[Evoncalabbalo]

Leper.jpg

Leprosy is a terrible disease that ravages the body causing horrific disfigurement and disability. Although modern medicine can treat it, much of the developing world is still devastated by its effects. Moreover, leprosy carries stigma and we are probably all familiar with the stereotypical image of the medieval leper, segregated at the edge of the community, and ringing a bell to warn others of an approach, lest the healthy be contaminated. But contaminated with what exactly, since disease was poorly understood in the early medieval period and it unlikely that people would have identified the vectors of infection? “Sin”, screams scripture: lepers suffer for their sins.

But if medieval lepers - presumably justifiably - suffered for their sins, why were the afflicted so well cared for? There were over 300 leper hospitals in England alone between the 12th and 13th centuries, a quarter of all hospitals existing. Moreover, evidence from these hospitals, such as Sherburn Hospital near Durham, show that inmates wore clean woollen clothes and ate meat, cheese, and fish – an incredibly good diet for the time. Excavations at St Mary Magdalen leper hospital in Winchester, show that inmates also received respectful burial, with graves carefully cut with niches to take the head, and clearly marked, as no burial overcut an existing plot. In fact, one member of the cemetery at St Mary Magdalen was no leper but a healthy and wealthy man, who lay with a scallop shell – sign of pilgrimage to the shrine of St James at Satiago de Compostela. He was clearly devout as well as a man of considerable means.

But was his presence in a leper hospital cemetery - to say nothing of the considerable alms that provided for these hospitals in the first place - all down to a sense of charity to care for the sick and destitute? Partly. To appreciate why lepers were so well cared for, it is necessary to know something of medieval spiritual beliefs.

In the beginning, there was heaven and hell. Good people went to heaven; bad people went to hell. Simple. But, of course, life was not like that. Good people sometimes did bad things; as the gospels tell us, we are all sinners at heart. So did that mean everyone was destined to go straight to hell, apart from a few saintly types who may have been excused? That was a grim prospect; why bother being good at all? The medieval mind came up with a solution to this predicament: purgatory. If you were bad, but not so bad that you went straight to hell, you could work off your sins with a stay in purgatory. The length of time you spent there depended on the blemishes you sustained in life. Purgatory was suffering but not irredeemable suffering. One day, everyone there made it to heaven.

Of course, if you had people pray for you, then maybe your time in purgatory may be reduced. Giving alms to found hospitals, a positive act in itself, also got a person noticed and probably prayed for, thereby taking a few more years off the time spent in purgatory. But the medieval mind went further still. Since purgatory was suffering, perhaps those who suffered through this life were actually going through a living purgatory. Lepers were suffering for their sins – the sins everyone carried – but they were doing it here, on earth, assuring them a shorter stay in purgatory and a quicker route to heaven. Accordingly, they would reach heaven some time before someone who was not suffering, such as a wealthy benefactor. If lepers were going to reach heaven before you, maybe they could intercede on your behalf once there; put in a good word with St Peter. Best keep on the good side of lepers and make their passage through life as comfortable as possible. Maybe this was why the man with the scallop shell chose to be buried with lepers, staying close to his gamble for a better afterlife.

Lepers lived at the edges of society (whether being banished there or merely because this was where the land was to build the hospitals in the first place), their contact with others was controlled and brief, the local population cared for their wellbeing – making sure they were adequately provisioned – and they interceded with otherworldly beings for the good of their community – both from this world and from the other. To me, that sounds a little like the roles adopted by traditional shamans. And when we add the propensity of traditional shamans to be wounded in some way, drawing power from their suffering, the analogy is complete. Medieval lepers, whether by design or accident, provided a role that the church did not: personal intercession with otherworldly beings – both from this world and in the other – for the welfare of others. That’s a lot like shamanism.

[Foriaelalse]

Thank you, Mike, for giving us such a very interesting article and fascinating excursion through logic of the medieval mind, which, in my view, is a perfect example of where Occam's Razor and rational thought breaks down, because it is so often so bound up with societal mores and unfounded assumptions, that we can't see the edge.

This kind of tit-for-tat giving based on a Western version of 'karma', too, is a long way from the unconditional love of the true mystic who naturally gives with joy and no thought of return out of sheer gratitude for the gift of Life.

However, at least the lepers got cared for well, in this kind of society, and for that, we must be grateful!