(very) Early British Christianity–and thoughts on the Historical Method
Joseph of Arimathea, so the legend goes, took Jesus to Britain’s green and pleasant lands during his ‘lost years’, the biblically ignored period of his youth. This fascinated me when I first discovered it–as most do–through Blake’s Jerusalem, which makes the claim.
The history of this claim is quite simple. In the 12th century, seeking to (1) exaggerate the importance of British Christianity, and (2) provide an explanation for the Arthurian contention that the Holy Grail was in Britain, Robert de Boron (author of Joseph d’Arimathie and Merlin) invented it.
We have another, similarly legendary claim about British Christianity: the legendary 2nd century King Lucius of Britannia, who allegedly welcomed Christian refugees into Britain and introduced Christianity there, to thrive until Diocletian’s persecution of 303 b.c. A good story–and useful too, both for 16th century Catholics trying to emphasise the supremacy of an ancient papacy, and for 16th century Protestants seeking to affirm an independent Church tied to the monarchy.
Again, its origins are fraudulent. It may have been fiction to support 4th century missionary efforts, revived for the convenience of later generations. Von Harnack advances a more interesting hypothesis (which I first heard through Diarmaid MacCulloch): that the Liber Pontificalis which contains its record had a transcription error. Lucius, after all, is the latin name for Abgar V of Edessa, the king of Osroene (Upper Mesopotamia), who really did welcome Christian refugees in droves. And, conveniently, the capital of Edessa is overlooked by the hill Britium, which makes a transcription error very possible. Regardless, it was definitely accepted at Bede’s time, when he included it in his Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum of 731 CE. Curiously, it was also taken up by Arthurians like Geoffrey of Monmouth: the idea of an ancient Christianity, whether involving Jesus or Lucius, seems to have appealed to the British medieval romantic.
Both these myths are, I feel, interesting historical asides in their own right. But they also illustrate a truth about historical truth: that it propagates depending on authorial convenience. Both legends were popular not because they were well regarded: at least one was made up, and the idea of the extrapolation of a large body of work from a transcription error in the Liber Pontificalis does not sit well with me, at least. They were rather popular because they were convenient in the narrative. And now, more than ever, ‘history’ is about writing books that tell a story–not that teach history. You do not need to be de Boron to do this: you must just be the monk ready to read in to the Liber Pontificalis, to come up with this fascinating, textually interpretative genius that just happens to be wrong.
Jerusalem is beautiful and testament to Blake’s genius–but I am not more inclined to believe the Joseph of Arimathea story as a result. I am similarly sceptical of the Lucius of Brittania tale. But I am susceptible to Adolf von Harnack’s explanation of Lucius of Brittania, because I find it compelling in its obscure genius–and this is perhaps dangerous. I guess the take-away, apart from some fascinating detail, is this: we must write the historia Anglorum, not the historia Angelorum, no matter what divine elegance the latter promises.
