorphic script. The similarities that exist between the two manuscripts speak towards the idea we discussed previously regarding the veneration and desire for connection between manuscripts in the medieval era. Roth noted the importance of the relationship between the new and old when he said, “the sincere imitation of an older original, which happened by chance to be accessible to the illuminator, might result in the renewal of certain decorative and artistic features many generations after their natural vogue had ceased in a different environment.” It’s a fascinating idea to think that the rediscovery of something, already over a century old, can generate new levels of interest to create something vibrant, fresh, and beautiful. Perhaps it did this, by giving the feeling to its creators that they were embarking on a journey of new heights by standing on the shoulders of those illuminated giants of the past. The Kennicott’s Bible journey only began when the manuscript was finished in 1476. Following the expulsion of the Jews of Spain in 1492, the Bible and presumably its owner, Isaac the silversmith, left Spain possibly to Portugal before heading onwards to North Africa and eventually to Gibraltar. It was in Gibraltar that almost three centuries later the bible would be acquired by a Scottish merchant named Patrick Chalmers. In June 1770, Benjamin Kennicott, an Anglican clergyman, Hebraic Scholar, and librarian at Oxford University’s Radcliffe Library petitioned the Library Trustees to purchase the bible from the Earl of Panmure to whom it had been entrusted by Patrick Chalmers. On the 5th of April 1771, the library records the purchase of the bible, and it would remain in the Radcliffe for over a century until it was transferred to the Bodleian Library in 1872. In honor of Benjamin Kennicott, the bible was catalogued under his name and has been known as the Kennicott Bible ever since. It is a strange and surreal journey for our manuscript to take. Finding itself forced from the place it was created on the coast of Spain, journeying through North Africa before making its way to the United Kingdom and eventually finding a home in the hallowed stacks of the Bodleian Library at Oxford University. While we will never know the full details of all that this manuscript has seen and experienced, it is safe to say that along the way it provided light, insight, beauty, and hope to all who had the good fortune to turn its pages.
Illumination. The word that started this discussion and the same one we find ourselves thinking about at its end. The light of the Middle Ages, the creativity that permeated from so many areas of culture and individual genius. The journey of the Kennicott Bible is simply one story of many. One story that shows the events that led to the creation of this unique work of art and the impact it has had during the intervening centuries. It is also a story that shows us how with each moment of creation also comes a moment of loss. A loss of a world, of an existence, of a community. A world that was torn asunder and forced its inhabitants into exile simply because they were Jews. Yet, the simple act of survival and the journey from the darkness of exile to the promise of redemption is an eternal one. Let’s finish today’s journey with the words of the late 16th century Italian Rabbi, Joseph Jedidiah Carmi with his poem I Am That I Am.
Full Poem Available on the Podcast