Anonymus de Substantia Nihili

Introduction
p
robably in 800 AD Charlemagne and his court received a letter,
the De substantia nihili et tenebrarum, written by a certain
Fredegisus. This letter has an at first sight strange topic:
nothing and darkness. More accurately said: Fredegisus tries to
prove in this letter that the word ‘nothing’ (nihil) refers to a real
existing thing and that the word ‘darkness’ (tenebrae) also has
an existing referent. Thus, where ancient as well as modern
philosophy of language considers these words to refer to
intramental concepts, Fredegisus claims that there are two
things outside the mind. We call one of these two things
‘nothing’, the other ‘darkness’. In his proofs Fredegisus used an
array of techniques and theories from philosophy, but included
Scripture as well to get to his conclusion. Charlemagne was
confused. What was he to learn from this letter and from the
way that Fredegisus used the Bible? Especially since the
standard view was that the word ‘nothing’ really had not extra-
mental referent. That this view was the standard view can be
seen in the educational dialogue that Alcuin, an important court
scholar, wrote for young Peppin, the son and heir of
Charlemagne. Alcuin was not ashamed to teach Pippin the
following:
‘Alcuin: What is that which is and is not?

Pepin: Nothing.
Alcuin: How can it both be and not be?
Pepin: It exists in name, but not in fact.’1
Charles therefore commanded that a letter was sent to the

astronomer Dungal for a second opinion and to divide the right
from the wrong in the De substantia. Furthermore it is very
interesting that Charles commanded Dungal to read the Bible
specifically in the literal way. Would we only have Dungal’s
1
Alcuin, Disputatio Pippini regalis et nobilissimi juvenis cum Alcuino
scholastico, ed. Frobenius PL vol. 101 (Paris 1863), p. 979. A. Quid est quod
est et on est? P. Nihil. A. Quomodo potest esse et non est? P. Nomine est, et re
non est.
Introduction 2
response! But alas, the historian has to make do with the

material that has survived the ages to tell his story. The letter
that Dungal probably wrote to Charles has not lasted to our
modern age. Still, the De substantia provides the historian with
a very interesting text to study.
Who was the author that wrote this strange epistle?
Modern historiography knows this person as ‘Fredegisus of
Tours’.2 The date and year of his birth are unknown, but he died
the tenth of August 833. In 800 Fredegisus was a deacon and
shortly after he wrote the De substantia he was promoted to
arch-deacon (before the fifteenth of April 800), one of whose
main responsibilities was to oversee the instruction of the
younger clerics.3 More important than the clerical rank that
Fredegisus held was the place where he held it. Fredegisus
exercised his function in the court chapel of Charlemagne in
Aachen. In the late eighth century this chapel was a clerical
institution owned by the ruler, which not only performed
religious functions for him, but also governmental tasks. The
members of the chapel held mass to pray for the well-being of
the Carolingian dynasty, but also provided the notaries of the
chancellery. This way the members of the chapel were the
spiritual vassals of the king.4 A position in the chapel provided a
respected office at court and therefore membership of the royal
chapel usually proved to be an important step in a cursus
honorum.
Yet most important was the fact that Fredegisus was one
of the best pupils of Alcuin, the prominent spiritual guide of
Charlemagne. Just like Alcuin, Fredegisus was of English origin
2
The name can be spelled in several ways. I will follow the orthography that
is given in the edition of David Howlett (forthcoming in Archivum Latinitatis
Medii Aevi). This orthography is also used in the Brussels manuscript (B1 in
Ttext tradition). Good biographical sketches are from Philippe Depreux
Prosopographie de l’entourage de Louis le Pieux (781-840) (Sigmaringen
1997), pp. 199-203 and Mary Garrison ‘Fridugisus [Frithugils, Nathanael] (d.
833), abbot and scholar’ in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography at
http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/article/61648, accessed 26 October 2005.
Especially Depreux has useful notes.
3
Cf. Roger Reynolds for a full description of the chores of an arch-deacon.
‘The Organization, Law and Liturgy of the Western Church, 700-900’ in The
New Cambridge Medieval History, p. 606. In Alcuin’s letter to the patriarch
of Jerusalem, MGH Epist. IV nr. 210, p. 351 r. 7, a letter from Alcuin to the
patriarch of Jerusalem, is the first document in which Fredegisus is called an
arch-deacon.
4
Jozef Fleckenstein, Die Hofkapelle der deutchen Könige, MGH Schriften,
16/1(Stuttgart 1959), p. 43.
Introduction 3
and it is likely that Alcuin took Fredegisus with him when he

went from the cathedral school of York to the Carolingian court
in the early eighties of the eighth century. Their close ties are
implicated by the nickname that Alcuin gave him. Alcuin defined
his social world through nicknames and he was very generous to
Fredegisus whom he called Nathanael.5 In his commentary on
the gospel of John Alcuin explained that the name meant ‘gift of
God’.6 In his role as teacher Alcuin dedicated two short treatises
on the Trinity and on vision to Fredegisus. 7 Through Alcuin
Fredegisus probably gained easy access to the circle of court
scholars that Charles had gathered round him and Fredegisus
was benignly remembered in Theodulf’s court poem.8 Moreover
Alcuin used Fredegisus as a trusted messenger when he was
made abbot of Tours in 796. Fredegisus not only carried letters
to Arno, the bishop of Salzburg but also to Charlemagne. When
Alcuin had finished his redaction of the New Testament and sent
it as a Christmas gift to Charles, Fredegisus was the one to offer
it. The best expression of Alcuin’s trust was that he also chose
Fredegisus (together with Candidus) to intercede on his behalf
in 802 when things were not so well between him and Charles.9
The königsnähe that Fredegisus acquired as Alcuin’s pupil
transformed into intimacy with the royal family.10 Fredegisus
taught not only young clergy as arch-deacon, but Charles’ sister
Gisela and daughter Rotrudis as well. This way Fredegisus
earned the trust of Charles, and his political career surged. He
was made abbot of Tours after the demise of Alcuin in 804 and
5
For example Alcuin letter 135, ed. Ernst Dümmler MGH Epistolae Karolini aevi II (Berlin 1895),
p. 204. Mary Garrison, ‘The Social World of Alcuin’ in L. Houwen and A. MacDonald (eds.),
Alcuin of York. Scholar at the Carolingian Court. Germania Latina III (Groningen 1998), p. 79.
6
Alcuin, In Evangelium Joannis, PL 100, 764d. ‘novit enim Dominus, qui sunt
eius. Quorum salvationi ipsum quoque nomen Nathanael aptissime convenit;
Nathanael namque donum Dei interpretatur,…’Cf. Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr.
262, pp. 419-420, r. 28-29/1-12.
7
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 135 204; nr. 289 p. 447-448.
8
Theodulf of Orléans, Ad Carolum regem Carmen XXV ed. Ernst Dümmler
MGH Poetae I (Berlin 1881), p. 487 r. 175-176. Transl. Peter Godman Poetry
of the Carolingian Renaissance (Londen 1985), p. 159 r. 175-176.
Stet levita decens Fredugis sociatus Osulfo, Let the fine deacon Fredugis
stand in company with Oswulf-
Gnarus uterque artis, doctus uterque bene. Both of them experts on
grammar, both of them highly learned
9
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 245 pp. 393-398. This is the case of the escaped
convict. A good introduction can be get in Luitpold Wallach Alcuin and
Charlemagne: Studies in Carolingian History and Literature (Ithaca 1959),
pp. 99-126.
10
Mary Garrison, ‘Fridugisus’.
Introduction 4
Einhard also reports that Fredegisus was among the witnesses

of Charles’s testament in 811. 11 After Charles’ death in 814
Fredegisus remained as respected as he had been. Under Louis
the Pious he was appointed arch-chancellor in 819, which office
he held until 832. Fredegisus certainly had organizational skills.
The scriptorium in Tours was very productive during his abbacy
and produced many pandects of Alcuin’s redaction of the Bible.
Jozef Fleckenstein was impressed by the consistency and quality
of the royal documents.12 In 820 Fredegisus received from Louis
the Pious the abbacies of St. Bertin and St. Omer on top of his
abbacy of Tours. But by alienating property from the abbacy of
St. Bertin and reducing the number of clerics Fredegisus
evolved a conflict with the monks of St. Bertin. 13 This earned
him a bad press in the tenth and eleven centuries. 14 But for his
lord Louis this was not a problem. In 826 Fredegisus took part
in the cortege on the occasion of the baptism of Harald the
Dane, walking first after Harald’s wife and with a following of
scholars.15
At the end of his life Fredegisus was involved in a heated
discussion with Agobard of Lyon. Only one letter of Agobard to
Fredegisus is extant, yet their controversy was, among other
topics, on the pre-existence of human souls and the relationship
between God and truth.16 One other topic, which is of interest
for this thesis, is the question whether the Bible holds to the
rules of grammar and what the reasons for deviation are.
Agobard held the opinion that the simple truth of the Bible
evaded grammatical rules and that Fredegisus should not read
the Bible so rationally, meaning that Fredegisus should not
apply such strict rules to the Bible.17
11
Einhard, Vita Karoli Magni, ed. and transl. Evelyn Scherabon Firchow
(Stuttgart 1996), cap. 33, p. 66.
12
Fleckenstein, Die Hofkapelle, pp. 82-83.
13
Depreux, Prosopographie, pp. 200-201.
14
Deacon Folcuin in the tenth century and abbot Bovo in the eleventh
denounced Fredegisus’ abbacy of St. Bertin. Ibidem. Further bibliographic
deatails in Depreux, p. 201 n. 28,29.
15
Ermold Nigellus, Carmen in honorem Hludowici, ed. Edmond Faral (Paris
1964, 2nd ed.), p. 176.
16
Agobard of Lyons, ‘Contra objectiones Fredegisi’, ed. Ernst Dümmler in
MGH Epist. III (Berlin 1899), pp. 210-221.
17
Agobard of Lyon, MHG epist.V, p. 214 r 28-30.
Quoting Fredegisus: ‘Nihil enim omnino contra regulam grammaticae
dixerunt [apostoli et evangelistae et scripturae interpretes] quod non ita aut
ratio aliqua aut causa mysterii dici exigeret.’ Ab his verbis vestris multum
ecclesiastici doctores dissonant.’
Introduction 5
On a first reading of the De substantia many (modern)

readers would have similar objections. In his proofs Fredegisus
uses biblical authority, but Fredegisus has a very
counterintuitive and alienating way of interpreting these
quotations. To give one example: in the proof of the existence of
darkness Fredegisus uses a quote from Mathew 6:23: ‘If the
light which is in you is darkness, how great will the darkness
itself be?’ This sentence is preceded in Mathew by the idea that
a pure eye illuminates the body (6:22). Most people will say that
this means that someone with good (Christian) discernment will
have a pure hart, but that someone with bad (not Christian)
judgment will be rotten inside. Most people will say that in 6:23
a rhetorical question is posed. If any information about darkness
is to be had from this rhetorical question, it is that it is opposed
to the Christian light. And most people will therefore say that
darkness is used here metaphorically, meaning something such
as everything non-Christian. Not Fredegisus: he maintained that
this sentence implies that darkness has a certain quantity and
that it therefore exists. With the aim of the De substantia in
mind (proving that ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ have referents)
Fredegisus thus holds to totally different rules of searching for
meaning and most people will feel gamed after reading the
letter.
What Fredegisus in fact does is that he isolates sentences
from Scripture and from orthodox doctrine in order to analyse
these statements only on what they have to say on the words
‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’. He totally disregards the context in
which the sentences were made and any tacit knowledge on
which these statements rely (it is for example tacit knowledge to
know that usually a metaphor is nonsense when taken literally),
or conventional explanations. There is a dictum that says that
‘you should not trust the story teller, only trust the story’. 18
Fredegisus applies this dictum to the extreme, trusting only the
literal propositional content of these sentences without taking
any contextual information into account. Furthermore the rules
that he uses in his analysis of the meaning consist in certain
philosophical techniques derived from the categories and
antique philosophy of language. With these techniques
Fredegisus arrives at a totally different and restricted meaning
of these sentences.
18
Vassily, ‘The hunt’ in Neil Gaiman The Sandman. Fables and reflections
(New York 1993), p. 89.
Introduction 6
It is the strangeness of the letter and the use of these

philosophical techniques that arouse and have aroused a long
lasting interest in the letter from the nineteenth century
onwards. Fredegisus claimed that Nothing is a thing, but what is
this thing? What was his intention with showing that it is a
thing? Was he doing exegesis of Genesis? What exactly were the
philosophical techniques that he used and how did he use them?
These are all questions that have to do with the manipulation of
meaning by Fredegisus in the De substantia. These questions
certainly will be treated in this thesis.
A first and very general realisation from which all answers
have to start is that Fredegisus lived in a society which was text-
based, since it interpreted reality according to a revelation in
book form. The presupposition was that the Bible contained real
and definite meaning. Humans were supposed to grasp this
meaning, but the understanding of this meaning came far from
easy. There were different levels (literal, allegorical, etc.) on
which the meaning could be sought and different ways
(explanation by context, meditation, etc.) to seek. In the couple
of decades prior to the origin of the De substantia, a fertile
experiment in the retrieval of meaning was conducted by Alcuin
and his students. They used grammar and Aristotle’s theory of
the categories to analyse certain theological concepts such as
the Trinity. Fredegisus wrote his De substantia in this context of
philosophical revival.
Yet there also was the much wider background of the
Carolingian Renaissance. In the late eighth and early ninth
century a strong impetus was given to schooling and scholarship
(in which this experiment of Alcuin also took place). Charles
himself and the court scholars that he had gathered around, him
played an important role in this stimulation of learning.
Fredegisus was operating in that very social surroundings of the
royal court. His letter therefore was formed by the norms,
values and concerns of these social surroundings. Fredegisus’
letter thus not only provides us with a witness of a revival of
philosophical analysis, but it reflects contemporary court
interests and values as well. It is this perspective on the wider
historical context that shows at the same time how typical and
strange Fredegisus’ letter was, and how various current
developments, interests and values came together in one text. It
is this combination of ‘strangeness’ and ‘normality’ that makes
the De substantia such an interesting text to study. Further
Fredegisus’ letter provides a perspective on the multifarious
Introduction 7
ways in which the transmission of knowledge could take place in

the Carolingian Renaissance. In this one text such different
forms as philosophical tracts, glossaries and court letters, could
be fused.
This thesis sets out to study the De substantia in both its

technical and philosophical features, and in the influence that
the social surroundings and concerns of the royal court
exercised on it. Yet the hypotheses and its argumentations will
not be developed immediately after the introduction. I have
divided the thesis in two parts. The first part comprises of the
texts and translations of Charles’ letter to Dungal and
Fredegisus’ De substantia. Furthermore I have written a
commentary on the De substantia and the Latin texts which is
also included in the first part, so that this first part with the text,
translation and commentary can be separated as an autonomous
entity. The second part will then consist of the chapters
containing an elaborated interpretation of the De substantia. I
have chosen for this division, instead of having several
appendices, for the following reasons. A sentence by sentence
commentary on the text is a first study tool in the understanding
of a text. It should therefore literaly be read prior to an
extensive study. A reader should be able to understand the De
substantia and quickly arrive at results from current research
without reading the whole thesis. This validated an autonomous
first part. My own research results will be stated in the
commentary, and cross references will point the way to their
argumentation.
In my own research I have not only been occupied by
Fredegisus’ technical argumentation or the theories from which
it derives. The historical context has also been drawn in to
elucidate Fredegisus’ concern with words and especially to gain
a perspective on the purpose that the De substantia was
supposed to serve. I have developed my argument along the
lines of three questions: What has Fredegisus said? How has he
said it? Why has he said it? The answer to the first question has
been labelled the ‘statement’. The statement of the De
substantia comprises Fredegisus question and his answer. It was
necessary to write this chapter since there has been a
Introduction 8
misunderstanding in the historiography beginning with Max

Ahner, who published his dissertation in 1878, down to
Concettina Gennaro in 1963. In this period it was a common
tenet that Fredegisus’ had the word ‘nothing’ refer to prime
matter, i.e. the ‘stuff’ without properties with which God formed
the world. Not only was this tenet itself faulty, but it sprang
from a misguided focus on Fredegisus text. Most historians in
this period were trying to figure out what Fredegisus thought
that the referent of ‘nothing’ was. Yet Fredegisus was writing
about two words instead of one and his primary concern was to
show that these words had referents in extra-mental reality.
Research on Fredegisus should therefore have a main focus on
these two words and on how Fredegisus thought that they
referred. Historiography since the late 1970s has had a better
grasp of Fredegisus’ list of priorities and has denied that
Fredegisus identified the referent of ‘nothing’ with prime
matter. However, this denial has lacked argumentation and
Fredegisus’ concern with words has never been put into context.
Yet it is the context which puts Fredegisus’ concern into
perspective and further substantiates the idea that words were
his primary concerns, not the referents themselves. Since it is
this idea that forms the starting point of the rest of the research,
it is necessary to establish beyond doubt that Fredegisus
question was about two words and that his answer was that they
have extra-mental referents. Therefore the chapter starts with a
substantiated denial of the identification of the referent of
‘nothing’ with prime matter and next puts Fredegisus’ concern
with words into context.
The answer to the second research question (how has he
said it?) has been labelled ‘method’. The method comprises the
techniques and theories that Fredegisus used to get to his
answer. This topic has received ample attention in recent
historiography, yet, once again, it has been preoccupied with
Fredegisus’ treatment of ‘nothing’. I have treated the theories
which Fredegisus used in both his part of ‘nothing’ and his part
of ‘darkness’. Thereby I found that, despite all the attention for
his method, Fredegisus’ use of the categories has not yet been
described and his use of etymological theory has not yet been
acknowledged. Furthermore a balanced treatment of all the
methods that Fredegisus used will clarify differences between
the referents of ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’. Why did Fredegisus
use the categories and elements from etymological theory in his
part on ‘darkness’ but not in his part on ‘nothing’? The answer
Introduction 9
to this question will, under the guidance of Shimizu Tetsuro,

lead to another interpretation of the referent of Nothing. The
first part of the chapter on the statement and the last paragraph
of the chapter on the method are therefore concerned with the
interpretation of the referent of ‘nothing’. This interpretation
forms a small subplot of the thesis, as a secondary interest.
The answer to the third question (why has he said it?) has
been labelled ‘use’. The use comprises the function that the De
substantia was to perform in the social context of the royal court
and its interests. Hitherto this aspect of Fredegisus’ letter has
been left in the dark. The De substantia has been written in the
context of the Carolingian Renaissance and the concerns of the
royal court exerted a great influence both on the Carolingian
Renaissance and the De substantia. I therefore thought it
important to introduce the interplay between the court and the
Carolingian Renaissance, in order to give some body to the
ensuing hypothesis and argument. After this introduction, I have
tried to answer several questions. How did Fredegisus’ letter
played its part in the larger movement of the Carolingian
Renaissance, what court values were of influence and what were
the interests of Charles at the time. These questions ‘zoom in’
from the general background of the search for Christian wisdom
in the Carolingian Renaissance to the specific of a cosmological
interest of Charles in the years 797-800. It is here that I propose
the hypothesis that the De substantia has been written as two
encyclopaedic lemmata. The result of the research on
Fredegisus’ statement, that his primary concern was with
words, has served as the presupposition for this hypothesis. This
focus should clarify why Charles was so surprised. My
hypothesis is that Charles expected different information from
Fredegisus, and this can be partly be grasped from the letter he
sent to Dungal and partly from other letters conversations that
Charles had in this period.
Of course, the chapters on the statement, method and use
of Fredegisus’ letter are preceded by a chapter on the
historiography. The scholars treated were selected for their
contribution to Fredegisus’ image in historiography or their
exemplarity thereof. The focus in their treatment is on the
context in which they have put Fredegisus, their usefulness for
current research and their judgment of Fredegisus. There is a
certain measure of redundancy between the historiographical
part and the commentary on the text. I have chosen for this
redundancy where it occurs –except for the elaborate nine-step
Introduction 10
analysis of Mignucci- since the first and second parts of the

thesis should be autonomous.
I would like to make a final note on the way that I will
write ‘nothing’ in this thesis. The word ‘nothing’ has several
different meanings. In order to prevent confusion, whenever
‘nothing’ means the word itself, I will add quotation marks. An
additional confusion might arise in the second part of the thesis,
when Fredegisus’ idea of Nothing as a thing is differentiated
from the normal meaning of ‘nothing’ as not something.
Therefore I will differentiate the orthography of the word in the
second part of the thesis, by writing a capital ‘N’ whenever I will
refer to Fredegisus’ idea of Nothing. Since it is very unlikely
that this last confusion will arise in the commentary on the De
substantia, and since the commentary forms an autonomous
part of the thesis, this differentiation between Nothing and
nothing is not used in the commentary. It goes without saying
that in the translation of the De substantia neither the quotation
marks, nor the capital ‘N’ are used.
Finally I want to express my gratitude to several people.

First of all I am indebted to Mayke de Jong, who has
endeavoured until the utmost end to raise the quality of this
thesis, even though we had a ‘distanced relationship’. In her
very busy stay at the NIAS she did find the time to support my
thesis and I thank her. Arjo Vanderjagt was prepared to
supervise chapters three and four in a very late stage, and I am
grateful that –jetlagged as he was- he read the chapters on very
short notice. I am glad that Albrecht Diem has taken it upon
himself to function as an unpaid supervisor at the start of my
research, since I had some invaluable conversations with him in
which I have been able to order my thoughts. Of course I also
thank him for the gentlemanly remarks with which he
sometimes glossed my chapters. David Howlett has provided me
with a manuscript of a forthcoming article which he graciously
permitted me to use for this thesis. I warmly support his cause
of humour in science. Mary Garrison has provided her well-
informed opinion on my thoughts and enthousiastically spurred
me on. Arpád Orbán has used his command of the Latin
language to check some translations and transcriptions. Lina
van ‘t Wout greatly helped me on the way during the first
translation. I am afraid that in these times few illegal aliens
receive such a warm welcome as I enjoyed in room 1.21 the past
few years. Although, now that I think of it, Wolfert van Egmond
Introduction 11
has tried to poison me with his brews and Bram van den Hoven
van Genderen with his cultural optimism. Nonetheless I thank
Wolfert for the daily conversations, his help, and his comics and
Bram for his tutorship in my career as student of medieval
history. But I should not forget Alisa Bredo, ‘my’ native speaker.
For she has corrected my ‘dunglish’ to American English. And
the thesis would have been less readable if not for her. My last
salute is to Gerja, whose love has supported me every single day.
PART I
Text tradition
Before we go to the translation of the text, a short note is

needed to address the critical edition that was used as basis for
the translation, and on the manuscripts on which this critical
edition is based. Concettina Gennaro has made an elaborate
comparison of the extant manuscripts and gave information on
previous editions in her chapters two and three, on which the
following is based.19
There are four copies of Fredegisus’ letter left, or at least,
known to us:
1)Paris BN Lat. 5577, fols. 134r-137r

(P)
2)Vatican Reg. Lat. 69 fols. 90v-93r.
(V)
3)Brussels, Bibl. Royale de Belgique 9587, fol 51v, r. 22 - fol 53r,
r. 5 (B1)
4)Brussels, Bibl. Royale de Belgique 9587, fol. 168r, r. 31 – fol.
170r, r.18 (B2)20
As can be seen, B1 and B2 are contained in the same codex,

which has nr. 1372. B2 is a tenth century paper copy of B1; the
rest of the codex is made of parchment.
19
Concettina Gennaro, Fridugiso di Tours e il “De substantia nihili et
tenebrarum”. Edizione
critica e studio intruduttivo. Con una Aggiunta Paleografica di Anna Laura
Martorana (Padova 1963), pp. 9-56.
20
Andreas Wilmart, Codices Reginenses Latini I: 1-250 (Rome 1936), pp. 152-
155., nr. 69; Joseph van den Gheyn, Catalogue des manuscrits de la
Bibliothèque Royale de Belgique Vol. II. Patrologie (Brussels 1902), p. 303,
nr 1372. The catalogue description of the Bibliothèque National has not yet
reached nr. 5577, Philippe Lauer et al. Catalogue géneral des manuscripts
latins. (Paris 1952). However, Gennaro has included a catalogue description
of ms. 5577 on pp. 19-20, coming from the Centre National de la Recherche
Scientifique, Centre de Documentations, which I have not traced. When
treating P, I will therefore use Gennaro’s description.
Text tradition, Latin Text, Translation 13
The catalogues, and Bernard Bischoff for B, provide dates

for the codices in which the manuscripts are contained. 21 Since
this thesis is not focused on the reception of the De substantia,
but rather with the circumstances of its genesis, here we are
chiefly interested in the dating of the manuscripts. On the basis
of palaeographical evidence, in the palaeographical addition to
Gennaro’s work, Anna Laura Martorana has dated the
manuscripts of the De substantia as follows:22
P 800-830
V 860-870
B1 800-830
Martorana has excluded manuscript B2 in her research since it

is a copy of B1. In the rest of the analysis of the manuscript
tradition, I will also exclude B2. Following Martorana’s
conclusions, this means that it is likely that P and B1 were
written during Fredegisus’ life, since he died in 833.
There is also the question of possible relationships

between the texts. On the basis of comparisons of variants and
lacunae, Gennaro reaches the following conclusions: V is a
21
The catalogues provide the following dates:
P ninth century
V ninth-tenth century
B tenth century.
Bischoff dates B in the last third of the ninth century, and thinks it was
produced in France. Bernard Bischoff Katalog der festländischen
Handschriften des neunten Jahrhunderts (mit Ausnahme der wisigothischen).
Teil I: Aachen-Lambach. (Wiesbaden 1998), p. 158, nr. 732.
The catalogues also provide information on the other authors in the
codices, which I have left out for the same reason. In V Fredegisus’ text is
accompanied by Alcuin’s letters. In P Fredegisus’ text is accompanied by
Alcuin’s letters and four other texts: Passio s. Eustachii et sociorum, Passio s.
Felicitatis et 7 filiorum, Capitularia regum Francorium I and Prologi in libros
vet. Test. In B Fredegisus’ text is accompanied by Augustine (among others:
excerpts from de vera religione, regula, de civitate dei), Isidore (de ordine
missae et orationibus, quae in ea continentur in libro officiorum), Alcuin (de
baptismi caeremoniis, dialogum de rhetorica et de virtutibus, disputatio de
rhetorica et de virtutibus sipiensimi regis Karoli et Albini magistri), Cicero
(Cato maior de senectute), Seneca (Senecae patris suasoriae et
controversiae), Further two texts: Capitula de quibus concocati conpotiste
interrogati fuerint. Responsiones quoque eorum qualies et ordine quo reddite
fuerint hic pariter ostenduntur and Oraisons en l’honneur de Ste Geneviève.
22
In the palaeographical addition to Gennaro’s work. Gennaro Fridugiso di
Tours, pp. 31-35, especially p. 35.
descendant of P.23 But B1 and P are not related and stem from
different branches. P and V have three lacunae that B1 has not,
and B1 has a lacuna that P and V have not. 24 This suggests that
the text constitution of B1 is better than that of P and V. This
last suggestion is corroborated by an important detail. In B1
(and its copy B2), Fredegisus’ letter is preceded by the letter
Charlemagne wrote to Dungal requesting his opinion on
Fredegisus’ claims. It is therefore very probable that B1 is
closer to the ‘archetype’ than P.
When using the editions of the De substantia one has to

keep the following in mind: B1 was only discovered in the late
nineteenth century. Thus the editions that were made before the
late nineteenth century only used P and V, and therefore have
the three lacunae. It is better not to use them. 25 The edition in
the PL is one of these. After the discovery of B1, several other
editions on the basis of B1, P and V have come to light, among
them Dümmler’s edition in the MGH Epistolae.26 Another critical
edition by David Howlett will be published in the Archivum
Latinitatis Medii Aevi. In my thesis I have used his text
constitution since he holds to contemporary norms (for example
of orthography).
There are a few things to say about the translation of the
text. In his article, David Howlett has also provided a translation
of the text. This translation is very literal, so that the Latin can
be followed very well. However, the understanding of the reader
who is not versed in Latin is sometimes impaired by this literal
23
Gennaro, Fridugiso di Tours, p. 28.
24
Gennaro, Fridugiso di Tours, p. 16, 25-26. The lacuna of B1 is in fol. 52r r.
24. The list of variants between Gennaro’s text and B1 is on p. 14-15. The list
of variants between P and B1 is on p. 23-24.
25
Gennaro, Fridugiso di Tours, pp. 6-7. This counts for the four following
editions: Stefan Baluz, Miscellaneorum Liber Primus (Paris 1678); reprinted
in Domenico Mansi, Miscellanea novo ordine degesta (Lucae 1761); reprinted
in Migne PL 105 (Paris 1864), cols. 751B-756B; and Max Ahner’s critical
edition in Fredegis von Tours. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Philosophie im
Mittlealter (Leipzig 1878) pp. 16-23.
26
Ernst Dümmler, MGH Epist. IV (Berlin 1895) pp. 552-555 nr. 36. He has
edited the letter from Charles to Dungal on p. 552 nr. 35. Other editions are
Francesco Corvino ‘Il «De nihilo et tenebris» di Fredegiso di Tours’ in Rivista
Critica di Storia della Filosofia (july-december 1956) pp. 273-286; Concettina
Gennaro Fridugiso di Tours e il ‘De substantia nihili et tenebrarum’ (Padova
1963) pp. 123-138. An edition of the letter of Charlemagne to Dungal was
included on pp. 121-122. Gennaro’s edition is also better left alone, since she
normalizes the text to her own standards, disregarding contemporary norms,
e.g. in orthography.
translation. Therefore, Mayke de Jong and me deemed it

necessary to translate Charles’ letter to Dungal, the De
substantia nihili and part of the De substantia tenebrarum
again. Together we have made this translation. Nonetheless,
Howlett’s translation served as a point of reference for the
translation I will put forward in this thesis, although at times the
translation here sometimes differs radically from Howlett’s.
From sentence 43 onwards, I have maintained Howlett’s
translation.
Latin text
INTERROGATIO DOMNI CAROLI SERENISSIMI IMPERATORIS

DE SUBSTANTIA NIHILI ET TENEBRARVM
IN NOMINE PATRIS ET FILII ET SPIRITVS SANCTI

CAROLVS SERENISSIMVS AVGVSTVS
A DEO CORONATVS
MAGNVS ET PACIFICVS IMPERATOR ROMANVM GVBERNANS
IMPERIVM
QVI ET PER MISERICORDIAM DEI REX FRANCORVM ET
LANGOBARDORVM
DVNGALO FIDELI NOSTRO
1 Sententias siue rationes quas tibi dirigimus de substantia

nihili et tenebrarum diligenter ac studiose explorare te
uolumus et utrum rectae ac uerae sint an aliqua falsitate
notabiles nobis significare stude.
2 Nihil tamen allegorice aut figurate ibi adtendas sed nudum
sermonem nudamque litteram rem nudam significantem.
3 Non autem nos latet quid allegorice maiores nostri in his
intellegere uoluerint quoniam si alia exempla quaeres quam
plurima prompta sunt sicut in Psalmis Pro nihilo saluos facies
illos et in Iob Qui appendet terram super nihilum et cetera.
4 Similiter si de substantia tenebrarum alia exempla
quaesieris inter cetera haec etiam adhibere poteris ut est
Benedicite lux et tenebrae Domino et Apostolus Deus qui dixit
de tenebris lumen splendescere in Propheta lex Domini uoce
Ego Dominus formans lucem et creans tenebras et in Iob
Tempus posuit tenebris et uniuersorum finem ipse creat item
ibi Terminum dedit aquis donec finiantur lux et tenebrae item
aliud Omnes tenebrae absconditae in occultis Dei et Noctem
uerterunt in diem et rursum post tenebras spero lucem.
OMNIBVS FIDELIBVS DEI ET DOMNI NOSTRI SERENISSIMI
PRINCIPIS KAROLI
IN SACRO EIVS PALATIO CONSISTENTIBUS
FREDEGISUS DIACONVSDE SUBSTANTIA NIHILI
1 Agitatam diutissime a quam plurimis quaestionem de nihilo
quam indiscussam inexaminatamque ueluti inpossibilem ad
explicandum reliquerunt mecum sedulo uoluens atque
pertractans tandem uisum mihi fuit adgredi eamque nodis
uehementibus quibus uidebatur inplicita disruptis absolui
atque enodaui detersoque nubilo in lucem restitui memoriae
quoque posteritatis cunctis in futurum saeculis mandandam
praeuidi.
2 Quaestio autem huiusmodi est Nihilne aliquid sit an non?
3 Si quis responderit Videtur mihi nihil esse ipsa eius quam
putat negatio conpellit eum fateri aliquid esse nihil dum dicit
Videtur mihi nihil esse.
4 Quod tale est quasi dicat Videtur mihi nihil quiddam esse.
5 Quod si aliquid esse uidetur ut non sit quodam modo uideri
non potest quocirca relinquitur ut aliquid esse videatur.
6 Si uero huiusmodi fiat responsio Videtur mihi nihil nec
aliquid esse huic responsioni obuiandum est primum ratione
in quantum hominis ratio patitur deinde auctoritate non
qualibet sed diuina dumtaxat quae sola auctoritas est solaque
inmobilem obtinet firmitatem.
7 Agamus itaque ratione.
8 Omne itaque nomen finitum aliquid significat ut homo lapis
lignum haec enim ut dicta fuerint simul res quas significant
intellegimus.
9 Quippe hominis nomen praeter differentiam aliquam
positum uniuersalitatem hominum designat lapis et lignum
suam similiter generalitatem conplectuntur.
10 Igitur nihil si modo nomen est ut grammatici asserunt
finitum nomen est.
11 Omne autem nomen finitum aliquid significat.
12 Ipsum uero aliquid finitum ut non sit aliquid inpossibile est
ut finitum aliquid non sit inpossibile est ut nihil quod finitum
est non sit aliquid ac per hoc esse probabile est.
13 Item nihil uox significatiua est.
14 Omnis autem significatio ad id quod significat refertur.
15 Ex hoc etiam probatur non posse aliquid non esse.
16 Item aliud Omnis significatio eius significatio est quod est.
17 Nihil autem aliquid sifnificat.
18 Igitur nihil eius significatio est quod est id est rei
existentis.
19 Quoniam uero ad demonstrandum quod non solum aliquid
sit nihil sed etiam magnum quiddam paucis actum est ratione
cum tamen possint huiusmodi exempla innumera proferri in

medium ad diuinam auctoritatem recurrere libet quae est
rationis munimen et stabile firmamentum.
20 Siquidem uniuersa ecclesia diuinitus erudita quae ex Xristi
latere orta sacratissime carnis eius pabulo pretiosique
sanguinis poculo educata ab ipsis cunabilis secretorum
mysteriis instituta inconcussa fide tenere confitetur diuinam
potentiam operatam esse ex nihilo terram aquam aera et
ignem lucem quoque et angelos atque animam hominis.
21 Erigenda est igitur ad tanti culminis auctoritatem mentis
acies quae nulla ratione cassari nullis argumentis refelli nullis
potest uiribus inpugnari.
22 Haec enim est quae praedicat ea quae inter creaturas
prima ac praecipua sunt ex nihilo condita.
23 Igitur nihil magnum quiddam ac praeclarum est
quantumque sit unde tanta et tam praeclara sunt
aestimandum non est.
24 Quippe cum unum horum quae ex eo genita sunt aestimari
sicut est ac definiri non possit.
25 Quis enim elementorum naturam ex asse metitus est?
26 Quis enim lucis aut angelicae uel animae substantiam ac
naturam conplexus?
27 Si ergo haec quae proposui humana ratione conprehendere
nequimus quo modo obtinebimus quantum qualeue sit illud
unde originem genusque ducunt?
28 Poteram autem et alia quam plurima subicere sed
docibilium quorumque pectoribus satis his insinuatum
credimus.
DE SUBSTANTIA TENEBRARUM
29 Quoniam his breuiter dictis commode finem inposui mox ad

ea expedienda intentionem retuli quae curiosis lectoribus non
inmerito uidebantur digna quaesitu.
30 Est quidem quorundam opinio non esse tenebras et ut sint
inpossibile esse.
31 Quae quam facile refelli possit Sacrae Scripturae
auctoritate prolata in medium prudens lector agnoscet.
32 Itaque quid libri Genesis historia inde sentiat uidebatur.
33 Sic enim inquit Et tenebrae erat super faciem abyssi.

34 Quae si non erant qua consequentia dicitur quia erant?
35 Qui dicit tenebras esse rem constituendo ponit qui autem
non esse rem negando tollit sicut cum dicimus Homo est rem
id est hominem constituimus cum dicimus Homo non est rem
negando id est hominem tollimus.
36 Nam uerbum substantiale hoc habet in natura ut
cuicumque subiecto fuerit iunctum sine negatione eiusdem
subiecti declaret substantiam.
37 Praedicando igitur in eo quod dictum est Tenebrae errant
super faciem abyssi res constituta est quam ab esse nulla
negatio separate aut diuidit.
38 Item tenebrae subiectum est erant declaratiuum declarat
enim praedicando tenebras quodam modo esse.
39 Ecce inuicta auctoritas ratione comitata ratio quoque
auctoritatem confessa unum idemque praedicant tenebras
scilicet esse.
40 Sed cum ista exempli causa posita ad demonstrandum quae
proposuimus sufficiant tamen ut nullis contradicendi occasio
aemulis relinquatur faciamus palam pauca diuina testimonia
adgregantes e pluribus quorum excussi formidine
ineptissimas ulterius uoces aduersus ea iaculari non audeant.
41 Siquidem Dominus cum pro adflictione populi Israel plagis
seuerioribus castigaret Aegyptum tenebris etiam inuoluit adeo
spissis ut palpari quirent et non solum obtutibus hominum
uisum adimentibus sed etiam pro sui crassitudine manuum
tactui subiacentibus.
42 Quicquid enim tangi palparique potest esse necesse est
quicquid esse necesse est non esse inpossibile est quia esse
necesse est quod ex eo quod est palpabile probatum est.
43 Illud quoque praetereundum non est quod cum omnium
Dominus inter lucem et tenebras diuisionem faceret lucem
appellauit diem et tenebras noctem.
44 Si enim diei nomen significat aliquid noctis nomen non
potest aliquid non significare.
45 Dies autem lucem significat lux uero magnum aliquid est
dies enim et est et magnum aliquid est.
46 Quid ergo?
47 Nihilne significatiuae sunt tenebrae cum eis uocabulum
noctis ab eodem conditore inpressum est qui luci
appellationem diei inposuit?
48 Cassanda est diuina auctoritas?
49 Nullo modo.
50 Nam caelum et teram facilius est transire quam

auctoritatem diuinam a suo statu permutari.
51 Conditor etenim rebus quas condidit nomina inpressit ut
suo quaeque nomine res dicta agnita foret.
52 Neque rem quamlibet absque uocabulo formauit nec
uocabulum aliquod statuit nisi cui statueretur existeret.
53 Quod si foret omnimodis uideretur superfluum quod Deum
fecisse nefas est dici.
54 Si autem nefas est dici Deum aliquid statuisse superfluum
nomen quod Deum inposuit tenebris nullo modo uideri potest
superfluum.
55 Quod si non est superfluum est secundum modum.
56 Si uero secundum modum et necessarium quia eo ad
dinoscendum rem opus est quae per id significatur.
57 Constat itaque Deum secundum modum res constituisse et
nomina quae sibi inuicem sunt necessaria.
58 Sanctus quoque Dauid Propheta Sancto Spiritu plenus
sciens tenebras non inane quiddam et uentosum sonare
euidenter exprimit quia quiddam sunt.
59 Ait ergo Misit tenebras.
60 Si non sunt quomodo mittuntur?
61 Quod autem est mitti potest et illo mitti potest ubi non est?
62 Quod uero non est mitti quolibet non potest quia nusquam
est.
63 Igitur missae dicuntur tenebrae quia erant.
64 Item illud Posuit tenebras latibulum suum.
65 Quod scilicet erat posuit et quodam modo posuit ut
tenebras quae erant latibulum suum poneret?
66 Item aliud Sicut tenebrae eius ubi ostenditur quia in
possessione sunt ac per hoc esse manifestantur.
67 Nam omne quod possidetur est tenebrae autem in
possessione sunt igitur sunt.
68 Sed cum ista talia ac tanta sufficient et arcem tutissimam
contra omnia inpugnamenta teneant unde leui repulsu tela in
suos iaculatores retorquere possunt ex euangelica tamen
firmitate quaedam poscenda sunt.
69 Ponamus igitur ipsius Saluatoris uerba.
70 Filii inquit regni eicientur in tenebras exteriores.
71 Adtendendum est autem quod tenebras exteriores nominat
extra enim unde exterius deriuatiuum est locum significat.
72 Quapropter cum dicit exteriores tenebras locales esse
demonstrat.
73 Nam non essent exteriores tenebrae nisi essent et

interiores.
74 Quicquid autem exterius est id in loco sit necesse est.
75 Quod uero non est id nusquam est.
76 Igitur exteriores tenebrae non solum sunt sed etiam locales
sunt.
77 In Passione quoque Domini euangelista tenebras factas
esse praedicat ab hora diei sexta usque ad horam nonam. 78
Quae cum factae sint quomodo non esse dicuntur? 79 Quod
factum est effici non potest ut factum non fuerit quod uero
semper non est nec umquam fit id nusquam est tenebrae
autem factae sunt quare ut non sint effici non potest.
80 Item aliud Si lumen quod in te est tenebrae sunt ipsae
tenebrae quantae erunt?
81 Neminem dubitare credo quin quantitas corporibus
adtributa sit quae cuncta per quantitatem distribuuntur et
quantitas quidem secundum accidens est corporibus
accidentia uero aut in subiecto aut de subiecto praedicantur.
82 Per hoc ergo quod dicitur Ipsae tenebrae quantae erunt?
quantitas in subiecto monstratur unde probabili argumento
colligitur tenebras non solum esse sed etiam corporales esse.
83 Itaque haec pauca ratione simul et auctoritate congesta
uestrae magnitudini atque prudentiae scribere curaui ut eis
fixe inmobiliterque haerentes nulla falsa opinione inlecti a
ueritas tramite declinare possitis.
84 Sed si forte a quocumque aliquid prolatum fuerit ab hac
nostra ratione dissentiens ad hanc ueluti ad regulam
recurrentes probabilibus sententiis eius stultas machinationes
deicere ualeatis.
EXPLICIT.
Translation
INTERROGATION OF THE LORD CHARLES, MOST SERENE EMPEROR
ABOUT THE SUBSTANCE OF NOTHING AND OF DARKNESS
IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER AND OF THE SON AND OF THE HOLY
SPIRIT
CHARLES, MOST SERENE AUGUSTUS
CROWNED BY GOD
GREAT AND PEACE-MAKING EMPEROR GOVERNING THE ROMAN
EMPIRE
WHO ALSO THROUGH GOD’S MERCY KING OF FRANKS AND LOMBARDS
TO DUNGAL OUR FAITHFUL MAN
1 Assidously and painstakingly, we wish you to explore the

pronouncements or arguments we have sent you about the
substance of nothing and of darkness. Endeavour to make clear
to us whether they are right and true, or whether there are any
things notale for any falsity.
2 Do not apply yourself to any allegorical or figural [exegesis]
but to the naked speech and the naked letter signifying the
naked matter.
3 Yet it is not hidden to us what our elders may have wished to
understand allegorically concerning these matters, for if you
look for other examples how many are there at hand,
as in Psalms ‘For nothing you will make those men safe’
and in Job ‘Who appends the earth above nothing’
and the rest.
4 Similarly if you were to look for other examples of the
substance of darkness you can also, among others, take one
like ‘Bless, light and darkness, the Lord’

and the Apostle ‘God Who said from the darkness light should
shine’
in the Prophet the law of the Lord in an utterance ‘I, the Lord,
forming light and creating darkness’
and in Job ‘He has placed a time for darkness, and Himself
creates the end of all things’
in the same way there ‘He has given a boundary to the waters
until light and darkness be ended’
in the same way another: ‘All darkness hidden in the secret
places of God’
and ‘They turned night into day and again after darkness I hope
for light’.
TO ALL THE FAITHFUL MEN OF GOD AND OF OUR LORD THE MOST SERENE
PRINCE CHARLES
LIVING TOGETHER IN HIS SACRED PALACE
FREDEGISUS THE DEACON
ON THE SUBSTANCE OF NOTHING
1 They have left me the troubling question about nothing,

which has concerned many for a long time, however
undiscussed, unexamined as if impossible to explicate.
Yet it seemed up to me, who wishes fervently to treat the matter,
to tackle it.
I have untied the fierce knots in which it was tied, and clearing
away the obscuring cloud, I have restored it to light
and taken care that it is handed over to the memory of posterity
for all ages in the future.
2 The question, however, is this: is nothing something or not?
3 If anyone should respond ‘It seems to me to be nothing’ this,
his negation which he maintains compels him to state that
nothing is something while he says,
‘It appears to me to be nothing.’
4 Which is such as if he should say ‘It seems to me that nothing
is a certain something’.
5 Since, if something seems to be as if it does not exist, it cannot
appear in any way, for which one leaves the position that it
seems to be something.
6 If in truth a response of this sort should be made ‘It seems to
me that nothing is not something’
to this response it should be objected,
first by reason in so far the reason of man [to say that nothing is
not something] is obvious,
and subsequently by authority. Not just by any, but by nothing
less than the divine authority which is the only authority, and the
only one which provides unshakable certainty.
7 And so let us employ reason.
8 Thus every finite noun signifies something, as ‘man’, ‘stone’,
‘wood’
for these [words], as they may be said, signify at once things
which we understand.
9 Indeed posited the noun ‘of man’ designates, apart from any
[individuating] difference the universality of men.
‘stone’ and ‘wood’ include similarly their own generality.
10 Therefore if ‘nothing’ is a noun at all, as grammarians assert,

it is a finite noun.
11 Every finite noun, however, signifies something.
12 Yet that the finite noun itself may not be something is
impossible,
so that, a finite that is not something is impossible, or nothing
that is a finite is not something- and thus can its existence be
deemed proven.
14 Every signification, however, is referred to that which it
signifies.
15 From this also it is proven that it cannot be something that is
not.
16 Similarly, another: every signification is its signification
because it [i.e. the thing signified] is.
17 ‘Nothing’, however, signifies something.
18 Therefore ‘nothing’ is its signification which means that it is
an existing thing.
19 Since in order to demonstrate that nothing is not only
something,
but also something important, little is to be gained from reason,
but nonetheless of ths innumerable examples can be brought
forth for consideration.
One ought to go back to divine authority
which is the stronghold of reason nd a stable foundation.
20 Just as the universal church, instructed by divine inspiration,
born from the side of Christ and educated with the food of His
most sacred flesh and with the cup of precious blood, instructed
from the cradle in the mysteries of its secrets,
professes to hold in unshaken faith that divine power wrought
existence from nothing earth, water, air, and fire, also light, and
angels, and the soul of man.
21 Sharpness of mind is therefore to be elevated to this superb
level of authority, which can be thwarted by no reason, refuted
by no arguments, attacked by no powers.
22 For this is what it [Scripture] preaches: that those who were
the first and foremost among the creatures were created from
nothing.
23 Therefore nothing can be something great and excellent,
and why it is so great and excellent is not for us to fathom.
24 Indeed not even one of these things which have been begotten
from it can be understood as it is and defined.
25 For who has measured the nature of the elements from an as
[i.e. ‘from a small unit’]?
26 For who has included the substance and nature either of
angelic light or of the soul?
27 If therefore we do not know how to comprehend by human
reason these things which I have proposed
in what manner will we ascertain how much or of what kind this
[nihil] may be, whence they trace back their origin and kind?
28 I could have submitted many other arguments, but we believe that we have
already insinuated enough into the hearts of men eager to learn.
ON THE SUBSTANCE OF DARKNESS
29 Given that I have put a suitable end to this brief exposition,

I now turn my attention to those matters to be explained
which seemed worth questioning to inquisitive readers.
30 Some are of the opinion that darkness does not exist, and that
it can impossibly exist.
31 How easily this can be refuted, the prudent reader
understands at once the authority of Scripture is brought into
the discussion.
32 And so it becomes clear what the history of the book Genesis
has to say about this question.
33 It says this: ‘And the darkness was over the face of the deep’.
[Gen.1:2].
34 If it did not exist, by what reasonint is it said that it ‘was’?
35 Who says that darkness exists posits by constituting a thing
who, however, [says that it] does not exist takes away by
negating a thing
just as when we say ‘A man is’ we constitute a thing, that is, a
man
when we say ‘A man is not’ we take away by denying a thing,
that is, a man.
36 For a substantial word has this in nature
that a thing joined to whatever subject it may be without
negation of the same subject declares a substance.
37 By predicating, therefore, in that which is said ‘Darkness was

upon the face of the deep’ a thing has been constituted
which no negation separates or divides from existence.
38 In the same way ‘darkness’ is the subject, ‘was’ the
declarative
for it declares by predicating that darkness exist in whatever
manner.
39 Lo, with unconquered authority accompanied by reason,
reason also having confessed authority, they predicate one and
the same thing
understand, the darkness exists.
40 But though these things posited for the sake of example
suffice for demonstrating the things which we have proposed
nevertheless that an occasion of constradicting be left to no
envious men
let us make in the open, aggregating a few divine testimonies
from many
so that, shaken by fear, they will not dare to raise their inept
voices against them anymore.
41 When the Lord, because of the affliction of the people of
Israel, castigated Egypt with severe plagues,
he also enveloped it with a darkness so thick that they could
touch it,
and not only were men deprived of their ability to see,
but also, because of its density, it could be touched by hands.
42 Now whatever is tangible and palpable must necessarily exist
whatever has necessarily to exist cannot possibly not exist
and through this it is impossible for darkness not to exist
because existence is necessary which has been proved from that
which is palpable.
43 That also must not be passed over
Because when the Lord of all things made a division between
light and darkness He called the light day ad the darkness night.
[Gen. 1:5].
44 For if the name ‘of day’ signifies something
the name ‘of night’ cannot not signify something.
45 Day, however, signifies light
light in truth is something great
for day both is and is something great.
46 What therefore?
47 Is darkness significative of nothing

since the word ‘of night’ has been impressed on them by the
same Creator
Who imposed for light the appellation ‘of day’?
48 Is divine authority to be frustrated?
49 In no manner.
50 For it is easier for heaven and earth to pass away [lit. ‘to go
across’]
than for divine authority to be completely changed from its own
state.
51 For the Creator impressed names upon the things which He
created
so that each said thing might be known by its own name.
52 Neither did He form anything whatever without a word
nor did He establish any word
unless the thing for which it was established existed.
53 Because it would seem superfluous in all respects it it should
be
sthat something God made is to be called unspeakable.
54 If, however, something that God established superfluous is to
be called unspeakable the name that God imposed on the
darkness can in no manner be seen as superfluous.
55 Because if it is not superfluous it is according to measure.
56 If in truth according to measure, [then] also necessary
because by it the thing is a work to be known
which is signified through it.
57 And so it stands that God established according to measure
things and names
which are necessary to each other in turn.
58 Also holy David the prophet, filled with the Holy Spirit,
knowing that darkness does not represent certain empty and
windy thing
evidently expresses that they are a certain thing.
59 He says therefore ‘He sent darkness’ [Psalms 105:28].
60 If it is not, how is it sent?
61 What, however, is it that can be sent and can be sent from
Him where it is not?
62 What in truth is not cannot be sent from anywhere because it
is nowhere.
63 Therefore darkness is said ‘sent’ because it was.
64 In the same way that [quotation]: ‘He placed darkness as His

own hiding place’. [Psalms 18:11]
65 What, understand, was it He placed, and in what manner did
He place it
so that He should place darkness which was His own hiding
place?
66 In the same way another: ‘Just as His darkness’ [Psalms
139:12]
where it is shown that it is in possession and through this it is
manifested to exist.
67 For everything that is possessed is
darkness, however, is in possession, therefore it is.
68 But since these such and so many suffice
they should hold the fortress very safe against all attacks
whence with a light repulse they can return the missiles against
their own hurlers
from evangelical firmness, nonetheless, whatever they are bound
to be asked.
69 Let us put therefore the words of the Saviour Himself.
70 ‘Sons’ He says ‘of the kingdom will be ejected into the outer
darkness’. [Matt. 8:12]
71 It is to be attended to, however, that He names the darkness
‘outer’
for ‘without’, whence ‘outer’ is derivative, signifies a place.
72 On which account when He says ‘outer’ He demonstrates
darkness to be local.
73 For there may not be outer darkness unless there be also
inner.
74 Whatever, however, outer is, it is necessary that it be in a
place.
75 What in truth is not is nowhere.
76 Therefore outer darkness not only is, but it is also local.
77 In the Passion of the Lord also the evangelist predicates
darkness to have been made from the sixth hour of the day until
the ninth hour.
78 Which, since it was made, how can it be said not to exist?
79 What has been made cannot be unmade
as if it were not made
what in truth is not always and is never made, that never is;
darkness, however, was made
wherefore it cannot be unmade as though it is not.

80 In the same way another: ‘If the light which is in you is
darkness, the darkness itself how great will it be?’ [Matt. 6:23].
81 I believe no man boubts indeed that quantity is attributed to
bodies
which are all distributed through quantity
and quantity indeed is in bodies according to accident
the accidents in truth either are in the subject or they are
predicated from the subject.
82 Through this therefore which is said ‘The darkness themselves
how great will they be?’ quantity in the subject is demonstrated
whence by a provable argument it is gathered that darkness not
only is, but also it is corporal.
83 And so I have taken care to write these few things by reason
together also with authority,
put together for your greatness and prudence
so that clinging fixedly and immovealy to them
enticed by not false opinion can you decline from the path of
truth.
84 But if by chance anything will have been brought forth by
anyone dissenting from this our reason recurring [lit. ‘running
back’] to this as to a rule you may be powerful enough to throw
down thief foolish machination s with more proveable sentences.
IT ENDS.
Annotations to the text
The annotations are only to the text of the De subsantia, not to

Charles’ letter to Dungal.
opening words The addressees of the letter were the faithful of

God and prince Charlemagne. They were literally ‘the men of
Charlemagne’, meaning the scholars and nobles at court. They
were gathered in his palace, which was situated in Aachen.
1 The question in this paragraph is who were the many people that
touched, but never directly answer the question that Fredegisus is
attempting to solve. Fredegisus may refer to the patristic tradition
that was available for him, e.g. Augustine and Boethius, or he may
refer to an ongoing debate that was held amongst the intellectuals
of the palace. Marenbon states that it was Alcuin who broached a
discussion on negative concepts, although he makes no reference. 1
Fredegisus could also be referring to both, of course. The debate
was far from solved after Fredegisus’ contribution.2
2 Statement of the question. The question is not so much what the
word nihil means, but whether it is something or not.
3-5 This argument makes use from an ambiguity in the Latin
phrase. Nihil can be used as a predicate, so that the implied object
of the verb esse is denied. This subject is nothing, which would
make the sentence that ‘it seems to me that nothing is nothing’.
But nihil can also be used as the ‘real’ subject of the verb, which
would make an accusativus cum infinitivo construction. Then the
sentence would mean ‘it seems to me that nothing is,’ which
asserts the existence of nothing. Here Fredegisus uses a normal
1
John Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin to the School of Auxerre. Logic,
Theology and Philosophy in the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge etc. 1981), p. 63.
2
Cf. Marcia Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae: A Study in
Theological
Method.’ in Speculum 59/4 (1984), pp. 787-794.
Annotations to the Text 34
thesis of logic in light of Aristotle’s categories.3 The idea in the

theory of the categories is that if in a true proposition the subject is
ascribed a predicate, then the subject must exist. The verb ‘to be’
therefore not only serves as a copulative, but, as the first of the
categories, also declares the existence of its subject.
6 This sentence is connected to the previous in that Fredegisus is
clarifying the way in which a denial of the question should be
stated. Next Fredegisus states the two ways in which he is going to
resist the negative answer. He will first use ratio and then
auctoritas.4 The question is what Fredegisus means by these terms.
His term of ‘reason’ means the use of the grammatical method,
with the categories and vox significativa ranging among its
theories, and the use of arguments in the form of syllogism. In the
ninth century these provided the standard method for the science
of dialectics. This science was part of the trivium, the first three of
seven sciences, which had a specific scope on language and
reasoning. In both parts on ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’, he uses the
term ‘reason’ when he proves that nothing is something in 7-18
and that darkness exists in 34-38. Reason then is distinct from
‘authority’, the religious doctrine or biblical quotations (strangely
there are is no reference to patristics). This does not mean,
however, that reason cannot be applied to authority. Statements
derived from authority (‘everything is created from nothing’; ‘the
darkness was over the face of the abyss’) form a jumping-off point
for Fredegisus to use reason. Yet Fredegisus does not think that
mankind can gain complete insight by using reason. This seems not
to be because reason is intrinsically limited or imprecise, but
because man is not such a ‘rational animal’. In 27 it is the human
reason which is incapable of comprehending the nature of light and
the elements. Fredegisus explicitly confines his use of authority to
religious authority. First he uses the Old Testament (32-33, 41-42,
43-50, 58-64, 64-65, 66-67), after that the New Testament (70-76,
77-79, 80-82). The New Testament seems to carry more weight.
One wonders whether this is a generally shared conviction or that
3
Mario Mignucci, ‘Tradizione logiche e grammaticali in Fredegiso di Tours’ in
Actas del V
congreso internacional de filosofia medieval vol. 2. (Madrid 1979), p. 1010.
4
Max Ahner, Fredegis von Tours. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Philosophie im
Mittelalter
(Leipzig 1878), chapter two pp. 24-33.
Fredegisus is typical. Yet church doctrine also is a source of

authority, since it is directly bound to Christ by the sacraments
(20). Authority is much more certain then reason. It is the ‘stable
fundament’ of reason (19) and can give rise to insight that no
argument of reason can deny (21). But reason (when used
correctly) and authority point to the same conclusions. In 39
Fredegisus mentions this explicitly when he discusses the word
‘darkness’ but the conclusions of reason and authority on the word
‘nothing’ too are in accordance.
7-18 Fredegisus presents three syllogisms here. Mario Mignucci
made a very sensible logical analysis of the first syllogism that I
would like to repeat here.5 He analyses the syllogism in 9 steps. (1)
A nomen finitum signifies something in so far as we understand the
thing that is signified by the name; (2) this is also valid for
universal names; (3) ‘nothing’ is a name according to the
grammarians; (4) therefore it is a nomen finitum; (5) the referent
of a nomen finitum in its turn is finitum; (6) some definite thing is
something; (7) ‘nothing’ as a nomen finitum refers to some definite
thing; (8) therefore the referent of ‘nothing’ is something; (9)
concluding nothing, as something, must exist.
A nomen finitum as a technical term deriving from the
commentary of Boethius on Aristotle’s De Interpretatione.6 There it
is stated that a ‘definite’ name, whether it be a specific or universal
name, must signify a ‘definite’ substance. It is contrasted with a
nomen infinitum, like ‘non-human’, which signifies an indefinite
multitude of different things (one can call both a rock and a tree
‘non-human’). Now there is a question as to what Fredegisus had in
mind when he introduced the universality in (2). What is the force
of quippe in 21? Mignucci thinks, in light of the previous
statement, that it is Fredegisus’ reception of this theory of names.7
However, Colish’s suggestion is that it reflects Priscian’s idea that
some nouns, like ‘man’ and ‘stone’ can be used in a universal way
and in a specific way. Because the examples of the words ‘man’,
‘stone’ and ‘tree’ were normal examples in the writings of the
grammarians, her suggestion seems more plausible. 8 Whether
Colish is more on the spot than Mignucci, in this case quippe has a
5
Mignucci, ‘Tradizione logiche e grammaticali’, pp. 1011-1013.
6
ibidem, p. 1011.
7
ibidem, pp. 1011-1012. Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’,
pp. 759, 781, 785
very weak meaning and is only meant to connect once sentence to

the next. Fredegisus then stated that a name could have a
secondary, universal meaning. Another explanation would be that
Fredegisus was alluding to some sort of theory of universals. 9 In
this case, quippe would be used to signal that the reason for words
like ‘human’ to signify something is because they signify the
universality of humanity. But in this second option, as John
Marenbon has pointed out, Fredegisus avoided the problem of the
universals more than he dealt with it. 10 Did Fredegisus mean the
concept of humanity, an Idea of humanity in God’s mind, or the set
of all men and women? He gave us no clue. In this case we would
have to ascribe an inclarity to Fredegisus’ text. Because of this and
because Mignucci has shown a reliance on Boethius, I agree with
Mignucci and Marcia Colish that the first option is the best one. To
see this passage in the light of a theory of universals is
misguided.11
In (3) we have a reflection of a debate on the function of the
word nihil. Is it an adverb, with nihilum as substantive, or itself a
substantive? Agroecius, Beda and Alcuin chose the first function,
but Fredegisus turned to Priscian, who stated that nihil is a nomen.
The inference from (3) to (4) is facilitated by Donatus’ definition of
a nomen, in which the signifying function of a name is stressed. His
definition forms a bridge between the tradition of the
grammarians, in which a vox does not necessarily have a meaning,
and the Boethian-Aristotelian tradition, in which a nomen finitum
necessarily refers to something. In (5) again the Boethian-
Aristotelian tradition is used, that a nomen finitum must also mean
something definite. (6) This argument again makes use of an
ambiguity in the Latin (see 13-16). The qualification ‘definite’ is
transferred in 24 from a ‘definite word’ to a ‘definite something’. It
is included in response to the statement that ‘nothing seems not to
be something’ in sentence 6.
8
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’ , p. 781. She references
to Donatus use of the examples ‘stone’, ‘man’ and ‘tree’ in the Ars Grammatica
4:373.
9
Mingnucci refers to Haureau, Histoire de la philosophie scolastique (Frankfurt
am Main 1966) 2nd ed. I, p. 128, Maurice de Wulf, Histoire de la philosophie
médiévale I (Louvain 1934), p. 158, and Gennaro, Fridugiso di Tours, p. 113
which should be p. 98.
10
Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin, p. 63.
11
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’, p. 765.
In the second syllogism, the vox significativa is also a term

from Boethius’ commentaries on the De Interpretatione. Here
Boethius follows the Aristotelian analysis of language in the three
levels of a word, a concept and a thing. The idea is that a word as a
verbal utterance gets its meaning from the concept in one’s head,
which in its turn is abstracted from an extra-mental reality. 12 The
term vox significata is coined in order to separate the words which
refer to concepts from words which do not, e.g. jibberish words.
Ultimately, a vox significata refers to an extra-mental reality, or
thing. This is how Fredegisus interprets it in the second syllogism.
Due to his ease in reasoning from a word to the signified thing,
Mignucci claims that Fredegisus included all three levels of
language at the same time.13 I think that this is correct. Yet it is
even better to take Colish’s argument that Fredegisus conflates
significance, or the concept, with both the word and the thing.14
Eleonore Stump’s description of Boethius’ views of dialectic
in the De topicis differentiis can be applied to Fredegisus’
construction of his syllogisms very well. 15 The aim of dialectics, one
of the branches of the trivium, is to discover ‘arguments that are
readily believable and that can be used to compel agreement from
an opponent in disputation.’16 In a question, two terms are put
together (e.g. ‘is a man a substance?’) and an argument has to be
devised to convince an audience to believe the answer is (in this
case) positive. This means that the argument is not a necessary
demonstration from self-evident axiomata, which one would expect
in geometry. The argument is constructed by finding a third term
(in the example this would be ‘animal’) with which the two terms of
the question (‘man’ and ‘substance’) can be connected. This
connection is made in a syllogism (A man is an animal. An animal is
a substance. Therefore a man is a substance). This is just what
Fredegisus did in 7-18. He put the two terms nihil and aliquid
together in a question. Next he found three different third terms
with which he could connect the two terms of the question. These
third terms were nomen finitum, vox significata and significatio.
12
Mignucci, ‘Tradizione logiche e grammaticali’, p. 1008.
13
ibidem, p. 1007.
14
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’, p. 766
15
Eleonore Stump, ‘Dialectic’ in David L. Wagner (ed.), The Seven Liberal Arts in
the Middle Ages (Bloomington 1983), pp. 132-135.
16
Eleonore Stump, ‘Dialectic’, p. 127.
His aim was to find convincing arguments for his solution to the
question. It is in this way (‘convincing’ or ‘trustworthy’) that
probabile in 12 should be read. His use of probabilis in 82 and
especially 84 suggests that this aim was to be generalised over the
whole of the letter, not only over the first syllogism of 7-12. Finally,
it is in connection with the De topicis differentiis that the word
differentiam in 9 can be put into perspective. A differentia is a
technical term indicating a genus of third terms which can be used
in a syllogism. I doubt whether Fredegisus used differentiam in
exactly the same way, but it seems clear that he wanted to say that
a word like ‘man’ could have a general meaning if there were no
other term with which it was connected (e.g. in ‘Socrates is a man’,
the proposition connecting the two terms ‘Socrates’ and ‘man’, it is
clear that ‘man’ does not mean man in general).
Then there is the question of why Fredegisus included three
syllogisms. Logically, they are redundant, but I presume that
Fredegisus believed them to be different. 17 Colish thinks that at
least the first and the second syllogisms are related. The first
syllogism would only make the existence of nothing probable or
possible. She thus reads probabile as something having a ‘modal’
force. Therefore he needed a second syllogism ‘to close the gap’. 18
In connection with Boethius’ idea that dialectic must yield
convincing, instead of demonstrative syllogisms, I find her idea
unlikely. Another speculation on the relation between the three
syllogisms is from Mignucci. He speculates that the second and the
third syllogisms in the discussion of ‘nothing’ have backgrounds in
different fields of philosophy. The second syllogism would derive
from epistemology (‘we know that ‘nothing’ is a meaningful word,
so there must be an extramental referent’) and the third from
ontology (‘a meaningful word derives its meaning from an existing
extramental-referent’).19 But then what is the background of the
first syllogism? Another speculation could be that there is a
hierarchy in the syllogisms. The first syllogism starts with the idea
that a name has a meaning. The second evolves around the idea
that a meaning involves a reference. The third syllogism states that
a reference is always made to something which exists. And so the
three syllogisms together form a large syllogism itself. This
17
18
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’ , p. 760.
19
Mignucci, ‘Tradizione logiche e grammaticali’, pp. 1013-1014.
explanation uses Mignucci’s idea that the third syllogism is

ontological and the second epistemological and that the starting
point is the name ‘nothing’. By the same token we can even
stipulate that Fredegisus included three redundant syllogisms
instead of one because the three persons of the Trinity are one.
19 For annotations on ratio see the annotations of 6.
20 From here on Fredegisus uses the doctrinal authority of the
church to solve the question of whether nothing is a thing. Along
these lines he makes a distinction between the corporal matter of
the elements and the spiritual matter. Ahner traced the same
sequence of the elements, light, angels and the human soul in
Alcuins Interrogationem et responsionem in libro genesi 20.20
21 For annotations on ratio see the annotations of 6.
22-24 In the story of creation, nothing exists prior to the first
corporeal matter of the elements and the first spiritual matter of
the light and souls of men. Since these first corporeal and spiritual
matters are prominent, the thing that is nothing must be great and
noble. It is a matter of speculation whether one could thereby
conjecture a hierarchy of things in which Nothing would stand
above both the material and the spiritual things. Another thing that
can be distilled from these lines is that the order of knowledge is
the reverse from the order of creation. For we need to know the
nature of the things created from nothing to be able to know the
nature of nothing itself. There is also the question of why nothing
would be ‘something great and shining’. In my opinion, this is
because this ‘thing’ is the divine essence, which I will argue in
chapter four.
25-27 These lines can again be interpreted as another comment on
the relation between reason and authority. The human reason
(reason in so far as it ‘suffers’ humans in 6) is incapable of
understanding how noble the thing is that is nothing. But,
according to 19, reason in principle is capable of proving that
nothing is something noble, although Fredegisus chooses to use
authority here. This is in accordance with 39, where reason and
authority reach the same conclusions.
28 After saying that we cannot know more about nothing, it seems
a bit strange for Fredegisus to say that he could have said more,
but that the public would then be overfed with information. If one
20
Alcuin, Interrogationes et responsiones in Genesim PL 100, 519B; Ahner,
Fredegis von Tours, p. 46.
has a low opinion of Fredegisus, this could well sound as an ill

excuse for a lack of ideas. But, if we want to believe Fredegisus in
19, he has some more ideas. An alternate interpretation could be
that the public really would have been satisfied with the argument
thus far. If we realize that one of the prominent members of the
audience would have been Charles, with his preference for concise
answers, this option gains credence. The letter was probably
meant to be read aloud publicly, without the audience in a position
to take notes. Maybe this letter was also meant as a means of
instruction in schools.
29 Before one goes into the specific elements of the piece on
‘darkness’, the question of the relationship between the discussion
of ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ must be addressed. Of course in the
discussion the same grammatical method was applied, albeit with
different input. In the first part it was the word ‘nothing’ in
isolation that was analysed in the light of grammatical theory,
while in the second part ‘darkness’ was studied in the context of
Scripture.21 In this way Fredegisus expanded his grammatical
method in the second part.
But this is a comparison of the method used to address the
two parts. Is there also a reason for discussing ‘nothing’ and
‘darkness’ in the same text? Corvino is the modern commentator
who sees the strongest relation between nothing and darkness. He
thinks that Fredegisus ‘nothing’ refers to prime matter, just as
‘darkness’ does in Augustine’s exegesis of Genesis 1.22 Therefore it
would be an obvious choice to address them one after the other,
since they refer to the same thing. I don’t believe that Fredegisus
was concerned with prime matter in his argument about
‘nothing’.23 Ahner, on the other hand, is the most pragmatical
modern commentator, and thinks that it was only a question from
the public that made Fredegisus write on ‘darkness’. 24 It might well
be a question that lived among his public, but I don’t believe that
these questions were totally unrelated.
21
22
Francesco Corvino, ‘Il “De nihilo et tenebris” di Fredegiso di Tours’ in Rivista
critica di
storia della filosofia Gennaio-Marzo 1956 (11), p. 275.
23
This will be explained in chapter 2.
24
Ahner, Fredegis von Tours, p. 54.
Colish thinks that ‘darkness’ is examined as an example to

give more insight into the problem of ‘nothing’. 25 This might seem
convincing, since with the expansion of the grammatical apparatus
used, the insight in the problem might deepen. However, I don’t
think this interpretation is correct. First of all, Fredegisus’ whole
point of 22-27 is that it is impossible to know the nature of nothing.
But in the study of ‘darkness’, Scripture seems to indicate the
nature of darkness (it is corporeal, it has a place, it can serve as a
material etc.) from which its existence is proved. Therefore it
cannot be a simpler example from which to learn by analogy how
to treat ‘nothing’. If this should serve as an example for something,
it is therefore not for the problem of ‘nothing’, but an example for
the method in which the existence of the referent of any other
word can be proved. This method should be just as useful in
dealing with the words that seem to deny their referent. I therefore
agree with Marenbon that it is the problem of ‘negative’ concepts,
which connect the two parts.26 However, the words ‘nothing’ and
‘darkness’ are not only negative concepts, but also perform an
important function in the story of Creation. In my opinion, Ahner
was correct in this respect (but not in the identification with prime
matter). Moreover, the study of these two words from a
cosmological context fits the cosmological interest which Charles
displayed in 797-800. This does not mean that there is a
relationship between the words other than that they are negative
concepts and perform a function in a cosmological context. My
hypothesis is that the two parts were written as if they are fairly
separate lemmata for an encyclopaedia, providing a concise
explanation of the arguments for the existence of their referents
(arguments are elaborated in chapter 5).
Fredegisus started right away with using authority to prove
that darkness is something. This does not mean, however, that he
neglected reason, for it was used in the next few lines.
29-30 The question that Fredegisus is going to answer concerning
darkness has a slightly different nuance. Fredegisus wanted to
prove the existence of darkness, not that it was a definite thing
(aliquid). This slight difference has no real implications, however.
The elements of the etymological theory and the categories that
25
26
Fredegisus used stress the fact that darkness is a thing by proving

that it has properties just like all things.
32-33 Fredegisus first uses the Old Testament, later the New
Testament. See annotations to 6.
34-38 Just as in the part on ‘nothing’, first Fredegisus is going to
prove the existence by grammar, secondly by examining what this
thing is.27 Thus here he proves the existence of darkness through
grammar. The idea is that the verb ‘esse’ is a substantial verb, i.e.
that it declares the existence of the subject. Therefore if in genesis
1.2 it is said without a negation that ‘the darkness was over the
abyss’, the consequence is that darkness exists. It is from here on
that the expansion of the grammatical method from the word itself
to the context of a proposition is first seen. The word ‘darkness’
combined with the verb ‘esse’ constitutes a proposition after all.
Influenced by the theory of the categories, Fredegisus imagined a
correspondence between a true proposition and reality. Thus, if in
a true proposition (and propositions derived from Scripture were a
priori true) the predicate ‘darkness’ was combined with the verb
‘esse’ (the first category), this not only meant that the existence of
the darkness was stated, but also that the darkness existed in
reality. This idea of a correspondence between a true proposition
and reality is a counterpart of Fredegisus’ idea of the relationship
between a word and the thing it refers to. The theory of the
categories and the way that Fredegisus’ used it, is further
explained in chapter four.
The words ‘ponens’ and ‘tollens’ derive from stoic logics.
Fredegisus argument is a ‘modus ponens’ (In modern notation the
modus ponens is the following argument: P  Q, P, therefore P.
Fredegisus thus says: if the verb esse is used in its declarative
funtion, the nominative exists (P  Q). The verb esse is used
declaratively with tenebrae as nominative (P). Therefore tenebrae
exists.). It would be interesting to research to what degree these
terms were connected to logics and how logics were used in
Alcuin’s circle.
39 for annotations on the relation between reason and authority,
see 6.
41-42 This argument, and all the following except the one in 43-
50, all depend on a, which Colish calls ‘materialistic’ reading of the
27
Bible.28 The idea is that everything that can be touched must be

corporeal. If we compare these sentences with 80-82, then we
encounter a similar argument: something that is corporeal must
exist. The difference between both arguments is of course in the
justification. The argument here is justified by perception to the
sense of touch, while the argument of 80-82 is justified by the
concept of accidens, i.e. that what is predicated of a real subject.
The idea that an accidens is applied to a subject springs from the
theory of the categories. Both the argument here and 80-82 can be
derived from the Categoriae Decem, which Fredegisus very likely
read (see chapter 4).
Fredegisus’ use of the categories is explained by the
following inference in the Categoriae Decem: A predicate can be
applied to a subject. In a true proposition this reflects a state of
affairs in reality. Therefore, in a true proposition the use of a
predicate is an indication of the existence of the subject.
Fredegisus found his set of true propositions in the Bible.
43-57 This argument derives from assumptions about language
from etymological theory (chapter 4). The idea is that words and
things both have their origin in God. Therefore both perception in
41-42 and language play a role in the acquisition of knowledge.
Added to this idea of a common origin of words and things is the
principle of economy. Every action that God takes is filled with
purpose; therefore the words He gave must have referents. Colish
remarks that Fredegisus consciously brushed over the fact that
there was no strict analogy between nothing and darkness. 29 The
problem that she addressed goes back to Genesis 1.1-5. In Genesis
1.3, God explicitly created the light (and in Genesis 1.4 even said it
was good), but there is no parallel creation of darkness. The
darkness just was over the abyss in Genesis 1.2. On the other hand,
in Genesis 1.5 God gave names to light as well as darkness and the
grammatical function of both the names in the sentence is the
same. This may suggest that, since ‘day’ and ‘night’ have the same
function, darkness and light are similarly linked. If one wants to
see a difference between light and darkness, then one must explain
why God’s names in the text have the same grammatical status. If,
on the other hand, one wants to state that God’s names refer to
ibidem, p. 764.
28
29
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’ , pp. 761-762, 774, 785-
786.
entities that can be categorised together, then an explanation has

to be given for why Genesis has this difference in the creation of
light and darkness. Augustine, who chose the first option, has
taken a lot of effort to explain this grammatical parallelism. As
Colish observes, Augustine’s problem was that the darkness in
Genesis 1.2, not being explicitly created, was not a thing (aliquid)
like other created things.30 One of his solutions was to distinguish
between an uncreated ‘primal darkness’ referring to prime matter
in Genesis 1.2, and a different darkness in Genesis 1.4 that was
created to enhance the order in the Creation.
Colish makes the following inference: Fredegisus opted for a
literal reading of the grammatical parallel between ‘night’ and
‘day’, and therefore had to explain why the Bible made a difference
in speaking about light and darkness. Colish stipulates that
Fredegisus must have known about this difficulty. However, instead
of treating the problem, he didn’t even mention it, and instead
piled together both the uncreated and created darkness. Thus he
must have omitted it intentionally. I think that Colish is too
influenced by an Augustinian reading of the Bible in making this
inference. When would it have been important for Fredegisus to
address this difference in the first place? It would only have been
important if it made such a difference in Fredegisus’ mind that
darkness couldn’t be considered a thing anymore. We have seen
that for Augustine, darkness was denied the status of a thing in
Genesis 1.2. For Fredegisus, however, on grammatical grounds it
was already apparent in 33-38 that darkness was considered a
thing in Genesis 1.2. So Augustine’s problem just did not affect
him.31 Therefore I also see no reason for Fredegisus to distinguish
between the darkness in Genesis 1.2 and 1.4. The grammatical
parallel between Gods baptism of light as ‘day’ and darkness as
‘light’ is therefore justified for Fredegisus. It attests to the
wilfulness with which he used his grammatical tools.
58-63 These lines evolve around the idea that what exists must
have a location, because it would have been impossible to send the
30
ibidem, p. 772.
31
Augustine connects this problem with his reading of terram in Genesis 1.1 as
prime matter, to which the tenebrae in 1.2 also refer. In this case prime matter
cannot be a real thing, since it lacks form. If therefore Fredegisus had prime
matter in mind, then it would have been a problem for him. But neither in the
part on nihil (as Colish also says), nor in the part on tenebrae is there any sign of
Fredegisus speaking of prime matter.
darkness, if it was not something that could be located. This

argument is therefore related to 69-76. These arguments derive
from the theory of the categories, where ‘place’ constitutes a
category of its own.
64-65 Anachronistically one could say that the darkness is here
interpreted as an Aristotelian material cause.
66-67 This is the category of or ‘property’, which is normally
reserved for human subjects.
68 On the relation between the Old Testament and the New
Testament, see the annotation to 6.
69-76 To read ‘outer’ in this citation literally as a determination of
place instead of metaphorically seems strange. See the annotations
to 58-63.
77-79 If almighty God could choose to change his creation so that
darkness didn’t exist, he still couldn’t undo the fact that darkness
existed before his change.
80-82 Again, the idea that an accident is something that is
predicated of a subject derives from the theory of the categories.
New is the distinction which Fredegisus makes between ‘asserting
something of’ and ‘finding in’.32 The former happens when a
universal is predicated of a subject, the latter when an individual
property is predicated of a subject (see chapter 4). Fredegisus says
here that quantity is a predicate that is ‘found in’ a subject, thus
that it is a property. This means that the subject of which the
quantity is a property must exist.
On the use of the word probabilis see the annotation to 7-18.
84 Fredegisus again makes the distinction between reason and
authority (see the annotations to 6). In 84 he compares his letter to
a ‘rule’. In my opinion Fredegisus refers to a grammatical rule so
that he teaches his audience like a Latin teacher (see chapter 3 for
an elaboration).
32
Pseudo-Augustini Paraphrasis Themistiana, Categoriae Decem, ed. Laurentius
Minio-Paluello (Brugge-Paris 1961), par. 31.
PART II
Chapter 1
Historiography
t
here is a long tradition of research on the De substantia. From the
nineteenth century to the late seventies of the twentieth century,
historiography has counted/covered Fredegisus in the context of
the reason-faith debate.33 Adherents of ‘reason’ interpreted
Fredegisus as an ‘enlightened’ logician who used faith as a pretext
to follow his reason. The philosophically minded historians who
saw Fredegisus as such did not hold Fredegisus in high esteem: he
was a failed logician, because his mind was feeble and impeded by
Scripture.34 The ‘faith’ side treated Fredegisus as a theologian who
used reason to clarify his faith. They thought that with his letter
Fredegisus was performing exegesis on Genesis 1. Due to
Fredegisus’ literal-mindedness, they judged him as a failed proto-
33
This opposition is nicely sketched by Marcia Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over
Nihil and Tenebrae’ , p. 764-765, but she has been too harsh on certain
historians. As much as Marenbon (just like Prantl, for that matter) would have
wanted to understand a Fredegisus’ position on universals, his whole point was
that Fredegisus evaded the problem. Ahner showed that Fredegisus’ ideas on
the relationship between faith and authority were consistent with Augustine’s,
since he wanted to reject the overstretched thesis that Reuter and the
enlighteners had put forth. Yet he did not try to prove that Fredegisus was
developing here a whole theory of a ‘holistic system of truth’, as Colish claimed
in her ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’, p. 764. If Fredegisus’
ideas were consistent with Augustines and Alcuin’s, it may be that Fredegisus
did have a theory of such sort. I also believe that Colish overinterpreted Corvino.
She ascribed to Corvino the view that Fredegisus was the herald of an
intramental and logical semantics, but I have not ben able to distill this claim
from his paper.
34
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’ , p. 764, refers among
others to Gennaro, Fridugiso di Tours, p. 100, Ludovico Geymonat ‘I problemi
del nulla e delle tenebre in Fredegiso di Tours’ in Rivista di Filosofia (july 1952),
pp. 101-111, Marenbon From the Circle of Alcuin, p. 62
scholastic.35 Marcia Colish was right to deconstruct the images
that were created of Fredegisus in this debate. Fredegisus was
working under the assumptions and the knowledge of his time, and
had no knowledge of the reason-faith categories as they were used
by these historians. Current research on Fredegisus therefore
benefits much more from the results of placing Fredegisus in the
contexts of three late-antique traditions of knowledge. These
traditions, along with chronology, will form the analytical
instruments with which I have ordered the historiographical
material. One tradition was the logical-philosophical tradition of
Augustine and Boethius, with its commentaries on Aristotle. This
tradition has recently been linked to the second tradition: the
grammatical tradition of Donatus and Priscianus. The third
tradition, with which Fredegisus is connected, is the tradition of
the exegesis of Genesis 1, in which Augustine again figures
prominently. In historiography Fredegisus has been successfully
connected with these traditions. He was first linked with the
exegetical tradition, and next viewed from the logical and
grammatical traditions. Furthermore, a chronological treatment of
the authors seems to show that in modern times research
traditions in different languages succeeded each other. First the
Germans researched Fredegisus, after which the Italians took over
(not accounting for the odd Frenchman) and eventually an interest
in the Anglo-Saxon world took hold.
I will let modern historiography on Fredegisus start in 1844,
when Ritter published his Geschichte der Philosophie. Ritter’s
important original point cannot be put into one of the three late-
antique traditions of knowledge mentioned above. According to
him, Fredegisus attempted to give a description of the point of
contact between God and the creation in his concept of Nothing. 36
Since Nothing is the source of everything, including the soul which
is of a divine nature, Nothing itself has a divine nature. In other
words, it is God.37 Ritter herewith envisioned a line of negative
theology that runs from the Greek church fathers to Fredegisus
and John Scottus. His judgment of the mental powers of our author
35
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’ , p. 764, refers among
others to Ahner, Fredegis von Tours, pp. 24-36, 57-58 and Corvino, ‘Il “De nihilo
et tenebris” di Fredegiso di Tours’, pp. 276-279.
36
Heinrich Ritter, Geschichte der Philosophie VII (Hamburg 1844), p. 192.
37
Ritter, Geschichte der Philosophie VII, p. 191.
Historiography 48
is very positive, since he was gifted with a deep philosophical

understanding.38 Ritter answered the most important question
‘what did Fredegisus think he was doing?’ with the view that
Fredegisus was searching as a philosopher or, what we would now
call, a theologian seeking to understand his world. Ritter’s point,
that the meaning of Nothing may be the divine essence, has not
received the attention it deserved. Ritter did not take the three
late-antique traditions of knowledge into account; his point can
only be convincing if the logical and grammatical traditions are
also used in his argument.
Carl Prantl reached a different view. 39 His work deals with
the history of logic and philosophy from the Greek Eleatics to the
influence of the Arabs on medieval Europe. In this vast history,
Fredegisus obviously deserves only a small place. Yet Prantl is
rather positive about Fredegisus compared to the shoddy
patchwork (Flickwerken) that Alcuin supposedly produced. At least
some people like Fredegisus dared to pose a question of their own.
However, a dense fog impeded their understanding of their
problems (völligst Unklar), and the way Fredegisus addressed his
questions was Prantls’ object of scorn. According to Prantl, words
have yet to be found to describe the level, or lack of it, on which
logics were applied to the question. Therefore even Prantl’s wish to
determine Fredegisus’ place in the nominalism-realism debate
could not be fulfilled. This wish to apply the anachronistic terms of
nominalism-realism to Fredegisus disqualifies his appraisal of
Fredegisus for the current researcher. Yet, Prantl serves as a fine
example of nineteenth and twentieth century historiography on
Fredegisus, and he has had a profound influence on historiography.
Many other scholars who study a longer period in which
Fredegisus has to be placed, whether it is literature, like Max
Manitius, or philosophy like Maurice de Wulf and Prantl himself,
shared such a negative view.40 Moreover, Prantl is illustrative of
two possible traditions in which one can place Fredegisus: the
logical tradition and the exegetical tradition. To study Fredegisus
38
ibidem, p. 187.
39
First edition C. Prantl, Geschichte der Logik im Abendlande (Leipzig 1855). I
used the photocopied edition (Graz 1955). Fredegisus is treated on pp. 19-20.
40
Max Manitius, Geschichte der lateinischen Literatur des Mittelalters I
(München 1964
reprint), p. 460, Maurice de Wulf, Histoire de la philosophie médiévale I, p. 157.
Historiography 49
in the former tradition was Prantl’s main concern, but he scratched

on the surface of the latter when he claimed that Fredegisus’
question derived from Isidore. He ascribed the source of
Fredegisus’ question to a statement by Isidore, who said that
darkness didn’t exist. Isidore wrote this in the context of the
Christian doctrine that the world was created from nothing. 41
Because Prantl viewed the origin of the question in Isidore, he
thought that Fredegisus too commented on Genesis. So Prantl
specified what Fredegisus was doing. He was not just interested in
‘theology’, but took a specific question from his patristic legacy. In
answering this question, Prantl thought that Fredegisus was
commenting on Genesis. With this suggestion that Fredegisus in
his letter was actually doing exegesis of Genesis 1.1, Prantl
exercised a long lasting influence on subsequent historiography.
The first monograph devoted entirely to Fredegisus was
Fredegis von Tours. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Philosophie im
Mittelalter of Max Ahner. He wrote this work as a Ph.D. in theology
at the University of Leipzig in 1878. Ahner’s aim was to
comprehend Fredegisus’ theological goal in researching the words.
Ahner followed Prantl in his suggestion on Fredegisus’ aim and
tried, respectfully, to fit him into the tradition of exegesis. Ahner
confirmed Prantl’s negative judgment of the appliance of logic to
solve questions, and accused Fredegisus of quibbling
(Wortklauberei).42 But Ahner was willing to take the time to identify
explicitly some sources of Fredegisus’ views on the relationship
between words and things. Ahner connected Fredegisus to the
tradition of the vox significata, i.e. that a meaningful word must
have an extra-mental existing referent, which also surfaced in
some letters of Alcuin.43 Thereby he gave a first shot to the
important research into the state of knowledge in which
Fredegisus operated.
Finally, he denied Fredegisus the inclinations to negative
theology that were ascribed to him by Ritter. 44 According to Ahner,
Fredegisus had a triad in mind of a Creator, Nothing and a
Creation, which meant that it was impossible to identify Nothing
with the creator. Ahner had very different ideas on what
41
Prantl, Geschichte der Logik im Abendlande, p. 15
42
43
ibidem, p. 39.
44
ibidem, p. 52-53.
Historiography 50
Fredegisus meant by Nothing. Fredegisus’ observation that many

people discussed the question of nothing in vain served as a signal
for Ahner to search for a long tradition. Isidore, who was
suggested by Prantl in this context, was just not enough. Ahner
found a long tradition in the ideas on prime matter. Prime matter is
the inchoate matter that God created, out of which He formed his
creation. This tradition runs from Plato via the neoplatonists to
Augustine and the church fathers. Following to this tradition,
Alcuin presumably posed some questions in his work, to which
Fredegisus reacted.45 According to Fredegisus, Nothing was the
primal ‘stuff’ from which both material and spiritual things were
made. Therefore Nothing clearly bore the sign of prime matter. 46 In
this way Fredegisus sought to clarify the way in which the creation
from Nothing functioned. With his idea that Nothing actually was
prime matter, Ahner was elaborating on Prantl. Remember that
Prantl stated that Fredegisus was commenting on Genesis 1.1.
From Augustine on, the exegesis of Genesis 1.1 was linked to the
ideas on prime matter. In the explanation of the ‘heaven’ and
‘earth’ that were created, Augustine envisaged the ‘earth’ not as
our corporeal globe, but as the unformed prime matter. 47 An
amalgam was thus made between a philosophical theory of the
ancients and the exegesis of Genesis 1.1. When Fredegisus
identified Nothing with prime matter, it was this assembly with
which he connected.48 Augustine therefore served as the main
buttress for Fredegisus. It was clear for Ahner that Fredegisus was
doing exegesis and so he had clarified the how and the what of this
exegesis. Through Ahner’s study the misapprehension that
Fredegisus’ Nothing was prime matter firmly rooted itself in the
historiography until the 1970s. Its rejection has so far not been
substantiated.
Ahner’s nearly exclusive focus on the text concerning
‘nothing’ and his occupation with prime matter led him to a
pragmatic view on the occurrence of a separate part of ‘nothing’
and of ‘darkness’ in the letter. According to Ahner, Fredegisus
rejected the suggestion to interpret the darkness as that part of
45
ibidem, p. 46.
46
ibidem, p. 47.
47
Augustinus, De genesi ad litteram, I 2-3.
48
Historiography 51
the prime matter that was specific for material things. 49 Fredegisus
included the part on darkness simply because his public wanted to
know his opinion. Fredegisus was thus less inclined to look for a
connection between the two.
With Ahner, the German tradition of research on Fredegisus
discussed here came to a halt. It had tried to understand the letter
by placing its philosophical contents in two traditions: the logical
tradition and the exegetical tradition. Thereby it identified two
groups of sources which can be used in the study of Fredegisus.
Ahner’s study later exerted much more influence than Prantl. The
first serious study of Fredegisus in connection to this logical
tradition appeared only with Mignucci. German research thus
yielded a Fredegisus who had ascribed the characteristics of prime
matter to Nothing. Fredegisus’ goal in this would be to comment
on Genesis 1.1. This Fredegisus-as-exegist reflects the
disproportionate attention that Ahner gave to Nothing as opposed
to darkness.
After the German research tradition, an Italian surge of
interest in Fredegisus began. Ludovico Geymonat was responsible
for this ‘Italian connection’. For the historian, Geymonat’s article
seems only valuable as a curiosity. 50 Yet Geymonat did inspire
Francesco Corvino to take a closer look at our author. 51 He placed
Fredegisus in the context of the exegesis of Genesis 1 and totally
accepted Ahner’s idea that Fredegisus considered his Nothing to
be prime matter. He differed with Ahner’s views on the relationship
between the part on Nothing and the part on darkness. Corvino
perceived an intimate relationship between the two parts, since
Augustine interpreted the darkness in Genesis 1.2 as
49
Ahner, Fredegis von Tours 53-54. Ahner references to a suggestion of Werner,
Alcuin und sein Jahrhunderd (Paderborn 1876), p. 126.
50
I have only seen Gennaro Fridugiso di Tours’s abstract of Geymonat’s study of
1952, but he seems to have tried anachronistically to apply Gottlob Frege’s
theory of sense and reference to Fredegisus’ text. (Gennaro Fridugiso di Tours
107-110. Ludovico Geymonat ‘I problemi del nulla e delle tenebre in Fredegiso di
Tours’ in Rivista di Filosofia (july 1952) pp. 208-288. On Geymonat’s
interpretation, Fredegisus ascribed existence to Nothing because it is the human
think-act of total negation (Gennaro Fridugiso di Tours p. 108.). It is clear that
Fredegisus really did not entertain such an idea. Fredegisus ascribes an extra-
mental existence to Nothing, if only because nothing existed before the human
mind did. Geymonat apparently was interested in theoretical points and not so
much in the historical context of Fredegisus.
51
Corvino, ‘Il “De nihilo et tenebris”, p. 273
Historiography 52
‘unformedness’. Being without form was the most important

feature of prime matter, and therefore of the interpretation of
Fredegisus’ Nothing as prime matter. 52 Since Nothing was not to
be identified with prime matter, this idea of the connection
between the definitions of Nothing and darkness can not be valid.
Yet in the remaining part of his short essay, Corvino made a very
interesting suggestion.
Corvino was not satisfied with Ahner’s idea that Fredegisus
fitted neatly into the tradition of the church fathers. The deacon
qualified authority explicitly to the divine authority of Scripture. To
Corvino, this meant that Fredegisus took a polemical stance with
regard to this tradition. Corvino connected Fredegisus’ insistance
on divine authority with his ideas of extreme realism of words. This
led to the following suggestion: Fredegisus was interested in a
literal understanding of Sacred Scripture. 53 In this way Fredegisus
was opposing readers of Scripture who had a too allegorical or
symbolical understanding.54 Corvino developed his own theory on
what Fredegisus was doing when he wrote the letter: Fredegisus
promoted a literal understanding of Scripture and he performed
exegesis in the part of the letter which deals with ‘darkness’.
However, he was not performing exegesis in the text on ‘nothing’. 55
There he was ‘just’ trying to explain what a creation from nothing
meant. This way Corvino on the one hand nuanced Ahner’s answer
that Fredegisus was doing exegesis. On the other hand he added
another layer to the answer, namely that of the polemical
‘performance’ of Fredegisus’ letter. Corvino concluded that
Fredegisus was courageous in following through the consequences
that his premises forced on him. Corvino has to be credited with
suggesting several leads towards interesting new research options,
even though he himself was led to dead ends. In my opinion
Fredegisus did not take a polemical stance towards an allegorical
reading of genesis. Yet the idea that Fredegisus’ text had to
perform a function in its context, and that his method of reading
the Bible had a bearing on that function, had thus far been
ignored. These leads, together with the results from the research
on the logical and grammatical traditions, must yield new results.
52
ibidem, p. 275. Augustinus, Confessiones XII, cap. 3.
53
Corvino, ‘Il “De nihilo et tenebris”, p. 279.
54
ibidem, p. 276.
55
ibidem, p. 279.
Historiography 53
In 1963 Concettina Gennaro made a new critical edition of

the text of the De substantia nihili et tenebrarum which has been
used in most subsequent historiography. 56 She made no original
contribution to the interpretation of Fredegisus’ text, but she did
include abstracts of previous research. 57 Her book can therefore
serve as a good starting point for research on Fredegisus. She was
original, however, in the dating of Fredegisus’ text. Based on two
letters from Alcuin, she gave Fredegisus’ letter a probable dating
between 1st and the 30th of April 800.58 Thus she dated the letter
much earlier then Ahner did, since he deemed it probable to be
written somewhere in the years 804-815.59
It is after Gennaro’s publication that the greatest

discontinuity in historiography on Fredegisus appeared. From
Ahner on, the emphasis of research had been in placing Fredegisus
in the tradition of exegesis. Although Prantl’s study could serve as
a starting point, his (and Geymonat’s) view on Fredegisus can
hardly be considered as giving insight into Fredegisus ‘logical’
roots. Research on Fredegisus after Gennaro aimed to do exactly
this. Even more importantly, some fused this research on
Fredegisus’ logical heritage with another tradition: that of
grammar. Donatus’ and Priscian’s grammars provided useful
insights in the origin of Fredegisus’ views. With this shift in
orientation of research, two tenets came under attack that had
been left unquestioned for a century. First, Prantl’s idea that
Fredegisus was performing exegesis was rejected. Due to its
connection with this first idea, secondly Ahner’s view that
Fredegisus’ Nothing was prime matter was also rejected. This new
line of research clarifies so much of the De substantia that it has to
be taken into account by any historical research. Yet the emphasis
on logics and the rejection of the exegetical tradition obscured the
fact that ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ have an important role to play in
Christian cosmology.
56
Concettina Gennaro, Tours Fridugiso di Tours e il “De substantia nihili et
tenebrarum”. Edizione
critica e studio intruduttivo. Con una Aggiunta Paleografica di Anna Laura
Martorana (Padova 1963).
57
This is also the judgment of Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin, p. 62 n. 88.
58
Gennaro, Fridugiso di Tours, p. 64.
59
Ahner, Fredegis von Tours, p. 13-14.
Historiography 54
Another Italian author to research Fredegisus was Mario

Mignucci in 1979. He was the first to take the research in this new
direction. As shown in his title Tradizioni logiche e grammaticali in
Fredegiso di Tours, Mignucci connected our author to both the
logical and grammatical traditions. Because he chose only to
research Fredegisus’ analysis of ‘nothing’, Mignucci’s piece serves
as another example that there is a tendency in historiography to
pay much more attention on Fredgisus’ Nothing then on his
darkness. Nonetheless Mignucci’s piece is of high quality.
Mignucci tried to understand Fredegisus in his assumptions.
The first of Mignucci’s efforts in this effort of understanding was
his effort to demonstrate that it was sensible for Fredegisus to
suppose that a word refers to a thing. 60 All the theories of language
that were available to Fredegisus were pointing in the same
direction. There were three of these theories: the Aristotelian
philosophy of language and its commentaries of Boethius, the Stoic
logic and its appliance by Augustine in his theory of signs, and the
grammatical works of Donatus and Priscian. They all concluded
that eventually a word refers to a thing or extramental reality. For
Donatus and Priscian a nomen always refers to a corpus or res. In
the De Magistro, Augustine posits a strict relation between a
verbal signum and a res (except for the word ‘nothing’!). Boethius
in his commentaries of Aristotle’s De Interpretatione states that a
vox significata first refers to the concept in one’s head, but
secondly to the res of which the concept is an abstract mental
content.61
Secondly Mignucci elaborated on Fredegisus’ alleged
confusion between the two functions of the verb esse. Ahner stated
that Fredegisus confused the copulative function of ‘to be’ with the
existential function, when Fredegisus interpreted the rejection ‘it
seems to me that [it] is nothing’ in 19 as declaring the existence of
nothing.62 Mignucci exposed this ‘confusion’ as a normal thesis of
logic in the light of the categories of Aristotle. 63 ‘Being’ is the first
of the categories, and declares that the subject exists. This is the
first function of the verb. If in a proposition the subject is ascribed
a predicate, the function of the verb ‘to be’ will be copulative. Now
60
Mignucci, ‘Tradizione logiche e gramaticali’, p. 1009.
61
ibidem, p. 1008.
62
63
Mignucci, ‘Tradizione logiche e grammaticali’, p. 1010.
Historiography 55
the idea in the theory of the categories is that if in a true

proposition the subject is ascribed a predicate, the subject must
exist. Fredegisus was not confused at all, but simply implying
current logic. In this way logic theory confirmed his
presupposition, in the light of the stoic, Aristotelian and
grammarian theories mentioned above, that the word ‘nothing’
referred to a thing.
Mignucci’s third effort was to analyze in full Fredegisus’
argument for the existence of Nothing. 64 It has entirely found its
way into the annotations to 30-47 and in order to avoid too much
redundancy, I will not rehearse it here.
Because of his partial study of Fredegisus, Mignucci did not
come to an answer of what Fredegisus thought he was doing. Of
course, Fredegisus was reacting to a problem, the roots of which
according to Mignucci lay in Augustine’s De Magistro and Alcuin’s
Atheniensis sophista.65 But this does not clarify Fredegisus’ need or
intention to react to this problem in the first place. On another
issue Mignucci did have a definite opinion though. He rejected
Ahner’s interpretation of ‘nothing’ as prime matter as prejudiced
and overstretched.66 Yet he did not take the time to show what
exactly went wrong. Mignucci’s study serves its purpose as an
excellent technical study on the proof of Nothing.
After Mignucci, substantial contributions by two English
publishing authors were made, the English John Marenbon and the
American Marcia Colish. Both of these authors followed the new
line of research, but were apparently unaware of Mignucci’s
efforts. First I will consider the efforts of Marenbon. He did not do
explicit research on Fredegisus, but fitted Fredegisus in his wider
story of the appliance of logic to questions on Christian faith. John
Marenbon published his seminal From the circle of Alcuin to the
school of Auxerre in 1981, later to be followed by Early Medieval
Philosophy in 1983 and the essay Carolingian Thought in
Rosamond McKitterick’s book in 1994. 67 But, especially in From
64
ibidem, p. 1011.
65
ibidem, pp. 1006-1007.
66
ibidem, p. 1006.
67
John Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin to the School of Auxerre. Logic,
Theology and Philosophy in the Early Middle Ages. (Cambridge etc. 1981); Early
Medieval Philosophy (480-1150). An Introduction (London etc. 1983);
‘Carolingian Thought’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.), Carolingian Culture:
Emulation and Innovation (Cambridge 1994), pp 171-192. In ‘Carolingian
the circle of Alcuin, Marenbon came to a new appraisal of
Fredegisus’ work by comparing it to the achievements of the
Alcuin’s circle in the field of logic. Marenbon’s grand thesis is that
a fusion of logic and questions we would nowadays regard as
theological took place and actually constituted the birth of
philosophy in the Middle Ages (which continues in an unbroken
tradition to this day).68 In the ‘Munich passages’, fifteen passages
probably written by Alcuin and his pupils in the last decades of the
8th c. clarified for Marenbon the way in which the logical heritage
was not only assimilated, but also transformed. 69 The passages,
which include the Dicta Albini and the Dicta Candidi, deal with the
Trinity, the existence of God, the ten categories and contain some
exercises in the syllogistic method. Aristotle’s categories
(especially essence) were used in defining the divine, for example
in questions about the Trinity.
With Fredegisus in mind, a few interesting points can be
gathered from Marenbon’s description of the Munich passages.
Because of their use in theological questions, the categories
assumed a metaphysical significance they had originally lacked. 70
This is surely interesting in light of Fredegisus’ use of the
categories with regard to darkness. Moreover, according to
Marenbon, there was an enthusiasm in using the syllogism in
sometimes crude, logical deductions. 71 This fits Fredegisus’ text
like a glove. Finally, Marenbon gave an important clue to the
sources of logical theory with which the Carolingian scholars
worked, namely that they could be taken from a collection of
logical texts.72 This collection belonged to Leidrad, an associate of
Alcuin’s, and was written before 814. It contains, among others,
the Categoriae decem and Porphyry’s Isagoge, which have to do
with Aristotle’s categories and Boethius first commentary to the De
Interpretatione and Apuleius’ Perihermenias. It would of course be
Thought’ Fredegisus is only mentioned when Marenbon speaks about

carolingian theology, but I don’t take this as if Marenbon changed the context in
which he views Fredegisus.
68
69
ibidem, p. 43. Marenbon’s dating depends on the question of authorship of
several fragments. The best ms. is München clm 6407. For further mss. and
bibliographical details Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin, p. 32 n. 10.
70
ibidem, p. 54.
71
ibidem, p. 53; Early Medieval Philosophy, p. 49
72
Rome, Bibliotheca Padri Maristi A. II. 1.
Historiography 57
very interesting to see whether there is any trace of influence of

these and other logical texts on Fredegisus’.
It is now time to turn to Marenbon’s appraisal of Fredegisus.
Marenbon’s judgment of Fredegisus, who composed his letter after
Alcuin’s active stance towards his circle had ceased, was formed by
comparing Fredegisus with the logical achievements of Alcuin’s
circle. Marenbon regarded these favourably, and Fredegisus did
not stand up to the comparison. 73 Related to the Munich passages,
Fredegisus’ arguments were ‘crude’ and give a ‘distinctly
unfavourable impression of the mental powers of its author.’ 74 He
believed that Fredegisus’ mind was obviously of a lesser quality.
This downward trend would continue, since Agobard of Lyon, who
was engaged in a heated discussion with Fredegisus on the soul,
could not comprehend his points. So Marenbon suggested a
descending line from Alcuin and his scholars via Fredegisus to
Agobard. Fredegisus was thus seen as a waning of the fire of the
circle of Alcuin.75 However, the fire would soon blaze again with
Ratramnus of Corbie and John Scottus in the 860s. Fredegisus did
take a somewhat special place though, since he was the only one of
Alcuin’s circle to approach his questions in linguistic terms. 76 On
the question of Fredegisus’ intention with his letter, Marenbon was
clear. It was meant as an exercise in the new-found techniques of
logic, sparked off by a discussion of negative concepts that Alcuin
had started.77 The idea that Fredegisus with his description of
Nothing was attempting an exegesis therefore catches his scepsis,
just like Mignucci before and Colish after him. Since Marenbon
developed his judgement on Fredegisus in light of his studies on
the history of logic and theological questions, he totally missed the
influence of ancient linguistic ideas on Fredegisus, who was, after
all, not his main focus. For this reason the value of Marenbon’s
work lies in his facilitating the reconstruction of the mental
preoccupations of Fredegisus’ direct predecessors with this surge
of interest in logics.
73
Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin, p. 30-31; Early Medieval Philosophy, p.
52, although in this last page Fredegisus is included as part of the achievement.
74
Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin, p. 63, 66.
75
ibidem, p. 66.
76
Marenbon, Early Medieval Philosophy, p. 51.
77
Historiography 58
In 1984, Marcia Colish added her research on Fredegisus

and the Carolingian debates on Nihil and Tenebrae. In her
comprehensive article on Fredegisus, she cut Fredegisus loose
from the mutually exclusive labels of ‘philosopher’ or ‘exegete’.
Her interest was more in revealing the methods Fredegisus used in
writing his letter and how this reflected the Carolingian mentality.
In order to do this, she viewed Fredegisus in all the contexts that
have been given so far. The exegetical, as well as the logical-
philosophical and the grammatical contexts were all researched.
Actually, in his far shorter essay, Mignucci also noted them, but
Colish’ goal was different than Mignucci’s. Where he tried to
understand Fredegisus and read the sources to see where the
deacon got his ideas, she tried to show where Fredegisus went
astray and read the sources to see where they evaded him. This
mainly meant showing all the relevant instances where Augustine,
Boethius, Donatus and Priscian had posited a difference between
the meaning of a word and the extramental thing it made reference
to. Thereby she firmly caught up with the niche that Marenbon had
left her. Augustine the exegete could resort to explaining Scripture
in a metaphorical way. Thus he could claim that ‘night’ in Genesis
I.5 did not refer to a thing, although its function in the grammar of
the sentence was identical to ‘day’, which did refer to a thing (i.e.
light).78 Fredegisus explicitly made the opposite claim in 128-140.
Augustine the philosopher of language was convinced that an
intramental world of grammar existed, from which some words
(like ‘nihil’!) derived their meaning.79 Boethius shared this idea of
an intramental world of logic. In a proposition only some words
(nouns and verbs) referred to the extramental world, but all words
derived meaning from their function in the proposition. Only from
its place in a proposition could nihil mean anything, as the
negation of something else.80 Finally, they all (Augustine, Boethius,
Donatus and Priscian) shared a notion of relativity. Some words
derive their meaning from the relationships that they have with
other words, be it in linguistical or logical guise,. 81 The
78
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’ , p. 774. She refers to
Augustine, De genesi contra Manicheos I.9.15 and the De genesi ad litteram
imperfectus liber 5.19.
79
ibidem, pp. 769-770.
80
81
ibidem on Augustine, p. 771; on Boethius, p. 777; on the grammarians, p.
782.
Historiography 59
consequence is that they are impossible to understand by

themselves.
Thus Fredegisus did have the instruments available to him to
devise a more complex theory of language. Yet, less scrupulous
than his master Alcuin, Fredegisus didn’t put them to good use.
Blundering his way through the authorities, he showed some
familiarity with the idea that a separate significatio could be
posited. Unfortunately, he immediately sterilised the idea by
conflating it with both the words and the things. Fredegisus thus
substituted existence (esse) for meaning (significare), on the
alleged authority of the grammarians. It can already be seen in the
initial question, where Fredegisus does not ask what nihil and
tenebrae mean, but whether they are something.82
Fredegisus’ contemporaries pointed out the importance of
grammar to him, as evidenced by his theory of meaning. For this
use, he received critique in two opposite directions. On the one
hand there was Agobard, although he didn’t react directly to the
De substantia, but rather to other of Fredegisus’ works, which
supposedly were based on the same grammatical method. He
rejected Fredegisus’ grammatical method as a theory of meaning
in debates over ‘theological questions’, as we would now call them.
On the other hand, there was Charlemagne’s letter to Dungal,
explicitly ordering him not to go beyond the literal meaning of
Scripture. Apparently he thought Fredegisus’ grammatical method
was much too allegorical to suit Scriptural hermeneutics. 83 With
the description of these critiques, Corvino’s hypothesis of a debate
over how to read the Bible does come to mind again. On the basis
of Agobard’s critique, he took for granted that Fredegisus opted
for a literal reading. Therefore he identified Fredegisus as a
dialectic in the reason-faith debate. Charlemagne’s letter, on the
other hand, contradicted Fredegisus’ supposed ‘literal’ method, so
that it is at least problematic to see Fredegisus solely as a
dialectic. It is here that Colish’ deconstruction of the former
historiography becomes clear. If it weren’t a question of Fredegisus
being either philosopher or an exegete, how then would Colish
want to see him?
In order to put Fredegisus’ works into perspective, she
briefly describes the use of grammar in selected works of the time:
82
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’, pp. 786-787.
83
ibidem, p. 768.
Historiography 60
a discussion between Gottschalk of Orbais and Hicmar of Rheims

over the Trinity in the mid 9th c., in the ideas of Sedulius Scottus
and in a discussion between an anonymous monk of Saint-Germer
de Fly and Ratramnus of Corbie over the world soul in the 860s.
According to Colish, “Carolingian debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’
distils the Carolingian mentality out of these discussions and finds
that they were at least as concerned with reacting to peers as they
were with recapitulating classical and patristic knowledge”. 84 In
reacting to their peers, the Carolingians permitted themselves
great freedom, indeed even irresponsibility sometimes, in their use
of authorities and contemporary texts. While using the texts they
were not thinking about what a faithful representation of an
authority was at all, or what constituted going ‘beyond’ such a
faithful representation. They were convinced, however, that the
liberal arts (namely grammar and logic) provided the tools to solve
a question. Fredegisus fits perfectly into this image. His tool of
preference was grammar, but he didn’t always use it effectively.
The question that ultimately drove Fredegisus in the De substantia,
according to Colish, was the same problem Augustine once had
faced: the interpretation story of creation in Genesis.85 Thus
Fredegisus was ascribed what we would now call a theological
interest in the grammatical method. Marcia Colish thus hit the nail
on the head, and her idea of a theological interest and a
grammatical method underlying his works have been the
foundation of this thesis. Her study, along with the deconstruction
of previous historiography and the description of Fredegisus’
method paved the way for a new perspective on Fredegisus within
the Carolingian culture regarding authors and texts.
Historiography on the De substantia so far has mainly

focussed on the exegetical and logical traditions which might have
had an influence on Fredegisus. The rejection of the identification
of Nothing with prime matter is correct, but so far has never been
argued. The reasoning behind this rejection will therefore be the
starting point of this thesis. This rejection has in turn has led to a
rejection of the idea of the exegetical aims of Fredegisus himself.
Subsequent historiography has focussed on the research of the
logical and grammatical roots of Fredegisus’ arguments and has
84
85
ibidem, p. 794.
Historiography 61
stopped trying to interpret the meaning of Nothing. The

consequence was a ‘shallow’ interpretation of the De substantia,
which viewed the text only as an exercise in logics. This approach
is too narrow to lead to a full-fledged research on the epistle. It is
still a meaningful enterprise to explore the concept of Nothing,
particularly since, as Colish also states, Fredegisus had both a
theological and cosmological interest. Moreover, the technical
research on Fredegisus’ assumptions has so far only focused on the
proof of the existence of Nothing, not on the existence of darkness.
The proof of the existence of darkness has lacked attention as an
autonomous part of the De substantia in the research on
Fredegisus’ logical roots. The consequence is that Fredegisus’ use
of the categories, probably as Marenbon described in the form of
the Categoriae decem, has not yet been studied. Nor has the
etymological context been taken into account. Etymological theory,
well described by the dissertation of Mark Amsler, provided many
assumptions about words and language. Therefore this theory
needs to be used to explain certain elements of the proof of
darkness in Fredegisus’ letter. Comparing the different methods
that Fredegisus used to prove the existence of Nothing and
darkness, can only be beneficial for the interpretation of
Fredegisus idea of Nothing. The chapter on methods will use such
a comparison.
The major lacuna in the research on the De substantia so far
is the research on the context of the letter. Marcia Colish cleared
the way for this research by deconstructing historiography from
the reason-faith debate and by showing that Fredegisus used the
same method as other writers in his times. Further, she set an
example in describing following ninth century debates on nothing
and darkness. However, so far there has not yet been any
synchronized contextualisation. Of course, attention has been
given to Alcuin, but can anything be said about his relations with
other members of court, for example Dungal? And still more can be
said about the how Fredegisus did or maybe did not fit into the
program Alcuin had with the Carolingian Renaissance. The
previous decennia have seen a lot of research on the court and on
the educational component of the Carolingian Renaissance by
historians such as John Contreni. These need to be used in order to
gain a full perspective on the De substantia. Other sources, such as
glossaries and other letters written in the context of the court,
Historiography 62
shed light on Fredegisus epistle as well. On the other hand,

Fredegisus’ letter can highlight some interests of court circles in
these other sources and also show how totally different sorts of
sources such as court letters, philosophical texts and glossaries
can be related to each other. I will therefore use these sources to
develop a hypothesis on the use of the De substantia in the final
chapter and to understand Fredegisus’ concern with words in the
next chapter. It is to prime matter and words that the thesis will
next turn.
Chapter 2: statement
Much Ado about Fredegisus’ Nothing
f
rom this chapter on, I will develop my own interpretation of the De
substantia. As the first of these chapters, the aim here is to provide
a first introduction to Fredegisus’ letter. The first step is to analyze
what this letter was about, in a most general way. The first
noteworthy observation is that the question Fredegisus asks in his
letter has to do with a mere two words. The second observation is
that Fredegisus’ answer is that these two words have referents.
These observations are not earthshaking. In fact, they are so
obvious that an interpreting researcher might not take them
seriously. Yet these observations about the statement of the letter
have farreaching implications for any research into Fredegisus’
methods of derivation, and for the interpretation of the intended
use in its relevant social and intellectual context. It is only since
Mignucci and Colish that Fredegisus’ methods have received due
attention; hitherto, the use of the letter has been neglected. Since
the statement is so fundamental, it is justified to put Fredegisus’
question about words into context and see where this interest in
words came from. The Carolingians had a pervasive concern with
the learning of correct Latin, and Fredegisus’ question fits
perfectly in this context. I will call this concern the ‘linguistic
focus’. It meant that in his letter, Fredegisus was primarily
interested in the words and their relation to the things, and only
secondarily in the nature of these things themselves.
Yet it is the nature of the things, especially of the entity
called ‘Nothing’, to have provoked intensive study, at least in the
80 years since Max Ahner wrote his dissertation. This has led to
the idea that Fredegisus actually meant prime matter with his
thing of Nothing. From Mignucci onwards, the identification of
Nothing with prime matter has been rejected. 86 I fully support this
86
Mignucci, ‘Tradizioni logiche e grammaticali’, p. 1005-1006; Marenbon, From
the Circle of Alcuin, pp. 63-64; Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and
rejection. However, it has never been substantiated. So far, nobody
has scrutinized the tradition of prime matter as it was available in
Fredegisus’ time and compared the findings with his description of
Nothing. As the substantiation of such opinions is fundamental to
any historical enterprise, it is important to review the concept of
prime matter as it appeared in Plato, Calcidius and Augustine, in
order really to be able to make a comparison.
This chapter thus sets out to do two things. First it will not
only say but prove that Fredegisus’ Nothing really was not prime
matter. This interpretation will be cleared once and for all so that
the ‘positive’ research on the De substantia can begin. This
actually constitutes a ‘detour’, since it does not get us any closer to
developing a hypothesis about the meaning or use of the De
substantia. It will, however, clear away a long standing obstacle. In
order to get rid of this obstacle for good, I am prepared to give as
much latitude as necessary to this rejection. I have an ulterior
motive to arrive at another interpretation of Nothing instigated by
an analysis of the methods Fredegisus used. Therefore a subplot
begins here with the rejection of Nothing as prime matter and we
will return to this subplot with another interpretation at the end of
the next chapter. Secondly this chapter will also describe the
linguistic focus which Fredegisus’ question derived from. This
linguistic focus gives the right context with which the aims and
priorities of Fredegisus can be interpreted. His first aim and
priority was to show that ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’, like normal
words, have referents. Such information is very important if one
wants to use words correctly. Without further ado we will turn our
attention to prime matter.
1. Prime Matter: ‘Dreams with Open Eyes’.
Before we delve into the history of prime matter, a short

description of Nothing has to be given here. It is important to
review the reason why it would be attractive to see Nothing as
prime matter in the first place. This reason is simple: according to
Fredegisus, every thing that was created came from Nothing.
Combined with his idea that Nothing is a thing, it is attractive to
Tenebrae’, p. 760.
Much ado About Fredegisus’ Nothing 65
see Nothing as material for creation. Whether Nothing itself is

created is a question I will leave unanswered here. Some
traditional accounts of prime matter purport an uncreated prime
matter, some a created prime matter. The deacon said more about
the nature of Nothing, however. Nothing is something ‘great and
shining, or noble’ (magnum quidam ac praeclarum est in 23). Yet it
is impossible to understand the nature of this noble thing, since it
is already impossible to define the nature of the important things
that were created from it (27). If Fredegisus really wanted to refer
to prime matter with this description, I presume that he would
have adhered to the tradition of prime matter. It would be possible
for Fredegisus of course to posit a totally new and different prime
matter of course, but it is very unlikely. Why would he want to
think up a new definition of prime matter if tradition provided him
with one? Further, if he wanted to describe a new sort of prime
matter, he would have needed to go much deeper into his theory to
clarify his vision. Fredegisus did not go deeply into his
interpretation of Nothing, and if he had definite ideas they must be
inferred from his scanty remarks. Therefore the concept of prime
matter, with which he was already provided serves as a fine
yardstick to measure Fredegisus’ ideas. We will thus address the
part of the history of the concept of prime matter which is
important for the middle ages. It will be shown that Nothing is
disqualified as prime matter because of the extra features which
Fredegisus ascribes or withholds from his description of Nothing
and the absence of some others. Be advised that for the sake of
brevity (and so as not to exceed the author’s proficiency) we will
proceed with giant steps.
Plato
It will not come as a surprise that this history starts with
Plato’s Timaeus. This later dialogue by Plato, on natural
philosophy, has had a profound influence on Western intellectual
history through its popularity in late antiquity. Moreover, this was
the only one of Plato’s dialogues that was known in the early
middle Ages through Calcidius’ translation into Latin, and
therefore deserves attention.87 In this dialogue, it is the
Pythagorean Timaeus of Locri (Italy), introduced as an honorable
87
Karsten Friis Johansen, A History of Ancient Philosophy. From the Beginnings
to Augustine (London 1998) p. 237.
statesman and astronomer-philosopher, who does most of the

talking.88 Plato describes something that we could call ‘prime
matter’ two times, since he voices his cosmology through Timaeus’
mouth twice (29a-b, 48e-51 b). The first time he gives a rough
framework for his cosmology and the second time he treats it more
intimately.
Before he starts the first section, Plato distinguishes some of
the concepts needed to explain the cosmos in a prelude. Eventually
there are three concepts, here he distinguishes two of them. He
contrasts the change in our opinions and perceptions with the
lasting insight we achieve through reasoning. Something that
changes never really is something, since it changes into something
else. For the same reason something that is must be stable, since
change would form it into something else. Therefore he
distinguishes Becoming, which is the object of our senses, from
stable Being, the object of intelligence. In a second step Plato
combines the two concepts by telling how the Demiurge (God)
pressed an eternal model of Being into the changing sensory world
of Becoming. The cosmos is further given a soul with which it can
have insight into this eternal model, since a being with intelligence
is fairer then a being lacking it.89 Plato then proceeds to describe
the way in which the soul is interwoven with the material body of
the cosmos. In this way the first account of the cosmology had a
focus on the mind.
In this account, prime matter is described as follows. As
stated, the Demiurge, like a good craftsman, used the stable model
to shape the world. He can be compared to a potter who has a
stable model of an ellipse in mind while shaping the clay. The
question is then is which ‘clay’ the Demiurge used to impress with
his model. This of course is the changing sensory world of
Becoming. Before the model was imposed on the sensible world,
the movement was chaotic, without order. Although Plato does not
use the term, the prime matter in this account is thus the formerly
erratic change of the sensible world. Current interpretation of
Plato treats this story of creation as a metaphor in order better to
understand the relationship between the concepts.90 But for a
88
Plato, Timaeus transl. Donald J. Zeyl (Indianapolis 2000) 20a, 27a.
89
Plato, Timaeus, 30b.
90
Johansen, A History of Ancient Philosophy, p. 238. This does not mean that this
only is a modern position. Also in antiquity there were commentators defending
medieval reader, with the second century apologetics in the lead,

the Demiurge could be transformed into the Christian God, and the
story could be read as a sequence of events (although ‘sequence’
here is not necessarily meant in a temporal way because of the
doctrine that time was created along with the world. ‘Sequence’ is
rather read in a causal or logical sense).91
In the second section, the notion of prime matter is more
complicated. Prime matter is at the same time the third concept
that Plato uses to explain the cosmos, namely Space. He alludes to
this concept as follows. Mind, which was the focus of the first
section, is not the only factor that determines the world. Necessity
is another factor, and so the second section focuses on necessity in
cosmology.92 For this reason the second section has the interplay
between mind and necessity woven into it. Although mind may
guide necessity so that most things change for the best, everything
that changes necessarily has to change somewhere, namely in
Space.93 Thereby Plato introduces the third concept for the
explanation of the cosmos: Space. In order to do justice to the
concept of Space, we have to realize that Space was not our
infinite vacuum. Plato also used the words ‘receptacle’, ‘wetnurse’,
‘mother’ and ‘receiver’.94 Space was apparently not just the place
where it all happened, but also a container in which change took
place. This container again is not to be imagined as a metal box
with a vacuum inside, into which things can be placed or taken out.
On the contrary, it fills up the whole space which it surrounds,
since it is this space. Space for Plato, or the early medieval
intellectual for that matter, certainly was not infinite (actually it
was a sphere). That which was impressed on to the container, or
left it, were the eternal Forms, the collection of which made up the
eternal model. The nature of the container was such that it was
totally malleable and could receive each and every form without
taking on a Form itself.95 The container was so to speak, ‘inert’. The
this view. Joseph Torchia, “Creatio ex nihilo” and the Theology of St. Augustine:
the Anti-Manichaean Polemic and Beyond (New York 1999), p. 23.
91
On the second century apologetics’ uneasy relationship with the Timaeus, see
Torchia, “Creatio ex nihilo”, pp. 6-14.
92
Plato, Timaeus, 47-48a.
93
Plato, Timaeus, 47a; 52a.
94
Plato, Timaeus, in the Donald Zeyl translation: 49a for ‘receptacle’ and
‘wetnurse’, 50d for ‘mother’; 53a for ‘receiver’.
95
Plato, Timaeus, 50b-c.
reason why this container of Space was prime matter was that
change in the sensible world of Becoming could then be
understood as the coming and going of Forms into and out of the
container. In other words: the change we perceive is actually Space
taking on different Forms over time. And so when Plato spoke of
the sensible elements of earth, water, fire and air (the last three of
which constantly change into one another), he did not describe
them as things, but as manifestations of this container. 96 The
container, or Space, therefore was prior to these elements: it was
the substrate or prime matter from which perceptible matter was
formed. Yet this container is very hard to grasp, since our senses
are only apt to perceive the forms. When thinking about it, we are
dreaming with our eyes open and only a ‘bastard reasoning’ can
allow our comprehension.
Although the Latin translation of the Timaeus seems to have
been available to the circle of scholars with which Fredegisus
worked or was part of, Plato’s prime matter has not directly
influenced Fredegisus’ account of Nothing.97 Neither Plato’s
chaotic movement nor Space as a container that manifests itself in
the sensible world are to be found in Fredegisus’ description of
Nothing. A further fundamental difference between Space and
Nothing is that things are in Space, so that Space remains while
the things change. But Fredegisus’ idea was that things were
created out of nothing (ex nihilo), so that Nothing could be
separated from the thing that came from it. I think that Fredegisus
would have found it contradictory to have a thing (e.g. an element)
be another thing (namely Nothing) at the same time. Contrarily for
Plato any perceptible element was itself Space, since it is only a
manifestation of Space. A last difference is that for Plato the soul
was not a product of prime matter, whereas for Fredegisus the soul
and other spiritual entities come from Nothing. Thus it is very clear
that Plato’s receptacle of Space did not serve as a model for
Fredegisus. Augustine’s reworking of neo-platonism on the whole
made it more attractive for modern scholars to see Fredegisus’
Nothing in the light of prime matter.
Plato, Timaeus, 51a-b.

96
97
Marenbon, From theCircle of Alcuin, p.57. Chalcidius’ translation only goes to
53c, but all the previous citations from the Timaeus are from this first part.
Chalcidius
Before we turn to Augustine another possibility must be
considered. As I mentioned earlier, a copy of Calcidius’ translation
of the Timaeus was probably present in the circles wherein
Fredegisus moved. This translation was accompanied by an
extensive commentary by the translator, probably written during
the first half of the fourth century for bishop Hosius of Cordoba. 98
This commentary may have influenced Fredegisus. According to
Calcidius’ commentary, it is the part on necessity (De Silva), Plato’s
necessity of course, that is of interest for this thesis. In this part he
treated matter extensively. It is far too long and complicated to
describe in full, and it merits an extensive commentary such as van
Winden has done. Nonetheless, for the purpose of this thesis, it is
safe to claim that Calcidius’ ideas on prime matter are largely in
accordance with Plato’s Space. Matter is the third kind of concept
or principle, which Chalcidius places next to the two other
principles. These to other principles are the unchangeable ideas,
which according to Calcidius are exemplars in God’s mind, and the
coming in to being, i.e. the species which are the images of the
ideas.99 Therefore matter is without form and quality, like wax
ready to be impressed with forms from the outside. 100 Calcidius
differed from Plato in that he consequently calls this third kind
‘Matter’ and not Space. This does not mean that his matter
conforms to our normal understanding of the word matter. Though
he wanted his matter to be considered neither corporeal nor
incorporeal, since it was prior to corporeal or incorporeal things. 101
It was potentially both, and therefore the substrate out of which
corporeal and incorporeal things were formed. It was therefore just
as hard to know matter as it is space. Since the senses perceived
corporeal things and the intellect comprehends incorporeal things,
neither is able to grasp matter.102
98
Jacob van Winden, Calcidius on Matter, his Doctrine and Sources: a Chapter in
the History of Platonism (Leiden 1959), p. 2.
99
Calcidius, par. 344. I have taken the liberty mainly to cite from what van
Winden calls the ‘verifying paraphrase’, that is the third and concluding time
(after the introduction and the argument) that Calcidius presents his ideas.
100
Calcidius, par. 321.
101
Calcidius, par. 319-320. Incorporeal matter is to be understood as the
intelligible.
102
Calcidius, 345-347.
It is plain from the stress on matter instead of Space, and

from the choice of words such as ‘quality’ and ‘potential’ that there
was a markedly Aristotelian influence on Calcidius’ work. This is
not so strange since the Middle Platonists seem to have used
Aristotle as a commentator on Plato.103 I think it is useful to clarify
Aristotle’s concept of matter and to see whether this might have
generated interpretative possibilities for Nothing. A strong caveat
is in order though, for these remarks will mostly be a
misrepresentation of Aristotle. Still, here we are not really
interested in a fair rendering of Aristotle, rather in Calcidius’
interpretation of his work.104 Conveniently, Calcidius included in
the De Silva a doxography on the concept of matter, in which he
addressed Aristotle (which by the way might nuance the common
idea of what could be known of Aristotle in the early Middle Ages).
My strategy will be to take pieces out of Calcidius’ sometimes
obscure explanation of Aristotle and recount them hopefully more
clearly. These pieces will serve to deepen our understanding of
Calcidius’ matter, which eventually will result in three different
interpretative possibilities for Nothing. Eventually we can then
compare matter to Nothing.
Calcidius based his ideas on the first book of Aristotle’s
Physics, chapters 8 and 9.105 We should first explain why Aristotle
stressed matter and rejected Space as a principle out of necessity.
The best way to give this explanation is through Aristotle’s critique
103
Van winden, Calcidius on Matter, pp. 144-145, 171.
104
A fortiori this concerns the concept of prime matter. For I think that Calcidius
read Aristotle as speaking of prime matter, while contemporary scholarship
strongly debates whether Aristotle had prime matter in mind. But since
Calcidius is not really straightforward in this, this claim would need an
argumentation which is beyond this paper. Russel Dancy denies prime matter in
Physics book 1 in ‘on some of Aristotle’s second thoughts about substances:
Matter’ in The Philosophical Review, LXXXVII (no. 3, July 1978) pp. 372-413
while admitting it in the second book of On Generation and Corruption. But
Keimpe Algra also undermines a last stand of Aristotelian prime matter in On
Generation and Corruption, albeit in another locus, in ‘On Generation and
Corruption I.3: Substantial Change and the Problem of Not-Being’ in Frans de
Haas and Jaap Mansfeld (eds.), Aristotle: On Generation and Corruption, Book I
(Oxford 2004) pp. 91-122.
105
Although Calcidius among other works also uses the Metaphysics and On
Generation and Corruption a lot. Van Winden included a useful index on
quotations from ancient sources, Calcidius on Matter, pp. 248-251.
of Plato.106 A discussion arises around the question what the
principles of the becoming of things are. 107 According to Aristotle
there were three principles to this type of change: matter, form and
privation. Take, for example, shapeless bronze.108 Bronze can serve
as the material or substrate out of which many things can be made,
for example statues, coins or swords. But as yet the bronze is not
anything. This is because it lacks a shape which would compel an
observer to call it anything, namely a statue, a coin or a sword. 109
The shape which would ultimately make it anything of note is
called the form. But for now, it lacks a form; in other words, it has
a privation of form. Now Aristotle’s critique of Plato’s concept of
Space is that it conflates privation and matter. If matter lacks form
by nature (as it does in Space) then the following problem arises.
We know it is possible for form to be created out of shapeless
matter. We can change the shapeless bronze into statues or coins.
Thereby the form comes to be. Yet there must be something that
‘desires’ the form, since the form cannot come into being out of
nothing. To say this would violate the law of non-contradiction.
Therefore, form cannot be yearned for by privation, since with the
coming of the form, the privation will be ‘destroyed’ (because it is
the opposite of form). In fact, privation is evil and tries to
counteract form. Something other then privation must desire the
form. The form itself does not ‘yearn’ for form, since the form
already is perfect (otherwise it would change into itself and that
would in fact nullify the change). If the bronze were already a
statue, it could not ‘yearn’ for the form of the statue and change
into one. Therefore there must be something else that yearns for
the change from a lack of shape to a thing. That ‘something else’,
of course, is matter. It is the matter of the bronze that desires the
form. So matter has to be distinguished from privation and from
106
This critique is mainly worked out in Aristotle, Physics I.9.
107
With Aristotle this is a question for sublunary physics.
108
This is the clearest example, but the ultimate use for this theory is for
biological beings, where –as opposed to artifacts- the maker is much less clear.
In this example I am going to talk of bronze as matter in an abstract way.
Aristotle no doubt would want to talk about a specific pile of bronze and not of
bronze in general.
109
Although looking at a ‘lower’ level, this is not true, since the bronze itself has
a particular shape which differentiates bronze from other metals. Bronze itself
therefore has a matter of its own (the elements from which the bronze is formed)
and a form (the specific ratio in which these elements are mixed together).
form, since it can have both privation and form. Therefore neither
form nor privation (according to Plato) belongs to the nature of
matter. In other words, they are accidental.110
Chalcidius has a second way of explaining the same coming
into being of things, which may be interesting for the
interpretation of the De substantia.111 It is from this explanation
that a first interpretative possibility for Nothing is derived. We can
picture for ourselves something that is bound to come into being,
but it is not yet there. We can plan that we are going to make a
statue out of the bronze, but for now it is still shapeless. Then we
can say (assuming that no one or thing impedes us) that the statue
will be made. In Calcidius’ terms, we can say that the statue has a
potential existence, but it is not yet realized. Thus, ‘coming to be’
can be seen as the progression from a possible existence to a
realized existence. The two explanations are connected in the
following way. Matter is capable of having both the opposite of
form and of privation. When matter has a privation of form, it does
not exist as anything. When bronze is shapeless, we cannot say
that it is a statue or a collection of coins. But it has the potential of
assuming a form so that something, the statue, comes into being. 112
In this way the matter becomes the actual (realized) statue. So the
matter by itself (without taking a state of privation of form into
account) can be seen as a potential body, but it is not yet an actual
body.113
In his ideas on matter, Calcidius tried to combine the Platonic
and the Aristotelian notions.114 From this combination a creation in
two phases arose. The first phase of this creation account provided
110
This paragraph was mainly based on paragraph 286 of the De Silva. Van
Winden is not impressed by Calcidius’ apprehension of Aristotle and asks himself
whether he understood the Stagirite, Calcidius on Matter, pp. 84, 88. The
greatest divergence with our current understanding of the doctrine of Aristotle
in book I of the Physics is in my view that the notion of the subject
(hupokeimenon), which is the real underlying factor in change, is not mentioned
by Calcidius. But this notion comes to the fore in I.7, while Calcidius uses mainly
I.8 and I.9.
111
Calcidius paragraph 285. Also according to Aristotle this is another way of
explaining change. In e.g. Metaphysics Λ.5 he treats it right after the principles
of form, matter and privation.
112
The change in terms from possible-realization to potential-actual is deliberate.
Calcidius changes in the same way from paragraph 285 to paragraph 288.
113
Calcidius paragraph 288. Calcidius does make a distinction between an active
and a passive potency, but it does not seem necessary for this paper to treat.
a second possibility to derive Nothing from Calcidius. Matter still
was a container that could be regarded as Space. But the capacity
for this matter to receive forms and opposite qualities was seen in
terms of potentiality.115 This is important for another reason.
Remember the two ways in which Plato described the prime
matter: first as chaos of the sensible world before the ordering,
and second as Space. In Calcidius’ commentary on Plato’s story of
creation, which he sets out in paragraphs 352-354, Plato’s two
ways of describing ‘coming to be’ (receptacle and chaos) evolved
into separate phases.116 First there is a phase in which uncreated
matter is without qualities (thus without the opposites hot-cold,
wet-dry) and motionless. It is the receptacle which can receive
forms but as yet has none. It can therefore be seen by Calcidius as
pure potentiality, ready to receive opposite qualities and forms. In
this phase Aristotle’s notion of potentiality and Plato’s notion of
Space are combined. Next qualities, or ‘vestiges of bodies’ are
‘dropped’ into the matter, causing a disturbance. Calcidius
compares it with the dropping of pebbles into a still pond. Who it
was that ‘dropped’ the qualities in the material pond remains a
mystery, by the way. Matter cannot counteract the qualities that
are dropped therein, since it has no opposing qualities of its own.
Therefore the whole ‘surface’ of matter is brought into disorderly
motion, just like the whole surface of the pond eventually would be
in a turmoil from the pebbles (do not imagine nice circular waves).
This is the second stage of creation, which clearly resembles the
idea of a chaotic prime matter of the sensible, but turns it from a
mythical stage into something real. By this chaotic movement,
Providence can order the elements by their qualities and thereby
separate the materials of fire, water, earth and air. The other
bodies are made out of these elements.
Before I go into the usefulness of ‘matter as potentiality’ for
Nothing, I first want to briefly consider another option arising from
Calcidius’ writings. This will provide us with the third
114
Van Winden, Calcidius on Matter, p. 241. Actually Calcidius probably thought
matter was a good translation concept that the words ‘Space’ and ‘receptacle’
and ‘nurse’ all try to convey. Calcidius saw Aristotle as a Platonist, and not, as
we are used to do, as his foremost critic. Van Winden, Calcidius on Matter, p.
142. This makes one wonder whether Calcidius understood Aristotle’s critique
on Plato through the concept of matter.
115
See for example Calcidius’ paragraph 321.
116
Although this paragraph will be mainly based on Calcidius’ paragraph 352.
interpretative possibility for Nothing. In the introductory

paraphrase of the treatise on matter, there is the small paragraph
271, which is called ‘Names of matter’. In this paragraph, matter is
called necessity. This conforms to the Platonic idea that everything
necessarily has to change in something, so that Space can be
considered as necessity. Calcidius converts this argument to
matter, stating that every thing is material, so that matter is the
necessity. Matter is therefore to be considered as a conditio sine
qua non of things.117
There are now three new possibilities in which to view
Fredegisus’ Nothing. First we have the ‘new’ notion of matter as
potency, and, closely linked to this, the second the idea of matter
as a sine qua non which we can use to interpret Nothing. Is it
conceivable to think of Nothing as a potency out of which things
come into existence by God’s act of creation? This seems
impossible, since the whole idea of matter as potentiality is that it
is not actually anything, only potentially something. Yet Nothing
really is something, which disqualifies it as potency. On top of this
comes that Calcidius’ text is sometimes obscure. Our interpretation
of Calcidius is greatly facilitated by having access to his ultimate
sources. Yet Fredegisus lacked these sources. The idea that
Nothing may be seen as a conditio sine qua non for the creation
seems more promising. This too, however, is not realistic: the idea
is derived from only two sentences of Calcidius, it is closely linked
with his notion of matter as potency, and Fredegisus shows no
positive sign of having adopted this idea. A third, new possibility is
that the story of creation is split up into two separate phases. First
there is prime matter, then the formation of things. It just might be
possible to see the prime matter as Nothing and the things as
Fredegisus’ elements and light etc. However, if Fredegisus thought
of creation in two phases, Calcidius does not come across as a
possible source. The context of Calcidius’ two phases has definite
elements that Nothing lacks: prime matter as potency and the
dropping of the ‘qualities’ or ‘vestiges of bodies’. Therefore also
Chalcidius’ two phases of creation do not qualify to interpret the
De substantia. Yet this does not mean the end for the idea of
Nothing as a stage in creation. The same idea of a creation in two
phases figures in Augustine’s writings, and it may be far more
useful in the context that he provides for it. Here it is safe to say
117
Van Winden, Calcidius on Matter, p. 40.
that Fredegisus did not use Calcidius’ commentary on Plato for his
Nothing, however high the probability may be that he actually had
it at his disposal. Thus Augustine, the most recent and influential
author on prime matter available to Fredegisus, offers the best
chance to identify Nothing with prime matter.
Augustine
Augustine treated prime matter mainly in the context of his
exegetical efforts on Genesis 1. The De genesi ad litteram, written
A.D. 401-415 A.D., was the latest of his commentaries on Genesis.
Another locus classicus for prime matter is Confessiones book 12,
which was written somewhat earlier, A.D. 397-401. 118 These two
works will serve here as the source for Augustine’s mature
opinions on the topic. Before we go into the works of Augustine, it
should be noted that Augustine developed his exegesis on Genesis
1 in opposition to the Manichees, who taught that there was an
evil, negative God or principle who opposed God and did not have
its origin in God.119 Therefore the negative God is uncreated and
coexistent with God. The negative and evil God is the God of
disunity or change and therefore the changing world in which we
live is in its grip.120 Augustine countered the idea of a negative God
in his exegesis of Genesis 1, stating that God had created the world
out of nothing. The catch here is how one interprets ‘nothing’. The
Manichee could say that ‘nothing’ was the ontologically substantial
negative principle coexistent with God, but Augustine contradicted
this interpretation, explaining nothing or evil instead as a privation
or lack of being.121 In this way Augustine rejected the Manichees. 122
The question under discussion is, however, not whether
118
Johansen, A History of Ancient Philosophy, p. 593.
119
Torchia takes it that with his attack on the Manichees, Augustine actually tries
to reject the whole gnostic outlook. p. 66-67. Augustine, Confessiones IV.15. For
an elaborate account of Manicheaism based on other sources than Augustine
himself, Torchia, “Creatio ex nihilo”, pp. 65-79. The question how much
Augustine knew of Manicheaism is irrelevant here. Even if Augustine knew little
of it, he still opposed his exegesis of Genesis 1 to his perception of Manicheaism.
120
Johanssen, A History of Ancient Philosophy, p. 596.
121
Augustine, Confessiones VII.12, 18.
122
And on an a historical scale, Fredegisus as well.
Augustine’s nothing was Fredegisus’ Nothing, but whether

Augustine’s prime matter is Fredegisus’ Nothing.
The implication of the creatio ex nihilo was that God was no
longer a Demiurge-craftsman, but a creator. This meant that the
prime matter was no longer a material ‘found’ and used, but a
material created. God first created the prime matter from nothing
(that is the earth in Genesis 1.1) that was formed secondly. 123 The
prime matter was ‘unformed’ and therefore Augustine’s term for
prime matter was materia informis. There are now several
questions to answer. What was Augustine’s materia informis? What
was formed out of the materia informis? Did God create materia
informis first in a temporal order? The answer to these questions
should eventually lead us to a comparison with Fredegisus’
Nothing. Let us begin with the first question. In the Confessiones
Augustine had a problem with answering this question, just like
Plato and Calcidius. After all perceptions are of the sensible world,
which is not unformed matter, and our minds receive through
illumination the forms that are embedded in matter. Thus we are
actually incapable of grasping the concept of unformed matter,
since it is not a form. 124 But while describing his difficulties,
Augustine characterised unformed matter as ‘…something
between form and nothing, neither formed nor nothing, unformed
and nearly nothing.’125 Since it lacked any form, the only thing that
could be said of the unformed matter is that it was created and
therefore existed. In the context of a comparison to Fredegisus’
Nothing, it is striking that Augustine comes to the following
paradox: ‘…if it would be possible to say “nothing is something”
and “that which is, is not” I would say that this was it; and
nevertheless it was in some such manner so that it received these
visible and composite forms.’126 The human mind is not fit to grasp
the prime matter and thus states this paradox. This reminds us of
sentences 3-5 in Fredegisus’ proof of Nothing. If someone wanted
to deny Nothing with the incautious answer ‘It seems me to be
nothing’ he is actually forced to admit the opposite.
123
Augustine, De genesi ad litteram I.14, 28.
124
Augustine, Confessiones XII. 5,5.
125
Augustine, Confessiones XII.6, 6. ‘…quiddam inter formam et nihil, nec
formatum nec nihil, informe prope nihil.’
126
Augustine, Confessiones XII.6, 6. ‘…si dici posset “nihil aliquid” et “est non
est”, hoc eam dicerem; et tamen iam utcumque erat, ut species caperet istas
visibiles et compositas.’
This brings us to the things, which, according to Augustine,

are formed from the unformed matter. The answer to this question
is intricately bound with questions about the temporal order. The
dividing line between the unformed matter and the things which
are formed from it is time.127 At first glance, this seems a strange
answer, but it can be justified as follows. Time is defined as the
rate of changing of forms.128, but unformed matter has no form,
and therefore it has neither motion (change from one form to
another within a time frame) nor rest (permanence of form within a
time frame).129 Thus the unformed matter is outside of time. This
has two implications. The things that are created from it
encompass every composition of a form and the unformed matter.
As soon as a form is combined with the unformed matter, though,
time is created, for it then is possible to ‘measure’ how long the
form remains. Therefore all of the entities formed from the
unformed matter are subject to temporal ordering. The first of
these entities is light, referring to intellectual life. 130 The created
light from Genesis I.3 therefore has to be read not as the light we
see with our corporeal eyes, but as the light that we see with in
‘eye of the mind’. Therefore both material entities (such as trees or
rocks) and spiritual entities (such as angels or souls) are subject to
time.131 The second implication is that unformed matter is only first
in Augustine’s causal order, but not in a temporal order. As far as
the temporal order is concerned, unformed matter is created at the
same time as the forms. 132 This means that starting from the first
day, formed matter was created.
Now, if we compare this type of prime or unformed matter
with Fredegisus’ Nothing, there is more value to identification.
This view eliminates the difficulties that arise if it is interpreted
using the Platonic or Calcidian view of prime matter. First, prime
matter in Plato’s and Calcidius’ account is ever-present, which
Fredegisus would have rejected. Augustine, however, posits the
unformed matter outside of time. This makes it possible to see
127
Augustine, De genesi ad litteram I.9 15.
128
Augustine, Confessiones XII.8, 8.
129
Augustine, Confessiones XII.12, 15.
130
131
Although this does not go for the spiritual creature of the ‘heaven of heavens’
which always contemplates God so that it never changes and therefore is outside
of time. Augustine, Confessiones XII.12, 15.
132
Nothing or unformed matter as a different stage in the story of

creation. Second Augustine rejects Plato’s stress on the chaotic
movement, since movement is dependent on forms in unformed
matter. This chaotic movement is also absent in Fredegisus’
account of Nothing. Third, Augustine lacks the idea of prime or
unformed matter as a container, which was notably missing in
Fredegisus’ description of Nothing.
Apart from the elimination of these Platonic ‘problems’, there
is an agreement between Fredegisus and Augustine (and the
others) on the impossibility of knowing the nature of Nothing or
unformed matter. Both agree on our minds’ insufficient capabilities
to grasp the concept, although the reasons Augustine and
Fredegisus give are totally different. For Augustine, our minds are
structurally incapable of grasping something without form since
they are made to receive forms. For Fredegisus, our minds are
simply not powerful enough. Yet both agree on the fact that
because of these cognitive problems, the only thing we know is
that unformed matter, and Nothing exist. We now have Nothing
and unformed matter that exist prior to the creation of the things
this world contains, are of an unknowable nature and out of which
spiritual as well as material things are made. The possibility of
identifying unformed matter and Nothing is certainly
understandable.
Yet is this position plausible? I think not. A first reason is that
unformed matter has a significance that lacks Nothing. This comes
forth in Augustine’s discussion of the separation of light and
darkness in gen. 1.4 in the De Genesi. The question he asks is why
the confirmation of the procedure of creation by the “God saw that
it was good” is only attached to the light, but not to the darkness.
This is the case, he says, because the darkness refers to unformed
creation. This unformed creation or unformed matter is separated
from the creation of light so that it may later be formed into other
created (corporeal) beings. 133 Thus unformed matter is separated
133
Augustine, De genesi ad litteram I.17, 35. Colish also observes that darkness
means the unformed creation. She calls this the ‘primal’ tenebrae. But she
distinguishes it from a second kind of created darkness, which purpose it is to
ameliorate the whole of creation by providing ‘resting points’ much like a
moment of silence in music composition. The second kind of darkness therefore
exists by grace of a principle of order. The interesting thing is that Colish
identifies the second kind of darkness with the darkness that God divided from
the light and the first darkness with the darkness laying over the abyss of gen.
‘in order that it may not find its end in an unformed state’. The
purpose of unformed matter is obviously that it must be formed, for
taken by itself it is not finished. Unformed matter is not merely
opposing formed matter, but is a logical first step towards it. If we
imagine that the same relation holds between Nothing and the
things created from it, Fredegisus keeps us in the dark. The
element of purpose in unformed matter is altogether lacking in
Nothing.
This uncovers a second argument for why Nothing shouldn’t
be thought of as unformed matter. The reason why the analogous
relationship just mentioned (unformed-formed and Nothing-things)
is doubtful, points to an important difference between Nothing and
unformed matter. Nothing is a thing, but unformed matter is.
Augustine’s unformed matter is explicitly not a thing, for in his
ontology, to be a thing requires having a form. Following this
reasoning, unformed matter is less than a thing. Specifically,
Nothing has a nature, which comes closest to ‘form’, although it is
still intangible. Yet Augustine’s was that unformed matter is
‘natureless’. In my opinion, this difference in ontology behind
Nothing and unformed matter makes an identification
impossible.134
Finally, there is a third argument against such identification.
Both Augustine and Fredegisus attach opposing moral values to
unformed matter and Nothing. As I observed earlier, Fredegisus
characterises Nothing with the lofty-sounding term noble
1.2. In other words, the ‘primal tenebrae’ which is treated above, is connected to
the scriptural place of the Colishes’ second kind of darkness. In fact in the de
genesi ad litteram the two kinds of darkness are conflated. For in his discussion
of gen. 1.4 in the de genesi Augustine applies the idea of order directly prior to
the ‘primal’ darkness. Finally Colish also states that the primal darkness can
denote the rationes seminales. This in my view can hardly be distilled from the
De genesi ad litteram. But if primal darkness denotes the seminal reasons, then
the case I am making would even be stronger. There is no question about
nothing carrying the same seeds for later development as primal darkness, thus
unformed matter does. With this rationale she probably claimed that Nothing is
unassociated with primordial causes. The explanation for the difference between
Colish’s view and mine may be that she uses the De genesi contra Manicheos, so
that this indicates a variance in Augustine’s voluminous oeuvre. Colish,
‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’, pp. 772-773.
134
And so in my opinion Corvino is wrong in his 1950’s elimination of prime
matter by Fredegisus, because of nothing and prime matter sharing the only
property of existence.
(‘praeclarum’). He uses the same term as an adjective for things

created from Nothing, such as light and the souls of mankind.
Since angels and souls spring from Nothing, we can even
conjecture that Nothing is even more eminent than these
important entities. Yet for Augustine the case is very different.
Unformed matter is the basest existence conceivable. Since the
forms are divine exemplars, being formed is the same as turning to
God.135 The more something or someone is turned to God, the more
the thing or person is formed. Something unformed therefore is not
only ontologically nearly nothing, but also morally. Some unformed
thing must then have a foolish and wretched existence. 136 And so,
when Augustine adds ‘imperfect’ to unformed matter, one should
read it with all of the moral reproach one possibly can.137
The arguments against identification far outweigh those in

favour. The main argument in favour of identification is that
Nothing and unformed matter have the same functional
description: ‘that from which things are created’. Yet this
functional agreement counts only in a description sub species
aeterna. Their respective contexts are totally different. Yet the
motivation to ask the question whether Nothing and unformed
matter can be identified lies in the broader question, ‘how does
Fredegisus situate himself in the preceding intellectual tradition?’
Here the sameness of context of conceptual entities is of eminent
importance if one wants to have enough reason to identify them.
So, it becomes apparent that for his Nothing Fredegisus probably
used none of the available texts discussed in this chapter. This
argument of context is strengthened by the following observation.
The Carolingians certainly had not forgotten the concept of prime
matter. In Fredegisus’ immediate circle alone the concept surfaces
at least twice, namely in the commentary on the Octateuch of
Wigbod and in Alcuin’s Interrogationes et responsiones in
Genesim.138 Anyone who wants to uphold the idea that Fredegisus
135
136
137
Torchia sees Augustine’s neoplatonic background in this view of unformed
matter, for the privation of form shares with Plotinus the absence of goodness.
Torchia, “Creatio ex nihilo” , p. 111.
138
Wigbod is very explicit, when he follows Augustine’s De genesi contra
Manicheos. Quaestiones in Octateuchum, PL 96, pp. 1113d-1114a. ‘Informis
ergo illa material quam de nihilo Deus fecit, appellate est primo coelum et terra,
referred to prime matter with his concept of Nothing therefore

needs to explain two things. Why did Fredegisus not just say that
he meant Nothing to be seen as prime matter and, second, why is
the context of Fredegisus’ prime matter so very different from the
one context that was provided by tradition? An explanation would
probably be so complicated that it is better to avoid these
questions. They can be avoided by supposing that Fredegisus’
Nothing was not prime matter. Thus I not only side with Mignucci,
Marenbon and Marcia Colish, but hope to have given an explicit
demonstration of the validity of their position. Of course, this leads
to the next question. If Nothing is not to be compared to, or
understood as prime or unformed matter, how should we interpret
Nothing? A different interpretation of the meaning of Nothing
would benefit greatly from an analysis of the methods that
Fredegisus used to solve his question. Yet, in order to understand
why Fredegisus used the methods he did, it is necessary to take a
step back from what Fredegisus said exactly, and take a look at the
statement that the De substantia was supposed to make. In other
words, we will have to review what his epistle was about in the
most general terms.
2. First the Words, Then the Things.
In modern historiography from Ahner to Gennaro, the

identification of Nothing with prime matter has led to the idea that
Fredegisus actually was writing a commentary on Genesis 1; in
other words, the De substantia was about exegesis. Since the
identification of Nothing with prime matter was rejected, however,
non quia hoc jam erat, sed quia hoc esse poterat. Nam et coelum postea scribitur
factum. Quemadmodum si semen arboris considerantes, dicamus ibi esse radices
et robur, ramos, fructus, et folia ; non quia jam sunt, sed quia inde futura sunt.
Sic dictum est : In principio fecit Deus coelum et terram, quasi semen et coeli et
terrae, cum confusa adhuc esset coeli et terra materia. Sed quia certum erat
inde futurum esse coelum et terram, jam et ipsa materia coelum et terra
appellata est.’
Alcuin, Interrogationes et responsiones in Genesim, PL 100 519a.
‘Interrogatio 19. Quot modis est operatio divina?
Responsio. Quatuor. Primo, quod in verbi [Dei] dispensatione omnia aeterna
sunt. Secundo, quod in materia informi ‘qui vivit in aeternum, creavit omnia
simul’.’
subsequent scholarship has merely treated Fredegisus’ logical

operations, without further trying to interpret the ideas of Nothing
and darkness. Thus the idea that Fredegisus was practising
exegesis shared the same fate as the identification of Nothing with
prime matter, and has not been entertained since. This neglect is
partly justified. Fredegisus’ epistle is in no way to be placed in the
same genre as exegesis. There was no biblical text that Fredegisus
is trying to explain in his letter, and nor did he use patristic biblical
commentary explicitly, which one would expect in exegesis.
Furthermore, where Scripture is used, it was not explained on any
of its literal or spiritual levels. Instead, Fredegisus used Scripture
to instrumentally in his argumentation. Finally, if it should be
exegesis, would not one expect an allusion to other biblical texts?
It is not in Genesis that the Bible states that the world is created
from nothing. There the story of Creation starts at ‘the beginning’.
It is only in 2 Maccabees 7:28 that Scripture declares that the
world is created from nothing. 139 It is not very likely that
Fredegisus overlooked such a biblical text in this respect. There is
therefore no question whatsoever that this text can be seen as
traditional exegesis. It is clear, even after a first reading of the text,
that it is about the two words ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’. All of the
attention that has been and will be spent on the interpretation of
Nothing should not blind us to the fact that two words are
scrutinised, not one, and that Fredegisus’ aim with those two
words is the same: to prove that there is something to which each
word refers. This is the most general observation that can be made
on the statement, or the ‘aboutness’ of the De substantia. I contend
that full-blown research on the epistle will have to start with this
observation, and will further have to question how it can be that
someone could put separate words on trial. It will also have to
question how the object of the research, the words, determines the
methods to be used for the research. Finally the function this
research was supposed to fulfil in Fredegisus’ social context can be
considered. This will be the logical sequence of steps that will be
made in this thesis.
However I would like to skip of later findings of this thesis,
for a moment, and make some preliminary remarks about the
So I urge you, my child, to look up at the sky and the earth. Consider
139
everything you see there, and realize that God made it all from nothing, just as
He made the human race. Cf. Torchia, “Creatio ex nihilo”, p. 2.
function the De substantia. Although Fredegisus did not practice

traditional exegesis in this particular letter, I maintain that he was
interested in cosmology.140 In a culture which took its reality as
revealed by the Bible, the words ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ were very
likely related to the account of the creation of the cosmos, even if
Fredegisus had no further ideas on what their referents were.
Therefore I reject Marenbon’s idea that it was solely a discussion
of negative concepts that inspired Fredegisus to write his letter. 141
The implication of Marenbon’s idea is that Fredegisus would only
have been interested in language and logics. I disagree, and in
chapter four I will suggest that Fredegisus was interested in
cosmology on the grounds of the interests of the royal court. This
claim is, by the way, consistent with Marenbons’ grander thesis
that in the circle of Alcuin, logic was fused to theology. Theology
was intimately related to cosmology, and Fredegisus’ logical
analysis of these two ‘cosmological’ words fits into Marenbon’s
grander picture. Yet how can we detect such a cosmological
interest only on the basis of the De substantia?
In any analysis of the word ‘nothing’, the choice for the
particular cosmological context of the word is not intrinsically
given. Fredegisus could have used other passages in Scripture
where the word was used. Or, alternatively, he could have used the
word in sentences of daily speech, as a contemporary linguist or
philosopher would be prone to do. To give an early medieval
example: in the tenth book of the Etymologiae, which is a glossary,
Isidore of Seville explains ‘nihil’ as a composition of ‘ne’ and
‘hilo’.142 This translates as ‘not a fibre of a fennel’ or ‘not even a
trifle’. Thus it was at least possible to consider the word ‘nothing’
in a noncosmological context. Yet there is no sign whatsoever of a
range of contexts that Fredegisus could have chosen from. Even
his use of ‘nothing’ in the preliminary answer in third sentence was
not meant to analyse daily speech, but to eradicate an ambiguity.
There is no reflection on the possibility of ‘nothing’ in a
noncosmological context, or of a reason to interpret it this way. In
140
I agree with Colish on this point, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and
Tenebrae’ , p 794.
141
Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin, pp. 63-64.
142
Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae X, nr. 186. PL 82, l378a. ‘Nihili, compositum est
ex ne et hilo. Hilum autem Varro ait significare medullam ejus ferulae quam
Graeci asphodelon vocant; et sic dici apud nos nihilum; quomodo apud Graecos
ούδε γρυ.’
other words, there is no positive indication that Fredegisus chose

from a range of possible contexts. Therefore it seems natural to me
for Fredegisus to think of his problem only in the cosmological
context. However, in his examination of the word ‘darkness’,
Fredegisus gives other noncosmological contexts. For example, he
writes in sentence thirty-six that David used the darkness as hiding
place. Still this does not convince me that Fredegisus did not
interpret ‘darkness’ cosmologically. The deacon’s very first
argument in sentence five was that ‘the darkness was over the face
of the abyss’ in Genesis 1:2. Moreover, he says that this argument
should suffice in sentence twelve. I therefore do not believe him
when he says in the same sentence that he used Genesis as an
example. Further arguments that Fredegisus interpreted the words
in a specifically cosmological context must wait until later
chapters.
These preliminary remarks on the cosmological context of the
words will later be substantiated by the historical context. For now,
I would like to assert once more that this letter was first of all
about words, and that Fredegisus wanted to show that they had
referents. In my opinion, any argument about the cosmological
implications, especially of Nothing, can only elucidate a secondary
concern of Fredegisus, secondary to the aim of showing that
‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ have extra-mental referents, that is. Now
it is important to see why there was concern about these words, or
any words for that matter. Therefore, the linguistic focus of the
Carolingian intellectuals has to be explained.
In this focus on the Latin language it is important to realise

that Latin was much more than a device for communication. In
explaining this point I will take a short advance on the introduction
of Carolingian culture and ideology in chapter five. Although its
function as official language of the government was important
enough to justify a thorough training for the elites, the Latin
language had strong ideological connotations as the language of
Holy Scripture and of the Roman Empire. These connotations had
always clung to Latin since the times of the successor states, but it
was especially under Charlemagne that they were so compellingly
felt as to give an extra impetus to the acquisition of Latin. When
from the 780’s onwards Charles and his royal advisors were
thinking about government, the responsibility for the salvation of
the Christian subjects loomed increasingly largely in their minds.
The term ecclesia acquired a new meaning from these decades on.
Not only did it refer to the church as a separate order in society,
but it also came to have an ‘all-embracive’ meaning of ‘the
Christian people, led by Charlemagne and united by a correct
worship of God’.143 This ideal of correctness, which will be further
treated in chapter four, took its shape in the idea that liturgy had
to be performed correctly and that Scripture had to be properly
understood through exegesis. Both of these enterprises of liturgy
and exegesis depended on a good competence of Latin in order to
not fail when addressing God and interpreting the tropes and
figures in his Book. Since, as could be learned from the Old
Testament, the welfare of the realm was directly related to the
purity of the faith, a good command of Latin was to be sponsored.
There were therefore not only Latin teachers present at court, such
as Peter of Pisa, but Charles also commanded the rest of his clergy
to learn the language. In the Epistola de litteris colendis (780-800)
and the Admonitio Generalis (789), these concerns with
correctness of the language of the clergy can be seen.144
The position of Latin as a language with ideological
connotations was strengthened by the fact that it had been spoken
in the Roman Empire. The memories of the Roman Empire were
especially kept alive in the Lombard kingdom, so that Charles
came into contact with these memories after his annexation of the
Lombard kingdom in 774.145 In the west, the Roman Empire once
yielded a universal authority, and the use of Latin as official state
language still alluded to this. The idea of universality, moreover,
went well with the idea of a universal church, so that in
Charlemagne’s reign, the state, church and language became
intricately connected. An important factor in this connection was
that under his rule Charles brought together several peoples, or
‘gentes’. People in the early middle ages had learned from the
143
Mayke de Jong, ‘Charlemagne’s church’ in Joanna Story (ed.), Charlemagne.
Empire and society. (Manchester and New York 2005), p. 110.
144
This will be elaborated in chapter four, pp. 90-93.
145
Giles Brown, ‘The Carolingian Renaissance’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.),
Carolingian
Culture: Emulation and Innovation (Cambridge 1994), pp. 28-29.
Roman Empire that the rule over multiple gentes was a property
reserved for empires.146 When in the 790’s the imperial idea came
to take hold of the royal court, Charles decided to build himself a
suitable capital in Aachen in emulation of Constantine. The Latin
language therefore acquired a meaning which far transcended the
function of forming sentences. Elites focused on Latin, and on
learning the correct words and ways. The result was that some
groups in the ecclesiastical and political elites became so skilled in
using Latin that they used it for poetic compositions. This meant
that a high-Latin came to be distinguished from a vulgar-Latin, a
development which contributed to the development of Romance
vernacular languages from Latin in 750-1000.147
One of the consequences of this focus on Latin was that the
study of grammar, the first of the liberal arts, received an impetus
under the Carolingians. It started with reception of the
grammatical tradition. In late antiquity school grammars were
written, e.g. Donatus’ Ars Minor, and most were transmitted to the
Carolingians. These school grammars systematically discussed the
definitions and properties of the parts of speech. Unfortunately, the
grammars presumed a rather advanced level of competence since
they were written for native speakers or advanced foreign
students. Their coverage of the morphology of the noun and verb
was therefore far from comprehensive. Moreover, they were, in the
words of an expert, ‘telegraphically concise’ and thus ill-suited for
beginning students groping for fundamental understanding. 148 I
expect the average medievalist would wake up in cold sweat from a
146
Janet Nelson, ‘Kingship and Empire’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.),
Carolingian Culture: Emulation and Innovation. (Cambridge 1994), p. 69. When
Nelson speaks of ‘Rome-free’ I take it to mean ‘free from papal influence or
authority’, not as ‘free from Roman connotations’.
147
Michel Banniard provides a nice periodization of the loss of competence of
latin in the illiterate masses and lay aristocracy, which provided these years. The
year 750 is based on the start of a ‘rapid loss by the mass of the illiterate, of
“passive competence”’, i.e. of an understanding of Latin. But the case might also
be made that the mass of illiterate lost their competence from 650 onwards,
when the ‘active competence’ of Latin declined. For this thesis it is not
necessary to delve into the debate about the development of vernacular.
‘Language and Communication in Carolingian Europe’ in Rosamond McKitterick
(ed.), New Cambridge Medieval History vol. II (Cambridge 1995), pp. 698-699.
For the claim that het differentiation in high and vulgar latin (sermo rusticus) led
to a linguistic crisis pp. 699-700.
148
Vivien Law, ‘The study of grammar’, p. 89.
dream of teaching Latin to a class of medieval-history students,

with nothing but the aid of linguistic articles. Already in late
antiquity commentaries were made on these grammars, and all
through the early Middle Ages commentaries continued to be
produced. But even with a commentary on such a school grammar,
the morphological lacunae still were not filled. Thus separate
Declinationes nominum and Coniugationes verborum were made,
in which morphology was addressed, in diverse orderings. In the
seventh and eighth centuries the Irish produced elementary
grammars of their own by adding extra material to Donatus’ Ars
minor or Ars maior. They had a particular need for elementary
grammars since they had never been native speakers. It fits the
image of the Irish urge for completion that they tried to supply
paradigms for all variants.
It was especially these insular grammars that enjoyed
popularity in the Carolingian Renaissance under Charles. At court,
prior to the genesis of the De substantia, grammatical tradition
was represented by the aforementioned Paul the Deacon and Peter
of Pisa. Both wrote grammars on the basis of an insular elementary
grammar. But Alcuin also played an important role in the reception
of grammatical tradition. Not only did he import the categoriae
decem, the importance of which we will clarify later, but Priscian’s
great Institutiones grammaticae as well.149 But Alcuin didn’t just
bring books. His concern for the use of correct Latin is reflected by
his grammatical tract Dialogus Franconis et Saxonis de octo
partibus orationis and by his De Orthographia, both of which used
Priscian’s Institutiones.150 In the dialogue, Alcuin sometimes
confronted Donatus with Priscian.151 The De Orthographia is a
reference tool on the correct spelling of words. One can get a
representative impression of the little work by reading the first
sentence, which reads: ‘Aeternus, aetas, aevum per duo u
[considering that the ‘v’ was written by the ‘u’], aequitas, aequus
id est iustus, haec omnia per ae diphtongon scribenda sunt; equus,
si animal significat, per simplicem e.’152 These works are
149
Ibidem, p. 95.
150
L. J. Engels, ‘Priscian in Alcuin’s De Orthographia’ in L.A.J.R. Houwen and A.A
Macdonald (eds.), Alcuin of York. Scholar at the Carolingian Court. Germania
Latina III (Groningen 1995), p. 126.
151
Vivian Law, ‘The study of grammar’, p. 96.
152
Alcuin, Orthographia, ed. Aldo Marsili (Pisa 1952), p. 107.
expressions of the concern aout how one used correct Latin. The
intellectual surroundings in which Fredegisus lived thus provided
him with an opportunity for the most thorough grammatical
education to be had at the time.
Another consequence of this focus on Latin was that the
Carolingians also scrutinised texts for having the correct
grammatical constructions. The mistakes of scribes did not only
comprise lacunae or redundancy. By poorly reading texts they
might change an inflexion and thereby a grammatical construction
as well.153 Moreover they sometimes consciously made grammatical
adjustments in order to suit their sense of language or meaning of
the text. This heightened focus on the grammatical underpinnings
of the language can also be considered as a step towards the
forming of a canon. In this case we are dealing with a canon who
was not religious. The Carolingians took certain exemplars for
‘correct’ Latin. These exemplars were classical poets, the late
antique church fathers and the Bible. However diverse the state of
Latin in these exemplars was, it still provided the Carolingians with
models for correctness. Moreover, the grammatical treatises that
were used had already established a canon of established grammar
which was current in the same period (the late empire) as most of
these exemplars were made.154 Thus, developments and variants
that Latin as a language in use had undergone in Merovingian
times could be considered faulty. As observed above, the
Carolingians themselves probably had a large part in separating
Latin from its Romance successors by setting standards of Latin
through schooling and actively propagating a distinction between
elite and vulgar language.155
Perhaps the most important text to be emended was the Bible
itself. In the late eighth and early ninth century several efforts
153
When writing about the gender of ‘rubus’ Alcuin warned that his authorities
might have been corrupted in their transmission, since a simple change of a
letter can change the gender of the word. ‘Inter hos vero auctores vestra videat
prudentia, quid sequendum sit. Possunt enim quaedam ex is exemplis vitio
scriptoris esse corrupta, et u pro a vel etiam a pro u posita.’ Alcuin, MGH Epist.
IV, pp. 260-262 nr. 162.
154
L. J. Engels, ‘Priscian in Alcuin’s De Orthographia’, p. 114. cf Robert Kastler,
‘Islands in the Stream’ in Daniel Taylor (ed.), The History of Linguistics in the
Classical Period (Amsterdam and Philadelphia 1987), pp. 149-168.
155
Mark Amsler, ‘Standard Latin’ in Vivien Law (ed.), History of Linguistic
Thought in the Early Middle Ages (Cambridge 1993), p. 57.
were made to correct the Bible.156 The monastery of Corbie
produced a revision of the Bible during the abbacy of
Maurdramnus (772-781). The ‘Ada Group’, a group of manuscripts
consisting of seven gospels and one Psalter (possibly produced in
Aachen in the period 781-814) may reflect such a revision as well.
Both the Corbie effort and the ‘Ada Group’ may have been of
influence on the most famous of these projects: Alcuin’s Bible
revision.157 His work was a classical emendation in which he
rectified the grammar, orthography and scribal errors. The
scriptorium of Tours, notably under Fredegisus, produced
beautiful, large format (50cm x 35-39cm) pandects, very suitable
as princely gifts. Maybe it was the first of these Bibles that
Fredegisus himself offered to Charlemagne as a Christmas present
from Alcuin in 800.158 The sweeping impact of these emendations of
patristic texts and especially the Bible was apparent in discussions
about grammar. Not everyone was convinced that grammar should
occupy such an important position. After all, the art of grammar
and the first grammarians were of pagan descent. 159 Why should
the Word be held to pagan grammatical rules? This led to fierce
debates. Agobard of Lyons, for example, held a similar view in his
letter to Fredegisus. He stated that human words just weren’t
enough to express holy matters. The translators and exegetes were
therefore evenly excused if they explained these matters
ungrammatically.
‘…as is the use of holy Scripture to manifest itself in

human speech, in order that it guides the power of the
inexpressible as far as possible by referring in a human
manner to human knowledge, and reveals the unusual
mysteries through familiar things; likewise do its
interpreters by following it –they strive with the
156
Laura Light, ‘Versions et révisions du texte biblique’ in Pierre Riché and Guy
Lobrichon (eds.), Le Moyen Age et la Bible (Paris 1984), pp. 59-63 and John
Contreni, ‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’ in Uta-Renata Blumenthal (ed.),
Carolingian Essays: Andrew W. Mellon Lectures in Early Christian Studies
(Washington 1983), pp. 77-79.
157
Laura Light, ‘Versions et Révisions du texte biblique’, p. 59.
158
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 262 pp. 419-420. Laura Light, ‘Versions et révisions
du texte biblique.’, p. 61.
159
Vivien Law, ‘The Study of Grammar’, pp. 100-101. cf John Contreni, ‘Learning
in the Early Middle Ages’, pp. 12-13.
greatest effort to convey that [mystery]- so as to

expound the meaning clear-cut to the readers in order
that it agrees with the sacramental mystery, even
though it might contradict the discipline of grammar.’ 160
It was they themselves who were at fault, for their need for
grammatical rules: ‘We are the truly poor ones, for we must show
the things we want poorly through the limitations of words.’161
These debates bear witness to the fact that grammar held such a
pride of place in the Carolingian society that some deemed it
hubris.
The focus on language, however, was not solely defined by
the study of grammar and the emendation of texts. The
Carolingians must also be credited with an understanding that
texts have a history of their own. Although reading Greek and
Hebrew was more something of the late ninth c., it was very well
known that the Bible had not been written in Latin. For example,
another discussion between Agobard and Fredegisus evolved
around the reason for ‘a translator’ (Jerome?) to render ‘sanguines’
in plural. Was it because he found a plural in the Greek, as
Fredegisus apparently thought, or, as was Agobard’s conviction,
because it was only in this way that the sentence would keep its
meaning?162 The notion that texts have a history was not only on
the level of words or translations. The Carolingians had a sense
that texts are dependent on text traditions, with their individual
160
Agobard of Lyon, MGH Epist. V, nr. 13, p. 213 r. 24-32. ‘Diximus namque, quia
interpretes divinorum voluminum vel expositores non curarunt omnino tenere
indeclinabiliter regulam gramaticae artis; quod utique neque imperitia neque
malitia fecerunt, sed ratione condescensionis; ut, sicut usus sanctae scripturae
est verbis condescendere humanis, quatinus vim ineffabilis rei humano more
loquens ad notitiam hominum deduceret, et mysteria insolita solitis ostenderet
rebus, ita et interpretes eius eam sequendo, illud studuerunt summopere
transferre, unde manifestiorem sensum legentibus preberent, etiamsi contra
grammaticam esset eatenus, ut sacramento rei concordaret.’
161
ibidem, p. 214 r. 18-20. ‘nos vero pauperes, ut possumus, per angustias
verborum tenuiter ea quae volumus significamus.’ For this remark he earned a
marginal gloss ‘nota humilitatem viri’.
162
ibidem, pp. 213 r. 45-214 r. 3. ‘Iam enim legeramus sanctos doctores ita ut
exposuisse, quod interpres ideo plurali numero sanguines in hoc loco transtulit,
quia sensum evangelistae, quem ille in Greco edidit, hoc in Latino transferre
aliter non potuit; non, sicut vos dicitis, propterea fecit, quia in Greco pluraliter
invenit.’
differences. Theodulf achieved no small feat when he made his

erudite Bible editions (800-818). He made some revisions of the
Bible that made the Bible particularly useful for studying. This
included a book size suited for easy handling (33cm x 24cm), but
also variant readings from different text traditions. A Spanish
variant was preceded by an ‘s’ (spanus), an ‘a’ (albinus) preceded
Alcuin’s Bible and ‘al’ (alia) stood for ‘other sources’.163 The depth
of Theodulf’s critical awareness may be a matter of dispute, but his
consciousness that text traditions exert influence on texts is not
debatable.164 This consciousness and the need to study these
traditions led to the development of various Psalters in the ninth
century: the tripartite Psalter (Psalterium tripartitum) with
Jerome’s Roman, Gallican and Hebrew Psalter; and the bilingual
Psalter (Psalterium duplex) with a Greek Septuagint version and
one of Jerome’s translations. The veneration that Jerome received
in the eighth and ninth century for his textual approach to the
understanding of the Bible and for his competence in the original
languages was in step with the respect for texts of the time.165
The emendation and edition of the Bible texts especially
underline my point. The Carolingian corrector and editor implicitly
acknowledged that biblical texts changed during their
transmission. Yet at the same time, they had a realistic outlook
towards the meaning. For them there was but one holy truth and
the meaning of the Bible was fixed, however diverse the variants
produced by different text traditions. Therefore, the corrections
163
Laura Light reports this lay-out of a Paris manuscript, BN lat. 9380 ‘Versions
et Révisions du texte biblique’, p 64. Contreni adds that the Roman numeral ii
preceded a reading common to both Alcuin and the Spanish tradition and ‘h’
preceded a reading based on Hebrew in ‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, p. 78. He
bases himself on Bonifatius Fischer, ‘Bibelausgaben des frühen Mittelalters in La
bibbia nell’alto Medioevo. Settimane di Studio X (Spoleto 1963), pp. 593-596 and
Elisabeth Dahlhaus-Berg, Nova Antiquitas et Antiquita Novitas. Typologische
Exegese und Isidorianisches Geschichtsbild bei Theodulf von Orléans (Cologne
and Vienna 1975), p. 44. Dahlhaus-Berg ascribes this to ms. Θ g. Two pages
earlier this turns out to be Paris BN lat. 11937.
164
John Contreni deems Theodulfs Bible ‘a work of true critical editorial
scholarship’, but Laura Light regrets the fact that still ‘il n’en a pas résulté une
meilleure qualité de son texte.’ Contreni, ‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, p. 78,
Laura Light, ‘Versions et révisions du texte biblique’, p. 64.
165
Bernice Kaczynski, ‘Edition, Translation, and Exegesis’ in Richard Sullivan
(ed.), The Gentle Voices of Teachers. Aspects of Learning in the Carolingian Age
(Ohio 1995), pp. 173-174.
they made and the variants they found had to do with the
corruption or change of the language of the Bible, but not its
meaning. The primary concern of the Carolingian focus on Latin
was on the language as a system of communicating meaning
(literal and allegorical), not on the meaning itself or the things
referred to. Their ‘linguistic turn’ never evolved into ideas on the
creative input of man as a ‘reader of the text of reality’.
However, Fredegisus’ letter was a long way from systematic
grammatical works, complete revisions of the Bible or tripartite
Psalters. In order to fit Fredegisus into the correct context, we
must compare his works to texts of much humbler size and
pretension. Alcuin’s letter to Angilbert, probably written in the
period 796-799, is useful for a comparison. It is an example of
small grammatical questions which prompted concise answers
from masters. In this letter Alcuin answered two restricted
grammatical questions: what was the gender of the word ‘rubus’
(bush, shrub), and should one write ‘despexeris’ or ‘dispexeris’
(that you have despised)?166 In the MGH edition, it takes Alcuin
over two pages to confront several authorities and come to
considered answers, probably on the basis of the best linguistic
considerations to be had at the time. In my opinion, this letter can
be seen as a very good comparison with Fredegisus’ letter. Both
texts are letters of roughly the same size; both were composed
under the linguistic focus, and both clearly adress questions about
words. These words were not just any words either. Just as the
words ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ were packed with a religious
significance, ‘rubus’ had a strong religious connotation too. God
used a burning shrub to speak to Moses in Exodus 3:2-3:7. I would
not be surprised if ‘despicere’ was also a religious-ethical word
meaning the opposition of the virtue of humilitas. At the least it is
important to know its orthography if one wants to correct psalm
54:2, which was cited in the letter.167 Last but certainly not least,
Alcuin’s letter, like the De substantia, shows the involvement of
Charles himself and the court in this ‘palatine question’. 168 This
letter points back to the question of why grammar was so
166
Alcuin, epistolae, ed. Ernst Dümmler, MGH Epistolae IV, nr. 162.
167
Hear, O God, my prayer, and despise not my supplication.
168
‘Miror, cur Flaccinae [=Alcuin] pigritiae socordiam spetiplicis sapientiae
decus, dulcissimus meus David, interrogare voluisset de quaestionibus palatinis;’
MGH Epist. IV, nr. 162, p. 260.
important and points ahead to the question of how Charles’

involvement influenced on the texts. The point I want to make here
is that it is very clear what Alcuin’s letter was about. It was about
how to operate some specific words. Fredegisus wrote his letter in
the same vein: in order to use a word, one needs to know its
referent just as its gender or orthography. However philosophical
the jargon or methods were that Fredegisus used in his letter, his
question is a practical one.
Until now we have only seen external arguments that
Fredegisus shared in the linguistic focus, but there is an internal
argument as well. Fredegisus gave an important clue on how he
wanted to be read. In his last sentence he stated that he wanted
his text to be read as a ‘regula’. What did Fredegisus mean by this
word? The basic meaning of the word ‘regula’ is ‘rule’, something
that is straight, like a stick or a ruler. 169 But ‘regula’ can also have
a moral connotation. It can refer to a prescriptive statement, for
example a law.170 This way a ‘regula’ can also mean a rule of faith,
or even a whole set of rules that guide monastic life, of which the
‘regula’ of St. Benedict is the most common. A final meaning of
‘regula’ is ‘regularity’ or ‘principle’.171 The word can refer to a
descriptive model or a pattern, so that we can say that ‘nature
abides by certain rules’. One could claim that Fredegisus wanted to
compare his letter with a rule of Christian faith, but I do not find
such a claim convincing. Fredegisus had described the semantic
model by which words derive their meanings from things. In
addition, the use of the word ‘probabilibus’ would have been
strange in this comparison: a rule of faith is not just ‘convincing’. It
seems therefore that in Fredegisus’ text the word ‘regula’ should
be seen in the descriptive way, describing the relation between
words and things. On the other hand, the self-assured tone and
pedantic style make it hard to believe there is no prescriptive
content whatsoever. So how are we to understand Fredegisus’
comparison of his text to a ‘regula’?
For a better understanding of this comparison, we must
return to the grammatical tradition. The school grammar, which
169
Lewis and Short, A Latin Dictionary (1879), ‘regula’, I, p. 1553. Blaise,
Dictionnaire Latin-Français des auteurs chrétiens (1954), ‘regula’, 1, p. 708.
170
Niermeyer, Mediae Latinitates Lexicon Minus (1984, 2nd ed.), ‘regula’ 1-2, 7-
11, p. 903. Blaise, 4-6.
171
Lewis and Short, II. Blaise 2-3.
was discussed somewhat earlier, was not the only type of grammar
in late antiquity. There was another genre of grammatical tracts
which were known as ‘regulae’.172 A regulae covered only one or a
few parts of speech in which the focus was on morphology
(‘regulae’ is plural since in one tract several grammatical patterns
were addressed). Their material and paradigms could be
structured in various ways, for instance by declension, conjugation
or gender. However, they didn’t structure their material by
definition and properties of the parts of speech, as was done in
school grammars, since these were assumed. It was these rules
and patterns of inflection that gave the genre its name. The rules
and patterns were explained by paradigms that other words or
verbs follow by analogy.173 It would be a strong argument indeed if
it could be proven that Fredegisus referred to this genre.
Unfortunately, I have not found enough support to substantiate
such an argument. It is true that the regulae were not forgotten in
the eighth century. The regulae of Eutyches and Phocas (fourth-
fifth century) were still studied, and some material of Phocas found
its way into the Liber Glossarum.174 It would be interesting to know
whether Alcuin had Priscians regulae, the Institutio de nomine et
pronomine et verbo, at hand along with his Institutiones
Grammaticae.175 But more research is needed to find out whether
Fredegisus himself had such a regulae at his disposition. There is a
big problem as well. As yet I haven’t found any use of the word
‘regula’ with this genre as the clear referent. Therefore it remains
at best inconclusive whether or not Fredegisus referred to the
genre.
This should not disappoint us, though. Perhaps Fredegisus’
use of ‘regulae’ with the genre as referent has not been
substantiated, but there can be no doubt that the word ‘regula’ was
172
Vivien Law, ‘Late Latin Grammars in the Early Middle Ages: A Typological
History’ in Daniel Taylor (ed.), The History of Linguistics in the Classical Period
(Amsterdam and Philadelphia 1987), p. 192.
173
‘Priscian wrote in the Institutio de nomine et pronomine et verbo: ‘Omnia
verba, quae secundum analogiam declinantur, in o vel or desinunt et habent
coniugationes quattuor.’ In Henric Keil (ed.), Grammatici Latini III, p. 450, 38.
Vivien Law, ‘The Study of Grammar’, p. 89.
174
David Ganz, ‘The “Liber Glossarum”: A Carolingian Encyclopedia’ in Paul
Butzer and Dietrich Lohrmann (eds.), Science in Western and Eastern
Civilization in Carolingian Times (Basel, Boston and Berlin 1993), p. 127.
175
Vivien Law, ‘The study of Grammar’, p. 92.
also used in a grammatical context after late antiquity as well.

Isidore stated that ‘Grammar is truly called an art, because it
consists out of the precepts and rules of an art’, in effect stating
that there were grammatical rules. 176 In this phrase Isidore’s use of
‘regula’ was a reminder of the principles that each autonomous
science was supposed to have. Alcuin was closer to Fredegisus
then Isidore. The new search possibilities of the digitalised
Patrologia Latina bring to light the fact that Alcuin normally used
‘regula’ in two contexts: in speaking about monastic rules and
about rules of faith. Yet Alcuin also used ‘regula’ in a grammatical
context, although less frequently. Examples of this use are in his
De octo partibus orationis. As an introduction to this dialogue we
are told that ‘There were two pupils in the school of master
Albinus, one Frank, the other Saxon, who have very recently
ventured upon the dense thorns of grammar; For this reason they
are right to pick out for memory’s sake the scarce rules of the
science of letters by questions and answers.’177 In the rest of the
dialogue it is the more advanced Saxon student to lay down the
rules, e.g. ‘this way it was possible that ‘I am given’ was said from
‘I give’ according to the rule.’178 It is in this specific grammatical
setting that I wish to interpret Fredegisus’ use of ‘regula’. After all,
his ‘rule’ dealt specifically with words, and used grammatical
theories. It would therefore be natural for him to use a
grammatical comparison. This interpretation also explains the
prescriptive content, and the pedantic tone of Fredegisus’ last
sentence. A grammar teacher not only explained the rules and
patterns by which a language operates, but also imposed these
rules upon his pupils. In this way Fredegisus evoked the
educational context in which grammatical rules are usually given.
176
Isidore, Etymologiae liber I.1, 2. PL 82. ‘Ars vero dicta est, quod artis
praeceptis regulisque consistat.’
177
Alcuin, Dialogus Franconis et Saxonis de octo partibus orationis, PL 101,
0854B. ‘Fuerunt in schola Albini magistri duo pueri, unus Franco, alter Saxo, qui
nuperrime spineta grammaticae densitatis irruperunt.’
178
Alcuin, Dialogus Franconis et Saxonis de octo partibus orationis, PL 101, 882
C. ‘…quomodo a do dor secundum regulam dici potuit.’ One might wonder
whether Alcuin made a statement and what it was, by making the Saxon student
the more advanced. According to Louis Holtz it reflected the head-start of the
anglo-saxon students compared to their Frankish counterparts. ‘Alcuin et la
renaissance des artes libéraux’ in P.L. Butzer, M. Kerner and W. Oberschelp
(eds.), Karl der Grosse und sein Nachwirken 1200 Jahre Kultur und Wissenschaft
in Europa (Turnhout 1997), p. 55.
His text was intended to serve as an explanation and a reference

work at the same time, to which one could revert when uncertain,
just like a normal grammatical tract. The genre of the regulae
therefore remains a very possible candidate for Fredegisus’
comparison, but the conclusion here is that the deacon was in step
with the linguistic focus of his time. We understand why
Fredegisus was interested in the first place in the words of
‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’.
The methods that Fredegisus used to reason from the word
to the thing were also derived from grammar. It is to these
methods, to the grammatical theories, that we have to turn our
attention.
Chapter 4: method
Categories and Origins
n ow that it has been established that Fredegisus wrote

an epistle about two words, one might ask what
Fredegisus did with those two words. Of course, the
deacon proved that the two words had referents, but
how did he reason from the word to the referent? Thus the
question is which method Fredegisus employed to solve his
problem. In order to understand the arguments that Fredegisus
used, the theories that provided him with concepts and ideas
will have to be explained. This chapter will therefore discuss
the theories behind the categories, etymology, and language
from which Fredegisus draws his concepts. The elucidation of
Fredegisus’ arguments by such theories provides an intrinsic
value to the understanding of the De substantia. Fredegisus
employs arguments from different theories for ‘nothing’ and
‘darkness’. I have been tempted to draw an implication from
this difference and in the final part of the chapter I will try to
interpret the referent of Nothing. This last part will be a
counterpart of the first section of chapter three in which the
identification of Nothing with prime matter was rejected. The
discussion of the interpretations of Nothing in the first part of
chapter three and the last part of this chapter will therefore
surround the internal evaluation of the epistle. With the final
interpretation I want to finish the internal research of the De
substantia in order to move on to the social and intellectual
contexts in which it had to perform a role.
Before Fredegisus’ various theories are addressed, a few
things need to be said about the grammatical method of the
time. In the previous chapter I identified a Carolingian concern
with language which I called the ‘linguistic focus’. The
Carolingians were interested in the correctness and grammar
Categories and Origins 98
of their Latin. Yet some Carolingians did not stop at that. Alcuin
and his scholars, among them Candidus and Fredegisus, used
their knowledge of grammar and language as an analytical
method. This is understandable in a culture in which God was
revealed through text. Moreover, Alcuin introduced his pupils
to the theory of the categories through the Categoriae Decem.
These categories are eminently suited to the study of reality
through language, since they make a connection between
predicates and properties. John Marenbon has analysed the
appliance of logic and the categories to theology in Alcuin’s
circle.179 It is this use of logic, categories and grammar for the
purposes of analysis that constituted the grammatical method.
Such a grammatical method is only useful if one presumes that
language has a bearing on reality, though. The connection of
language to reality was a philosophical presupposition in the
early middle ages, although according to some philosophical
theories, e.g. Augustinian sign theory, this connection was
stronger than according to others, e.g. Boethian-Aristotelian
philosophy of language. John Marenbon has identified a
passage in Alcuin’s Dialectica which stresses this connection
between words and things. He thinks this is a likely passage to
have served as ‘jumping-off point’ for Fredegisus’ ideas.180
Whether true or not, this was the context in which Fredegisus
operated and used the grammatical method to solve his
problem with ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’.
What were the theories from the grammatical method
supposed to do for Fredegisus? Evidently Fredegisus picked
those elements from the theories at his disposal that stressed
the connection between a word and a thing. 181 This observation
indicates first that with this concern Fredegisus shared in an
important early medieval presupposition: the word is the
carrier of the meaning. In the eleventh century, or in
Aristotelian philosophy of language, it is the proposition which
179
See the historiographical chapter. John Marenbon, From the Circle of
Alcuin, pp. 62-66.
180
John Marenbon, From the Circle of Alcuin, p. 63. Marcia Colish consideres
the passage likely as jumping-off point too in ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil
and Tenebrae’, p. 784-785.
181
I choose to use the word ‘thing’ instead of ‘object’ since in medieval
philosophy the word ‘object’ would refer to an intramental picture of a thing.
Yet ‘thing’ is here meant as synonym of our modern ‘object’.
bears the meaning and can truly or falsely report states of

affairs. Therefore later research is mainly focussed on
propositions. Yet in the late eighth, early ninth century it was
still the word that was considered the basic unit for conveying
meaning. Second this observation indicates that this movement
straight from the word to the thing implies a neglect of the
mental or conceptual aspect of language. In the philosophy of
language, a philosopher positions himself through the semantic
triangle. The three corners of this triangle are made up by
‘language’, ‘mind’, and ‘thing/reality’. The way that these
corners are connected determines how the philosopher sees the
relation between language and reality. Aristotle, for example,
started with things, and reasoned through the abstraction of
concepts to words. In his epistle, Fredegisus ‘abused’ this
triangle. He actually ‘chopped off’ the mental corner and
created a highway from the thing to the word. I want to
demonstrate this in his analysis of the word ‘darkness’. Since
Nothing has a special nature according to Fredegisus, he was
obliged to use a different method for the word ‘nothing’ than
for the word ‘darkness’. Therefore I would like to start with his
treatment of ‘darkness’, since this reflects the ‘normal
situation’. Moreover, to start with ‘darkness’ will put us in the
position to see what exactly is different about Nothing.
1. Categories.
In the historiography of Fredegisus’ epistle, the De

substantia nihili has received greater attention than the De
substantia tenebrarum. The paradox of theorizing on the
existence of nothing has appealed to many scholars. Yet this
means that an element of the grammatical method that
Fredegisus applied in his proof of the existence of darkness so
far has not received attention. This element is the theory of the
categories. The Categories was written by Aristotle and,
together with the De Interpretatione, was his only work to be
known in the early Middle Ages. Porphyry wrote an
introduction and Boethius wrote a commentary on the
Categories. Fredegisus probably was confronted with a
different treatise, the Categoriae Decem. This paraphrase of
the Categories was ascribed to Augustine, but was actually

made in the circle of Themistius (317-388 AD), who was a
councillor to the emperors Costantius II and Theodosius and
instituted a school for rhetoric. In the categories, Aristotle’s
aim was to analyse the possible questions that one can pose
about a thing. These questions can be listed under ten
categories. Since man takes a central position in Aristotle’s
philosophy, the questions of the final categories can only
sensibly be posed about a human. The questions, and their
categories, are ‘what is it’ (substance), ‘how large’ (quantity),
‘what sort of thing’ (quality), ‘related to what’ (relation),
‘where’ (place), ‘when’ (time), ‘in what attitude’ (position), ‘how
circumstanced’ (condition), ‘what doing’ (action), ‘what
suffering’ (affection). We might take Alcuin, for example, and
find that he is a man (substance), six feet tall (quantity), a
grammarian with white hair (quality), smaller than Fredegisus
(relation), in Tours (place), in 800 AD (time), sitting behind his
writing desk (position), holding a pencil (condition), writing
(action), and suffering from cold (affection).
In the theory of the categories, two points of view come
together. First there is the ontological point of view, because
the categories are about objects. Therefore, an important
distinction must be made between the first category and the
other categories. The first category states what the thing is, but
the other categories all signify a certain aspect of the object.
These aspects can all be ‘found in a subject’, but the substance
can not.182 One can establish, for example, that the thing is a
man. Next, one can find that this man has white hair, or that he
holds a pencil. Yet, once it has been established that he is a
man, one cannot discover that he is a man. The first category
states the substance; the other categories state the accidents of
an thing. My last formulation (the categories ‘state’ something)
hints at another way of looking at the categories. The
182
Aristotle, Categories, ed. and transl. Hugh Tredennick (Cambridge and
London 1938), p. 1b r. 11-13. In antiquity and the middle ages the term
‘subject’ was assigned to the object, ‘object’ to our subject. ‘Subject’ is the
translation of ‘hupokeimenon’ i.e. that which underlies the properties or
changes, in other words the thing. If we make a (mental) picture of the thing,
we have an object of the thing. Our notion of ‘subjectivity’ has to do with us
as subjects making mental pictures of objects, and is therefore not to be
confused with the subject as thing.
categories can also be viewed as treating different kinds of

predicates that one can assert about things. This is the
linguistic point of view. If we consider the categories as
predicates, then we can also combine them with each other and
with verbs, thus making sentences. For example, ‘The man is a
grammarian with white hair’. The relationship between the
ontological point of view and the linguistic point of view is seen
if one regards the created sentences as propositions. A
proposition is a sentence to which a truth value can be
assigned. For Aristotle, this truth value consisted of a
correspondence between the proposition and reality. The
proposition ‘The man is a grammarian with white hair’ is true
when we look at Alcuin, who is a grammarian with white hair.
The parts of the proposition (‘man’, ‘is’, ‘grammarian’, ‘white
hair’) are called ‘terms’. The categories can now be seen as
dealing with substances and accidents, predicates, and terms.
In the Categoriae Decem, the linguistic point of view was
stressed in the introduction. The sentence declares that while
all the disciplines convey their knowledge through speech, it
was Aristotle who researched the principles of speech itself. 183
Yet the correspondence between predicates and reality is stated
immediately afterwards.
‘He then taught us that from these eight [parts],

which the grammarians call parts of speech, only this
correctly can be called part of speech, which
indicates something and signifies by the word. And
that is why, on Aristotle’s authority, we only have to
accept the name (nomen) and the verb (verbum) as
parts of speech…: for the name points to the person,
the verb both to what he does or what he suffers’184
183
Pseudo-Augustini Paraphrasis Themistiana, Categoriae Decem, ed.
Laurentius Minio-Paluello (Brugge-Paris 1961), par 1. ‘Cum omnis scientia
disciplinaque artium diversarum non nisi oratione tractetur, nullus tamen, o
fili, in quovis genere pollens inventus est qui de ipsius orationis vellet origine
principiove tractare, idcirquoque miranda est Aristotelis philosophi diligentia
qui, disserendi de omnibus cupidus, ab ipsius coepit examine quam sciret et
praetermissam a cunctis et omnibus necessariam.’
184
Ibidem, par. 2. ‘Is igitur nos docuit ex octo his quas grammatici partes
orationis vocant eam solam recte appellari orationis partem quae indicaret
aliquid vocabuloque signaret. Itaque solas orationis partes, auctore
By ‘name’ (nomen) I interpret ‘noun’ (onoma), which in the case
of the categories refers to predicates. Thus the introduction
says that the ten categories of predicates and the verbs are the
principal parts of language because they have the potency to
refer to a person (or a thing). This stress on the linguistic point
of view of the categories suggests the reason why the
categories were considered a fine instrument in the
grammatical method. They greatly facilitated the analysis of
language by giving a division of possible predicates and what
aspect (thing, quality, time, place etc.) they referred to.
Furthermore, the correspondence not only held for names, but
also for verbs. In the De Interpretatione, the verb (rema) was
also said to be assertive of something. The verb was also a
noun, but with a ‘time-reference’ since it referred to the state
of the referent. For example, ‘writing’ refers to Alcuin’s state.185
Therefore both the predicates of the categories and the verbs
referred to something.
It is this correspondence that Fredegisus used in his proof

of the existence of darkness. For Fredegisus the categories and
verbs served as indicators of existence. In a true sentence,
there is a correspondence between predicates and verbs on the
one hand, and reality on the other hand. Since the predicates of
the categories and the verbs can only be applied to existing
things, their occurrence is an indication of the existence of the
thing of which they are predicated. This way of reasoning is
explicitly endorsed in the Categoriae Decem.186 This means that
Aristotele, nomen et verbum debemus accipere,…: nomen namque personam

demonstrat, verbum quid quisque faciat quidve patiatur.’
185
Aristotle, De interpretatione, ed. and transl. Hugh Tredennick (Cambridge
and London 1938), p. 16b r. 6-12.
186
In the discussion of the 5th meaning of ‘prior’. Categoriae Decem, par. 165-
166. ‘Hi sunt quattuor eius quod ‘prius’ dicitur modi; sed occultior quidam
quintus adiungitur, quoties ex duobus quae in se invicem convertuntur illud
est prius quod esse alterum facit; ut, exempli gratia, si est homo, recte eum
dicimus animal rationale, mortale, risus capax ; et, si vera est ista hominis
definitio, esse hominem verum. Ita utrumque in se convertitur, hoc est et
hominis veram definitionem esse et definitionis hominem verum…Sed
Fredegisus only had to find a set of true sentences in which
predicates were applied to darkness. There was one set of
sentences readily at hand, which no one dared accuse of falsity,
and that was Scripture. The argument for the existence of
darkness therefore partly derives from quotations from
scripture in which predicates and verbs are connected with
darkness.
Fredegisus uses three types of arguments which might be
connected with the Categoriae Decem. These arguments are
based on biblical quotations in which the darkness is connected
with verbs, with predicates from the categories and with a
perceptual predicate. I will start with the connection of
darkness and verbs. The first argument is that the verb ‘to be’
is assigned to darkness in Genesis 1.2. Moreover, the verb was
not used in its copulative function, but in its ‘declarative’
function, stating that the darkness existed and thereby forming
a proposition. This argument actually is enough for Fredegisus,
but to prevent criticism he provides other quotations. Another
argument derived from a verb is that God made darkness after
the death of Jesus, for example in Mathew 27:45. Fredegisus
rephrased it so that the verb was predicated of the darkness in
‘all things, which are made, how can they be said not to exist?’
Most biblical quotations are connected to the categories.
The category of place (de ubi) is used twice. David says that the
darkness was sent in Psalm 104:28. It can only be sent if it
comes from somewhere, which means that it has a location. The
‘outer darkness’ of Mathew 8:12 states that darkness is ‘in a
place’ or localised. Aristotle’s category of condition was
translated as the category of ‘habere’. ‘To have’ is taken very
literally in the argument that the darkness is owned in Psalm
138:12. Finally, the influence of the categories is undeniable in
the argument that the quantity is predicated of darkness in
Mathew 6:23. The Categoriae Decem states that every thing
can be judged according to quantity. 187 The category of quantity
quoniam definitio vera esse non poterat nisi prius natura hominis appareret,
idcirco ex his duobus, quae in semet converti diximus, homo prioris locum
tenet cuius exstantia definitionis suae exprimit veritatem.’ Cf. Categories, p.
14b 11-24.
187
Categoriae Decem, par. 71. ‘...cum aliquid viderimus, id necesse est
quantum sit aestimare.’
discusses disparate sorts of quantity, such as lines, time, space

and solid bodies.188 To Fredegisus, however, the only type of
quantity seems to be the solid body. The category of quantity
serves a fortiori as an indication of the existence of darkness,
since darkness must have a corporeal being in order to have
quantity. Further along in this argument, the term ‘accident’
occurs and it is said that accidents either are in subjects or can
be predicated of subjects. The difference is between asserting
universals of a thing, which are ‘said of a thing’, and assessing
properties of a thing, which are said to be ‘found in a thing’. 189
One could take Alcuin, for example, and group him together
with similar things like Fredegisus and Charles. Then one could
assert of Alcuin that he is a member of the species ‘man’. Add
the elephant Abul Abbas to the set and then one could assert
that Alcuin is a member of the genus animal. One could also
group Alcuin together with the elephant Abul Abbas because of
their whiteness (of hair and tusk). These universals are ‘said of’
a thing. On the other hand could look at Alcuin and see that he
is six feet tall, a grammar teacher, and has white (hair). These
properties are said to be ‘found in’ a thing. An accident, such as
the quality white, could therefore be asserted of Alcuin when
we are looking for ‘whiteness’ in things. Yet it can also be found
in Alcuin, if we are looking for all of his properties. Fredegisus
states here that since quantity is a property that is ‘found in’ a
subject, the subject itself must exist.
The last type of argument is about perception. When the
Egyptians were punished, they were covered in such darkness
that it could be touched. This argument is related to the
previous one, since corporality of the darkness is a condition
for its tangibility. The fact that it could be touched ensured its
existence for Fredegisus. Of course the theory of the categories
can provide such an argument, if one stated that tangibility is a
quality and that qualities can only be found in subjects, but this
was not the inference that Fredegisus made. He went straight
from the sensible perception of touch to the existence of the
thing. This may be an inference that was dictated by common
sense, especially since this step was unaccounted for in the
original theory of Aristotle. However, the Categoriae Decem can
188
Categoriae Decem, par 71-92. Cf. Aristotle, Categories, p. 4b 20- 6a 36.
189
Aristotle, Categories, p. 1a 23- 1b 15. Categroriae Decem, par. 31-34.
also provide such an inference. In the Categoriae Decem, some

of Aristotle’s philosophy of cognition is recounted, in which
mental images (concepts) are abstracted from sensible
perception.190 The sensible perception, however, is dependent
upon the subjects which are perceived. Therefore the sensible
perception discerns the subjects.191 This explains how the
Categoriae Decem could also lead from a palpable darkness to
an existing darkness. In light of the connection of the previous
arguments with the theory of the categories, it is consistent to
believe that this paraphrase also occasioned the inference in
the last argument.
Finally, there is a miscellaneous argument. David used the
darkness as his hideout, and Fredegisus said that this meant
that the hideout must have existed and that the darkness too
must have existed, since it provided the material. The inference
from the making of the hideout to the existence of the hideout
is easily made. Yet it is something else again to state that the
material must then also exist. It reminds one of Aristotle’s
material cause, but that is very unlikely. This argument may
therefore be devised by common sense keeping with the theory
of the categories.
2. Etymology.
Yet the proof of the existence of darkness did not hinge on

the categories alone. Fredegisus’ proof also echoes
etymological theory. I intentionally write ‘echoes’, since I do not
think that Fredegisus shared all the presuppositions behind the
etymological theory. Still, Fredegisus used some of its elements
in his proof of darkness. These elements will undoubtedly have
evoked the etymological theory in the heads of his readers.
Further, it is through his rejection of this theory that
Fredegisus’ position on nothing will be clarified. A short
description of this theory is therefore necessary.
Etymologia is a grammatical category, which was
developed by Greek and Roman grammar teachers along with
Categoriae Decem, par. 19-21, 27-28.
190
Categoriae Decem, par. 29. ‘…,et id quod dinoscitur sensibus ‘usian’ dici,
191
….’
other categories such as pars orationis, analogia, figurae etc.

This theory with platonic and stoic influences was mainly
transmitted to the early middle ages in the work of the
grammarian Varro, but also by Latin church fathers as
Augustine and Jerome.192 Of course every grammarian used the
term differently, but it can generally be said that the
etymologia of a word is an interpretation of the meaning from
an analysis of its origin. Such an analysis led the grammarians
from using etymology primarily as an educational mean to usint
it as a tool for philosophical analysis. 193 Ultimately the view one
has of the origin of language will determine how one explains
the meaning. In other words, this view prescribes which
criteria are fit to justify an explanation. If one thinks that
language is an arbitrary human convention, then the meaning
of a word will have to derive from other words or conventions.
In that case one could only use verbal criteria to explain a
word, for example by deriving a participle from a verb or
decomposing a word into its parts. On the other hand, if one
thinks that language is a reflection of reality, then the meaning
of a word can be determined by extra-verbal criteria –for
example the Ephesi are so called since they come from the city
Ephesus.194 In this approach the name of a thing is intrinsically
connected with the nature of the thing. Some (Pythagoreans,
Stoics, Isidore) have drawn the implication that an analysis of
the name will eventually elucidate the nature of the thing itself.
Fredegisus, of course, was familiar with Christian views
on the origin of language. Mark Amsler has identified three
‘fundamental patristic assumptions’ which informed early
medieval views of language, of which two are relevant for
research on Fredegisus (the third one is on onomastics).195 One
assumption derives from certain passages in the Bible, the
other from the idea of Christ as the Logos. Two biblical
passages, one in the Old and one in the New Testament, had a
major importance for the patristic view of the origin of
192
Mark Amsler in his 1976 dissertation The Theory of Latin “Etymologia” in
the Early Middle Ages: From Donatus to Isidore (Ann Arbor and London
1980), pp. 25, 106.
193
Amsler, The Theory of Latin “Etymologia”, p. 25.
194
An example of Varro, Amsler, The Theory of Latin “Etymologia”, p. 30.
195
Mark Amsler, The Theory of Latin “Etymologia”, p. 126.
language. Besides a general tendency in the Old Testament to

comprehend a thing through its name, the Genesis account of
creation was a major event from which ideas on the origin of
language were formed.196 In Genesis 1:3-5 in the Vulgate God
created by speaking: ‘And God said, ‘Let there be light.’ And
there was light. And God saw that the light was good and He
separated the light from the darkness. And He called the light
Day and the darkness Night. And there was morning and
evening, one day.’197 Not only did he speak, but he provided
light and darkness with their proper names. This passage
meant for Christians that knowledge of the proper name was to
get as close as possible to the moment of creation of the thing
and to comprehend as fully as possible God’s rationale for its
creation of the thing.198 John 1:1 was the major passage in the
New Testament with a bearing on language: ‘In the beginning
was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was
God.’199 Christ was identified with the Word so that this
sentence described the incarnation: Christ’s eternal
coexistence with God, his preparation in the words of the Old
Testament, and his incarnation. This link between Christ and
Word meant that all Christian etymologia and grammatical
explanation eventually signified Christ and were founded on
Christ.200 These biblical passages thus showed that the origin of
words and language was in God and Christ.
This idea was strengthened by the assumption of the
concept of Logos and its identification with Christ. Logos was a
concept coined by Heraclitus to indicate the reason or principle
governing the striving of opposites in the world. 201 The word
logos, however, also means ‘the spoken word’, and the concept
therefore referred also to Heraclitus’ own poetry as well. The
Greek Stoics, who regarded Heraclitus as their spiritual
ancestor, used this concept to describe the principle that
196
Ibidem, p. 107.
197
‘Dixitque Deus: Fiat lux. Et facta est lux. Et vidit Deus lucem quod esset
bona: et divisit lucem a tenebris. Appellavitque lucem Diem, et tenebras
Noctem: factumque est vestere et mane, dies unus.’
198
199
‘In principio erat Verbum, et Verbum erat apud Deum, et Verbum erat
Deum.’
200
Amsler, The Theory of Latin “Etymologia”, pp. 117, 120.
201
Johansen, A History of Ancient Philosophy, pp. 30-35.
governed nature and made a meaningful whole of reality.

Individual man with his rationality participated in the Logos,
but imperfectly. Man needed to search for the Logos. For the
Stoics, logos was also the meaning or thought of speech, and
vocal or written speech itself. Therefore the Logos could be
searched by dialectical reasoning. Etymology was important in
this search for Logos, since it recovered the true meanings of
words. Although words in their common use did not reflect
reality, the origin of words was far from arbitrary.202 They
believed that things were given a proper name. There was
therefore a strong connection between the res and the pure
verba. The immanent meaning in the name reflected the nature
of the thing. An examination of the name therefore revealed its
true meaning and the nature of the thing named. It was this
idea of Logos as a principle providing meaning, and as the
connection between res and verba that was adopted by the
Christians.
The Christian apologetics used the concept of Logos to
explain the rationale with which God created the world and the
incarnation in John 1:1.203 It was Christ who endowed the world
with meaning. Therefore, Christ was the origin of our words
and language. Moreover, with the gradual unfolding of God’s
plan of history, the sacred languages succeeded each other.
Hebrew was succeeded by Greek and Greek was succeeded by
Latin. And as the veil was gradually lifted, the succeeding
language conveyed its meaning more clearly. Since Christ’s
redemption of our sins, Latin is a fortiori the clearest language
of all. The Stoic connection between words and things therefore
can best be seen in Latin. Yet one had to participate in Christ to
discover the true meaning of words and the nature of things.
This true meaning signified a specific Christian extraverbal
reality. It was the spiritual reality of Christ from which the
words derived their meaning. Thus Christ or the word was not
only the origin of words, but also the origin of things which
provide meaning to the words. This equation of the origin of
words and the origin of things is at the basis of Christian
etymological theory. Isidore of Seville was the most prominent
202
Ibidem, p. 452, also n. 1. Amsler, The Theory of Latin “Etymologia”, p. 23.
203
etymologist in the early middle ages, and for him the word was
a route of access towards spiritual reality.
This etymological theory was widely shared, for example
by Augustine, Jerome, Isidore and others. Fredegisus used
some of the elements of the theory in his mode of thought of
the connection between a word and its extraverbal reality. This
is clear from sentences 43-57, which form a considerable part
of the proof of the existence of darkness. In Genesis ‘day’ and
‘night’ share a similar grammatical function. Therefore, if ‘day’
refers to a thing, ‘night’ must also refer to such a thing. In
sentence 20, Fredegisus states that the church holds that light
is created from nothing. Thus light is something, and darkness
must be something too. This next argument is founded on the
belief that words and things share a common origin in God in
51-52. With this foundation of a common origin in mind, to deny
that ‘darkness’ refers entails the rejection of the principle of
economy: God would have done something in vain. One wanted
to keep clear of such an implication, since it was not only
wrong, but even morally reproachable (nefas est) in 53-56. It
was therefore entirely understandable that our deacon
explicitly mentioned the Genesis account of naming. Not only
did it mention darkness, but it also evoked presuppositions
about the shared origin of words and things from etymological
theory. Yet Fredegisus rejected the idea that this shared origin
was of a spiritual nature. For Fredegisus, God gave the names
as vocal sounds to the things he created. This will become clear
through his examination of the word ‘nothing’.
3. Vox Significativa.
The proof of the existence of darkness has now been

elucidated by the theory of the categories and the theory of
etymology. These theories provided Fredegisus with a sure
method to reason from (almost) any word to its referent. The
question is therefore why Fredegisus chose not to use these
theories when confronting the problem of ‘nothing’. Why did he
not use for example the citation from Job 26:7 ‘Who appends
the earth above nothing’ which was given in Charles’ letter to
Dungal?204 With Fredegisus use of the categories one can

imagine an argument such as ‘the earth was appended above
nothing, which means that there is also an under-Nothing,
therefore Nothing has a place, and therefore Nothing exists.’
One could posit that Fredegisus suffered from a memory lapse,
but I don’t find the option of a memory lapse on Fredegisus part
convincing. There must be a more structural reason, from
which the options Fredegisus had to prove the existence of a
referent for Nothing’ would also transpire.
In my opinion, the reason why Fredegisus deemed it
impossible to use etymological theory and the categories on
‘nothing’ is that Nothing was not created by God. The
etymological theory was thereby invalidated, since the shared
origin of the thing and the word only applied to Creation. This
same reasoning accounts for the categories. The categories are
only useful in order to analyse predicates of created things.
Although Fredegisus was typical in claiming the existence of
Nothing, he was not so typical as to claim that it had quantity
and qualities. Nothing was something sui generis. Thus another
way had to be found to pave the way from the word to the
thing.
Fredegisus found his way in the concepts of nomen
finitum and vox significativa. In the grammatical tradition, the
nomen generally referred to real things.205 Fredegisus attached
an element from Boethius’ commentary on Aristotle’s De
Interpretatione to his idea of nomen.206 In the Editio prima of
his commentary Boethius states: ‘A name is a meaningful
sound, following convention, without time, of which no part
separately is meaningful, meaning something definite…’207 The
phrase ‘meaning something definite’ was incorporated to
exclude infinite names, like ‘not-man’ which referred to an
infinite number of things. The nomen finitum thus stated that
204
‘Qui appendet terram super nihilum.’
205
206
Aristotle, De interpretatione, p. 16a 20-22, A noun is a sound having
meaning established by convention alone but no reference whatever to time,
while no part of it has any meaning, considered apart from the whole.
207
Boethius, Commentarii in librum ΠΕΡΙ ΕΡΜΝΙΑΣ Editio prima, ed. Karl
Meiser (Leipzig 1887), p. 55 r. 15-17. ‘Nomen est vox significativa, secundum
placitum, sine tempore, cuius nulla pars significativa est separata, definitum
aliquid significans,…’
‘nihil’ was not a name that referred to an infinite amount of

things, but to a definite thing. The same was conveyed by the
concept of the vox significata. This was the ‘meaningful sound’
from Boethius’ definition. For Boethius, the vox significata
referred to a concept and the concept in its turn to an extra
mental reality or thing. The word therefore only referred to the
thing on the second occasion. Yet Fredegisus found a solution
for this. In the following syllogism of the proof of the existence
of Nothing, Fredegisus equated the meaning (significatio) of
the word with the thing.208 In this context we are allowed to
compare the meaning (significatio) of the word with the
concept, since the meaning of the vox significata is the concept.
In this way, Fredegisus skipped from the intermediate stage of
the concept to a direct reference to extra-mental reality. With
this mix of the grammatical nomen, the logical vox significativa
and the significatio, Fredegisus provided the direct connection
between the name ‘nothing’ and its sui generis referent. Now
that the method has been reviewed with which Fredegisus
proved that Nothing existed, the question of what Fredegisus
thought his Nothing was looms large once more.
4. Divination
In the previous chapter I have shown that Fredegisus’

Nothing cannot be identified with prime matter. Nonetheless,
just like prime matter, Nothing is a very special sort of thing.
This sui generis characteristic is consistent with the difference
in methods that the deacon used to reason from the word to the
thing. Fredegisus’ respect for the ‘great and noble’ (magnum
quidam ac praeclarum) thing that he proved is also familiar.
What is that important and out of the ordinary thing? Especially
the fact that the categories cannot be applied to this something
is clarifying: it must be something which cannot be measured,
has no quality, has no body…Apart from existence, it lacks all
these properties. The definition of a thing by privation (i.e. by
saying which properties it lacks) was a Neo-Platonist way of
208
defining God and first matter.209 We have seen that Augustine

described prime matter as an ‘almost nothing’ and this
privative method is also the basis of negative theology (God is
infinite. To apply any predicate to God is to limit Him. Therefore
no predicate can be applied to God). 210 In the 19th c. Ritter
therefore thought that Nothing was God and that Fredegisus
was a predecessor of John Scotus. More recently, Shimizu
Tetsuro entertained a similar idea. His ideas are directly
related with the theories of the logos and the vox significatia
just discussed.
Tetsuro’s ultimate aim is to show that Fredegisus refuted
the idea that God created the world by speaking. 211 It is in this
context that Tetsuro maintains that Nothing is the divine
essence. His argument runs as follows.212 (1) God imposed
names on created things after creation. (2) Therefore God did
not create by speaking. (3) All things come from Nothing. (4)
Nothing is great and very bright. (5) Nothing is the divine
essence (q.e.d.). How to interpret Nothing is a difficult question
and I had some reservations against parts of this argument.
Nonetheless I believe that Tetsuro is right. I will discuss the
arguments one by one.
(1) The first step of the argument is straightforward. It
was only after the creation of a thing that God imposed a name
thereon. These ‘post factum’ names constitute human language.
It is these names from human language that interested
Fredegisus.
The inference to the idea that (2) God did not create by
speaking needs a longer explanation. The idea that God did not
create by producing vocal sounds is not strange. The
pronunciation of a multi syllable word involves the temporal
frame, since one syllable will precede another. Time, however,
only came into being with the rest of the creation and God
himself is outside of time. Therefore God did not create by
vocal words. This idea is shared, for example, by Augustine and
209
Cf. Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’, p. 779. That
Boethius excludes nothing from definition by privation would constitute no
argument that Fredegisus excludes it too.
210
Cf. Shimizu Tetsuro, Alcuin’s Theory of Signification, in Didascalia 1996
(2), p. 16.
211
Shimizu Tetsuro, pp. 14, 17.
212
Ibidem, pp. 15-16.
Alcuin in epistle 163.213 Here I have a first reservation.

Augustine God also did not create by speaking vocally. God can
speak directly in ‘intelligibles’, in the meaning of words without
sounds, with which he created the cosmos. 214 Yet this only
constitutes a counterargument if Fredegisus was interested in
these intelligibles. This is denied by Tetsuro since he holds the
view that Fredegisus’ view of names was that they are only
vocal sounds, and do not convey the nature of a thing (as for
Augustine). The fact that God imposed names on the things
after their creation is reason enough for Tetsuro.215
Here I have a strong second reservation: Fredegisus may
have held that God did not impose arbitrary vocal sounds, but
instead sounds that expressed the nature of the thing. In that
case a word is more than just a vocal sound, and the sound
would lead to the intelligibles in creation. In other words, God
imposed sounds on the intelligibles so that His names still led
to His intelligibles. The difference between creating and
naming would then be so small that it made no real difference.
How are we to find out what Fredegisus’ view was? A first
observation is that one would expect Fredegisus to perform
etymology if he believed that the sound expressed the
intelligible. Yet this is not the case, he only uses elements of the
theory of etymology. Second Alcuin at least adhered to the
Aristotelian-Boethian view that words are just arbitrary vocal
sounds, which signify intramental concepts.216 Alcuin even gave
an abstract of this theory in epistle 163: ‘The words through
which we speak are nothing else if not signs for these things
which we comprehend with the mind, and [through which] we
want to arrive at the cognition of others.’217 The fact that
Fredegisus uses the concept vox significata and applies the
213
Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram in libri duodecim, cap. 2, 9. Alcuin, MGH
Epist. IV, nr. 163, p. 265, r. 10-13. ‘Verbum enim cum dico, priorem dum dixi
syllabam, posterior futura fuit: et dum posteriorem dico, praeteriit prior. Deo
vero nihil praeteritum vel futurum, sed omnia praesentia sunt, qui servo suo
Moysi ait: “Ego sum, qui sum”.’
214
Augustine, De Genesi ad litteram, cap 9, 17.
215
Shimizu Tetsuro Alcuin’s Theory of Signification, p. 15.
216
Ibidem, p. 13.
217
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, 163, p. 265, r. 16-18. ‘Verba enim, quibus loquimur,
nihil aliud sunt, nisi signa rerum earum, quas mente concepimus, et [quibus]
ad cognitionem aliorum venire volumus.’
Boethian specification ‘finitum’ to ‘nomen’ indicates that

Fredegisus shared this view of words as vocal sounds, not the
Stoic-Augustinian view of words reflecting natures. This of
course does not mean that Alcuin and Fredegisus would have
denied the intelligibles of God, nor Christ the Word who existed
before creation. The intelligibles performed their function in a
different guise, as the forms that were used to inform prime
matter. These intelligibles as forms still could last forever in
Christ the Word. Alcuin points to this story of creation in
interrogation 19 of the Interrogationes et responsiones in
Genesim.218 Moreover, asked in interrogation 31 what was
meant in Genesis 1:3 by ‘God said’, Alcuin replied that it meant
‘God made’ and that the Bible read ‘said’ in order to show the
‘speed and ease’ with which God created.219 There is, of course,
no real difference between the creation by words or forms,
since they are the same intelligibles with which God created.
Yet the implication is this: if the stress is on the intelligibles as
forms, if words are only vocal sounds, then the creative
principle that was at work in the creation of the world was not
the Word, but something else. This leaves room to posit some
other divine essence. Fredegisus with his vox significata and
nomen finitum adhered to this idea as well.
The next two steps of the argument (3 and 4) are
indisputable, yet the question is whether these statements are
enough to infer that Nothing was the divine essence for
Fredegisus. This inference stands or falls with the answer to
the following question: did Fredegisus imagine a distinction
between God and the referent of ‘nothing’? The
counterargument against the inference that Nothing was the
divine essence, is that Nothing is distinct from God. It will
therefore be necessary to scrutinise Fredegisus’ text again to
218
Alcuin, Interrogationes et responsiones in Genesim, PL 100, 519a.
‘Interrogatio 19. Quot modis est operatio divina?
Responsio. Quatuor. Primo, quod in verbi [Dei] dispensatione omnia aeterna
sunt. Secundo, quod in material informi ‘qui vivit in aeternum, creavit omnia
simul’.
Cf. Shimizu p. 13.
219
Ibidem, 520a.
Interrogatio 31. Quid est quod dicitur : ‘Dixit Deus, fiat lux’?
Responsio. ‘Dixit’, pro fecit, scriptor posuit, ut celeritatem vel facilitatem
operis Dei ostenderet.’
see whether such a division is supported. He says that the

elements, light, angels and the souls of men are created from
Nothing in 20. This in itself is not very significant, since it still
might mean that there can be some sort of ‘inert’ and neutral
Nothing before creation, ‘out’ of which the building blocks of
our reality (spiritual elements as light, souls, angels and the
material elements) were created by God. Then there would still
be a definite distinction between God and Nothing. Yet there
are two problems with this interpretation. First the function of
Nothing would be that of prime matter, and Nothing has no
signature of traditional prime matter whatsoever. We still can
say that Fredegisus devised some sort of prime matter of his
own, however unlikely. Yet, second, would someone who
believed in such a neutral and inert Nothing be prepared to say
that the building blocks of our reality not only have their origo
(origin), but also their genus in Nothing in 27? Genus not only
means ‘descent’ but also has connotations of ‘birth’ and ‘race’.
Also, in the theory of the categories the genus or family (as
secondary substance) groups objects together in sets according
to shared features of their substance. It is at least safe to say
that the term genus means that the progeny or offspring derive
some features from the parent. I do not think that Fredegisus
would mean that angels, light and souls derive some of their
nature from an inert and neutral Nothing. To be created ‘from
nothing’ therefore meant for Fredegisus that Nothing itself has
a creative power from which all those important building blocks
of creation sprang. The idea of a division between God and
Nothing is very unlikely, but a connection between the two
becomes more attractive. There are other arguments as well.
This idea that the spiritual and material building blocks
spring from Nothing is consistent with the idea of a ‘great and
shining’ nature of Nothing. In 24, Fredegisus argues that
people cannot comprehend this nature of Nothing, since they
cannot even comprehend the nature of its ‘offspring’. This
argument shows that Fredegisus sees a hierarchy in things. In
order to know the first, it is necessary to know that which came
from the first. Thus the order of our knowledge is the reverse of
the order of things. Everything comes from Nothing. What
would this first item of Nothing be, if it was not God? Sentence
20 strengthens this idea. If Fredegisus had said that God (Deus
or maybe conditor) created from Nothing, then there would

have been be a clear distinction between God and Nothing. Yet
Fredegisus here says that it is the ‘divine potency’ (divinam
potentiam) which created the things, not God himself. At the
risk of overinterpretation, this could mean that Fredegisus saw
God as creating things out of himself: a divine potency creating
the things from his own essence of Nothing. In any case, so
much is clear: Fredegisus does not posit a difference between
God and Nothing, and the way he speaks about Nothing makes
the idea of Nothing as the divine essence plausible.
Fredegisus thus needed different methods, or techniques
to reason from the words ‘darkness’ and ‘nothing’ to their
respective referents, because their subjects had a
fundamentally different nature. The theory of the categories
and some elements of the theory of etymology were therefore
apt to prove the existence of such creatures as darkness, but
not apt for the proof of Nothing. This has to be added to the
little that can be known about Nothing: the first things of
creation have some features from their parent; the hierarchy of
things and the bright and great nature of Nothing point to the
divine nature of Nothing. In combination with the space that
was cleared for a new divine essence in rejection of the idea of
creation by speaking, Fredegisus’ human word ‘nothing’
referred to God’s nature. It is, however, far from easy to draw
this implication from Fredegisus’ text. We can therefore wonder
what the reception of the De substantia was like, and why
Fredegisus did not speak more openly of his idea. The needs
and questions of the intellectual context in which Fredegisus
wrote will provide the answers to these questions.
Chapter 4: use
Tutoring the Court
t
he time has come to widen the scope from the technicalities and
intellectual antecedents of Fredegisus’ letter. This time, however,
the questions will not be about the ‘inner core’ of the phenomenon,
but on the relationships it has with its surrounding world. In other
words, the ‘use’ of the De substantia will have to be addressed in
order to find out what Fredegisus was doing. Why would he have
been interested in writing about ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ in the
first place? This answer involves the historical context.
We have seen what the De substantia was about in the
chapter about the statement, and how Fredegisus argued in his
text from his question to the answer in the chapter on the method.
The historical context was important in these chapters since it
elucidated the statement and the method, the ‘inner core’ of the
phenomenon. But it is even more important in this chapter. In
order to see how the De substantia was supposed to be read and
how it was supposed to function one can only place the text in the
historical context. This statement may appear trivial, but it is in the
execution of the research that it must prove its relevance.
Therefore I think it is important to give the historical context all
the space that it needs, and I am afraid it needs a lot.
Indeed both the general developments of the period in which
Fredegisus wrote and the audience for whom he wrote are factors
in the shaping of the De substantia. Moreover, the general
developments and the audience are themselves intricately linked,
since the court and its supreme courtier Charlemagne exercised a
strong influence on the literary culture and ideology in the last
decades of the eighth century. In my opinion it is important to show
how this connection worked and how Fredegisus operated in this
culture. This chapter will start with a general brief introduction to
Tutoring the Court 118
the literary culture and ideology of the Carolingian Renaissance

and to the influence of the court and politics on this culture. This
will serve as a background to my contention that the De substantia
was written as two encyclopedic lemmata to provide a tool for
biblical study. This interpretation of the De substantia is consistent
with the concerns, anticipations and requirements of the court for
which Fredegisus wrote and in which he had to realize his
aspirations. With his encyclopedic lemmata, Fredegisus tried to
tutor the court and probably to show what he was intellectually
capable of. It was the court that would provide the arena that gave
a favourable or unfavourable reaction to the De substantia.
1. Carolingian Literary Culture and Ideology
The general historical background in which Fredegisus

should be placed is during the first decades of the cultural
movement of the late eighth and ninth centuries, generally
referred to as the Carolingian Renaissance. 1 The fruits of this
movement are well known. Under the Carolingians the discipline,
uniformity and production of scriptoria increased.2 Book
production surged in these centuries. Some 7000 manuscripts from
c. 750 to 900 remain, whereas there are only about 500 extant
manuscripts from Merovingian Gaul before 750.3 It is very unlikely
that this difference would only be due to a difference in survival
rates. A uniform and easily readable and writable script, the
Carolingian minuscule was promoted by the scriptorium of the
abbey of Tours and was used by most scriptoria after 800.
Furthermore, tools like punctuation and word spacing were
practiced ever more frequently to facilitate reading. The focus of
book production lay on Bibles, biblical commentaries, patristic
1
Neither this general introduction, nor the subject of this thesis fits a discussion
whether the name ‘renaissance’ should be applied to this cultural movement.
Since the term still is current for the cultural events of the period, I will use it
throughout this chapter for the sake of brevity and practicality.
2
David Ganz, ‘Book Production in the Carolingian Empire and the Spread of
Caroline Minuscule’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.), New Cambridge Medieval
History vol. II (Cambridge 1995), p. 797.
3
Ganz, ‘Book Production in the Carolingian Empire’, p. 786 and n. 1. He
reproduces Bernard Bischoff’s count in Bischoff, Latin Paleography: Antiquity
and the Middle Ages (Cambridge 1990), p. 208.
writings and liturgical books. But among the books copied there
were also very different works, e.g. grammars and commentaries
on Roman literary classics.4 As book production expanded, the
library holdings rapidly increased from about 790 to 840. 5 This
expansion in size was mirrored by an expansion in function.
Whereas, for example libraries of monasteries prior to c. 790
mainly provided texts used for monastic reading and study, after
this date they were also used for broad educational purposes and
erudition.6
It was not only the production of manuscripts that surged.
The number of schools presumably increased from the late eighth
century onwards and some 70 centers of learning have been
identified in the ninth century. 7 Using the book of psalms, but also
grammars (from among others Donatus and Priscian) and Latin
poets (e.g. Virgil), the boys in the schools at these centers would be
instructed in basic chant, study Latin grammar, learn to write by
copying texts, learn rudimentary arithmetic and computus (useful
in the counting of tithes and dates for example) and some
explication of Scripture.8 Advanced studies for those destined to
become prelates or masters in their own right seems to have
comprised the artes liberales, the patristic tradition and eventually
advanced studies of Scripture. Of course specific needs and
interests of individual schools shaped specific circumstances for
each of the schools, but still the schools instilled some basic tools
for a shared literary culture over a geographic area that stretched
from the Rhone to the Rhine and from Rome to Utrecht. 9 Leaving
aside the works that were written in the fields of historiography,
hagiography and poetry, other works like the florilegia of patristic
works, educational dialogues and biblical commentaries attest to
4
Contreni, ‘Learning in the Early Middle Ages’, p. 11
5
Ganz, ‘Book production in the Carolingian Empire’, p. 788.
6
Idem, p. 801.
7
John Contreni, ‘Education and Literary Culture’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.),
New Cambridge Medieval History vol. II (Cambridge 1995), p. 721.
8
A much discussed theme in the papers of John Contreni. Idem p. 720 and
‘Learning in the Early Middle Ages’ p. 11, ‘The Carolingian Renaissance’ in
Waren Treadgold (ed.), Renaissances Before the Renaissance: Cultural Revivals
of Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages (Stanford 1984), pp. 66-67, 70-71.
9
For an account of structural differences or contradictions that the Carolingian
Renaissance would summon see John Contreni, ‘Inharmonious Harmony:
Education in the Carolingian World’ in The Annals of Scholarship: Metastudies
of the Humanities and Social Sciences I (New York 1980), pp. 81-96.
the fact that the men of letters under the scepter of the
Carolingians not only received and preserved late antique and
classical culture, but digested and reworked their heritage as
well.10
Of course this cultural upsurge was not created ex nihilo.

Although Cassiodore in the early 6th c. was aggrieved about boys
who, after their education, went back to cultivate their fields,
literary culture in Merovingian times should not be assumed to
have been a wasteland.11 Admittedly learned authors like Beda and
Isidore were situated outside of the Frankish realms, but
Merovingian authors and scriptoria still copied Bibles, biblical
commentaries, exegesis, liturgical books and canon law. The eighth
century witnessed experiments in the development of new scripts
that prefigured the Caroline minuscule. Moreover the late
Merovingian period showed considerations that also moved the
Carolingians, i.e. a preoccupation with authority, orthodoxy and
correctness.12 Then what made the Carolingian Renaissance
special? The increase in the quantity and quality of books produced
10
Willemien Otten on the Opus Caroli in ‘The Texture of Tradtition: the Role of
the Church Fathers in Carolingian Theology’ in Irena Backus (ed.), The
Reception of the Church Fathers in the West vol. I (Leiden 1997), pp. 4, 9, 24;
Colish, ‘Carolingian Debates over Nihil and Tenebrae’, p. 794; Contreni,
‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, pp. 72, 85-86; Shimizu, ‘Alcuin’s Theory of
Signification’, p. 4-5; Leonardi, ‘Alcuino e la scuola palatina’, p. 462.
11
Cassiodore, Variarum libri duodecim ed. Theodore Mommsen in MGH AA vol.
12., lib. VIII cap. 31 r. 3-7. ‘Quid prodest tantos uiros latere litteris defaecatos?
Pueri liberalium scholarum conuentum quaerunt et mox foro potuerint esse
digni, statim incipient agresti habitatione nesciri: proficiunt, ut dediscant:
erudiuntur, ut neglegant et cum agros diligent, se amare non norunt.’ Also
mentioned by Contreni, ‘Learning in the Early Middle Ages’, p. 3. Yitzhak Hen,
for example, describes the role of the Bible and the composition of three
exegetical treatises in the seventh century, ‘The Bible and Kingship in
Merovingian Gaul’ in Early Medieval Europe 1998 7 (3), pp. 280, 285.
12
Rosamond McKitterick, ‘Eighth Century Foundations’ in Rosamond
McKitterick (ed.), New Cambridge Medieval History vol. II (Cambridge 1995),
pp. 685-678. Yitzhak Hen, The Royal Patronage of Liturgy in Frankish Gaul. To
the Death of Charles the Bald (877) (London 2001), p. 73.
and schools attended are distinctive features. Another special

feature of the Carolingian Renaissance was that it was sponsored
by public authority. Carolingian rulers, their bishops and their
abbots were actively involved in the promotion of these basic tools
of culture and thereby made this increase possible.13
This sponsoring by public authority functioned as a condition
for the Carolingian Renaissance but also, to a certain extent,
shaped its direction. Here I will focus on the sponsoring during the
reign of Charlemagne, to whom Fredegisus owed allegiance. For
however diverse the products of the Carolingian Renaissance may
have been, Charlemagne and the scholars he had amassed around
him shared a set of ideals that set an example for others. 14 This
means that these ideals are likely candidates to figure in a set of
sufficient causes for the De substantia. Of these ideals, correctness
was first and foremost, but unification and reformation were also
important goals. The ideal of correctness is best exemplified in the
famous De litteris colendis and the Admonitio generalis. The
Admonitio was issued by Charles in 789 and commands the clergy
in article 72: ‘Correct carefully the Psalms, the signs in writing, the
songs, the calendar, the grammar, in each monastery or bishopric
and the catholic books’15 Next there was a practical exhortation to
prevent further textual corruption by inexperienced pupils: ‘And do
not permit your boys to corrupt them [catholic books] in reading or
writing. If there is need of writing the Gospel, Psalter and Missal,
let men of mature age do the writing with all diligence.’16 Although
the ideal of correctness had a concrete and practical basis in the
textual domain of religious books, it had much broader
ramifications.17 This can be seen in the reason that is given in the
13
Contreni ‘Learning in the Early Middle Ages.’ p. 10 and ‘Carolingian Bible
studies.’ p. 74. Hen, The Royal Patronage of Liturgy, pp. 71-72.
14
Contreni, Education in the Carolingian World, p. 83 and ‘Education and
Literary Culture’, p. 709.
15
Admonitio generalis, ed. Alfred Boretius MGH Capit. I (Hannover 1883), nr. 22
p. 60 r. 3-4. ‘Psalmos, notas, cantus, compotum, grammaticam per singula
monasteria vel episcopia et libros catholicos bene emendate.’ The General
Admonition, 789, trans. D.C. Munroe in Paul Edward Dutton (ed.), Carolingian
Civilization. A Reader. (2nd ed. Peterborough, Plymouth and Sydney 2004), p. 92.
16
ibidem, r. 5-6. ‘Et pueros vestros non sinite eos vel legendo vel scribendo
corrumpere; et si opus euangelium, psalterium et missale scribere, perfectae
aetatis homines scribant cum omni diligentia.’
17
David Ganz forwards the interesting idea that through the focus on texts, the
scribal norms of correcting errors, removing what is superfluous and affirming
Admonitio to correct the texts: ‘…because often some desire to

pray to God properly, but they pray badly because of faulty
books.’18 Moreover, I don’t doubt that praying correctly was part of
having ‘good manners’ which was required of the ‘ministers of the
altar of God.’ Thus that the norm of correctness not only applied to
having the correct (liturgical) texts and saying the right prayers,
but eventually extends to the living of a faultless life, which
glorifies God and sets the right example. These were the reasons
for Charles to address the priests, canonical clergy and monks with
the following: ‘We implore them to lead a just and fitting life, just
as God himself commanded in the Gospel.’19 To prevent the
deterioration of a once-set standard, schools had to be established
both by the bishops and by the abbots who would teach the pupils
with the corrected psalms, tironian notes, songs, computus and
grammar.
The same ideal, but with an emphasis on scholarship, can be
read in the De litteris colendis, the letter written in the name of
Charles to abbot Baugulf of Fulda in the 790s. This letter was
probably read by many more people than Baugulf, assuming that
Baugulf was concerned for his political well-being. Charles at least
asked him ‘to send copies of this letter to all your suffragans and
fellow-bishops and to every monastery’ on pain of losing his favor. 20
Illuminating in the De litteris colendis is the narratio:
‘For when in the past few years letters were often sent
to us from several monasteries in which it was stated
that the brethren who dwelt there offered upon our
behalf sacred and pious prayers, we have noticed in
the right became the social norms of Carolingian society. ‘Book Production in the
Carolingian Empire’, p. 793.
18
Admonitio generalis, MGH Capt. I, p. 60 r. 4-5. ‘Qiua saepe, dum bene aliquid
Deum rogare cupiunt, sed per inemendatos libros male rogant.’
19
ibidem, p. 59 r. 42-43. ‘Obsecramus, ut bonam et probabilem habeant
conversationem, sicut ipse Dominus in euangelio praecipit.’
20
Donald Bullough however thinks that the letter shouldn’t be seen as the
fundamental text in a royally sponsored program but as an expression of a stage
of Alcuin’s teaching career. Alcuin. Achievement and Reputation (Leiden and
Boston 2004), p. 386. In ‘Aula Renovata’ he accepts Wallach’s claim of Alcuin’s
involvement, but dates the letter in 790, whereas Wallach would date it 794.
Wallach, ‘Aula Renovata: The Court before the Aachen Palace’ in Carolingian
Renewal (Manchester 1991); ‘Aula Renovata’ p. 158, n. 58. Liutpold Wallach,
Alcuin and Charlemagne, pp. 198-226.
most of these letters both correct thoughts and

uncouth expressions; because what pious devotion
dictated faithfully to the mind, the tongue uneducated
on account of the neglect of study, was not able to
express in the letter without error. Whence it happened
that we began to fear lest perchance, as the skill in
writing was less, so also the wisdom for understanding
the Holy Scriptures might be much less than it rightly
ought to be. And we all know well that, although errors
of speech are dangerous, far more dangerous are
errors in understanding.’21
‘No one with a lesser command of the Latin tongue can

understand rightly (recte) Holy Scripture’ is the fear this narratio
expresses. Therefore, Latin language and literature must be
studied. The key to understanding the Bible lay in the study of
grammar and rhetoric, for they taught the way to see through the
use of figures of speech: ‘Since, moreover images, tropes and
similar figures are found in the sacred pages, no one doubts that
each one in reading these will understand the spiritual sense more
quickly if previously he shall have been fully instructed in the
mastery of letters.’22 But there was another fear as well. What if all
those pious prayers were worthless if in incorrect Latin? Since
‘those who desire to please God by living rightly should not neglect
21
Epistola de litteris colendis, ed. Liutpold Wallach, Alcuin and Charlemagne:
Studies in Carolingian History and Literature (Ithaca, New York 1959) p. 202-
204, r. 7-9 trans. D.C. Munroe in Paul Edward Dutton (ed.), Carolingian
Civilization. A Reader (2nd ed. Peterborough, Plymouth and Sydney 2004), p. 90.
‘Nam cum nobis in his annis a nonnullis monasteriis saepius scripta dirigerentur,
in quibus, qoud pro nobis fratres ibidem commorantes in sacris et piis
orationibus decertarent, significaretur, cognovimus in plerisque praefatis
conscriptionibus eorundem et sensus rectos et sermons incultos; quia, quod pia
devotio interius fideliter dictabat, hoc exterius propter neglegentiam discendi
lingua inerudita exprimere sine reprehensione non valebat. Unde factum est, ut
timere inciperemus, ne forte, sicus minor erat in scribendo prudentia, ita quoque
et multo minor esset quam recte debuisset in sanctarum scripurarum ad
intellegendum sapientia. Et bene novimus omnes, quia, quamvis periculosi sint
errores verborum, multo periculosiores sunt errores sensuum.’
22
ibidem, r.11. ‘Cum autem in sacris paginis scemata, tropi et caetera his similia
inserta inveniantur, nulli dubium est, quod ea unusquisque legens tanto citius
spiritaliter intellegit, quanto prius in litterarum magisterio plenius instructus
fuerit.’
to please him also by speaking correctly. For it is written: “Either

from thy words thou shalt be justified or from thy words thou shalt
be condemned.” ’23 Having corrected liturgical books is not enough
if one does not recognize the imminent importance of learning the
right language. To perform correct prayers requires study, but
praying is only a part of life. It requires even more study to know
which course of action would be God-fearing in any given situation.
So De litteris colendis progresses with the thought that ‘For
although correct conduct may be better than knowledge,
nevertheless knowledge precedes conduct.’24 The goals of the
clergy were to achieve wisdom in matters of the Bible and to lead
correct lives and the value of learning was a derivative of these
goals. However, if learning was to be the main instrument for the
achievement, it meant that learning had to be stimulated.
The ideal of unification lacks such eloquent expressions. 25
Nonetheless, Claudio Leonardi ascribes to Alcuin the realisation
that there was much ‘curiosity’ in the cultural traditions. 26 In this
context I take ‘curiosity’ to mean an ‘unwanted form of diversity’.
Such a realisation leads to a need to root out these diversities (or
errors) and thus to unify. In any case, this ideal has a natural
alliance with the ideal of correction, since the correction of
activities or corpus of texts tend to produce a canon of orthodoxy
and authority, which in turn leads to a tendency to uniform the
activities and texts. It may be significant that the Admonitio not
only called for correctness, but also for orthodoxy: the 82 nd and last
23
Ibidem, r. 2a-3. ‘…ut, qui Deo placere appetunt recte vivendo, ei etiam placere
non neglegant recte loquendo. Scriptum est enim: ‘Aut ex verbis iustificaberis,
aut ex verbis tuis condempnaberis.’
24
Ibidem, r. 4. ‘Quamvis enim melius sit bene facere quam nosse, prius tame nest
nosse quam facere.’
25
Although Kottje speaks of the Council of Mainz in 813 in which the unity of the
people is wished for. Raymund Kottje, ‘Einheit und Vielfalt des kirchlichen
Lebens in der Karolingerzeit’, in Zeitschrift für Kirchengeschichte 76 (1965), p.
323. Concordia Episcoporum, ed. Georg Pertz in MGH Leg. IV vol. 2 (Hannover
1837), articles 1 and 2, p. 552.
26
Claudio Leonardi, ‘Alcuino e la scuola platina: le ambizioni di una cultura
unitaria’ in Settimane di studio del centro Italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo
XXVII (1981), p 462. Alcuin states that there was much ‘curiosity’ in the
defenders of the catholic faith in connection with the heresy of Felix of Urgel.
Leonardi generalizes this statement over the received traditions. Alcuin, MGH
Epist. IV, nr 193 p. 320 r.8. ‘Multas habemus curiositates de fide catholica, quia
plurimi sunt impugnatores.’
article forbade priests to teach anything ‘new or non-canonical’. 27

At least there is no shortage of concrete signs of a program to unify
Carolingian culture, although of course a caveat has to be made
here: an ideal to unify does not suppress all instances of variety,
neither in the production of concrete objects nor in intellectual
activity.28 Charles’ father Pippin III gave an example in the 750s.
He permitted Chrodegang, bishop of Metz, to establish a Roman-
style school of liturgical chant (‘Roman’ as perceived by this bishop
that is), leading to the demise of the alternate Visigoth tradition of
song, which existed in the Spanish March, during the reign of
Charles.29 We’ve seen already that under Charles one script gained
the upper hand, and that schools were established, for which the
Admonitio generalis had provided a model of minimum educational
requirements. Weights, measures and coinage were reformed in
the years 792-794.30 There were also the gatherings in Charles’
palace in Aachen where diverse things were discussed such as
rules for monasteries in 802 (without successful unification
however) or the methods of computus in 809.31 In the Epistola
generalis, which was written before 800, it can be read that
Charles dispensed to churches a two volume lectionary compiled
by Paul the Deacon to replace erroneous other copies. 32 This points
as much to the correction of errors in ‘Catholic books’ as to the
27
Admonitio generalis, MGH Capit. I, art. 82 p. 61 r. 23-26. ‘…ut presbyteros
quos mittitis per parochias vestras ad regendum et ad praedicandum per
ecclesias populum Deo servientem, ut recte et honeste praedicent; et non sinatis
nova vel non canonica aliquos ex suo sensu et non secundum scripturas sacras
fingere et praedicare populo.’ Donald Bullough, Alcuin. Achievement and
Reputation (Leiden and Boston 2004), p. 383.
28
Contreni, ‘The Carolingian Renaissance’, p. 712. Kottje, ‘Einheit und Vielfalt’,
p. 341.
29
Reynolds, ‘The Organization, Law and Liturgy of the Western Church, 700-
900’, p. 619. For a more skeptical account see Bullough, ‘Aula Renovata’, p. 126.
Yitzhak Hen believes that the reforms comprised more than chant alone. Hen,
The Royal Patronage of Liturgy, p. 49.
30
Bullough, ‘Aula Renovata’, pp. 143-144.
31
Mayke de Jong, ‘Carolingian Monasticism: The Power of Prayer’ in Rosamond
McKitterick (ed.), New Cambridge Medieval History vol. II (Cambridge 1995), p.
630. Contreni, ‘Education and Literary Culture.’ p. 741.
32
Epistola generalis, MHG Capit. I, p. 80 r. 33-37-81 r. 1-9. trans. D. C. Munroe
‘From the General Letter of Charlemagne’ in Paul Edward Dutton (ed.),
Carolingian Civilization, p. 91.
fact that from the centre of power emanated similar liturgical

books to unify the service to God.
It was also through the service of God that the ideal of
unification for all the different regna of Charles could take hold. It
was an old and wide spread use that the unity of a realm was
thought of both in political terms and in religious terms. 33 Thus the
ruler, magnates and bishops all were considered to share the
responsibility for the well-being of their people. Already under the
predecessors of Charles those responsible convened in synods to
discuss matters, which our modern eyes would be separated into
the categories ‘politics’ and ‘religion’. The point is that this
separation would ring false to their ears. They did not held this
responsibility from their subjects, but were answerable to God, as
his servants. This way it was possible to refer to the monarch as a
minister, a servant.34 When Alcuin introduced the political art of
rhetorics to the court in the 790s, it was therefore only natural for
him to have it show that Charlemagne was the epithet of Christian
kingship.35
To see the duties of the king as a service to God opens the
possibility to see his people as the flock. When from the 780s
onwards under Charles leadership ever more synods were held, the
salvation of the flock of subjects was intensely considered. 36 The
subjects were seen as the populus christianus and the realm as an
ecclesia. This vision of the state meant that the universal claims of
the Christian religion could be used to unify the different gentes
that were brought under Charles’ rule. As long as they belonged to
the universal ecclesia of Charles’ reign all the different people
would be unified through the service of God. It was from this great
responsibility of the salvation of the populus christianus that the
third ideal of reform came forth.
An ideal of reformation implies that there is a certain object
that stands in need of reform. The object that Charles and Alcuin
33
de Jong, ‘Charlemagne’s Church’, p. 108. Giles Brown, ‘The Carolingian
Renaissance’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.), Carolingian Culture: Emulation
and Innovation (Cambridge 1994), p. 3. Kottje, ‘Einheit und Vielfalt’, p. 323.
34
Mayke de Jong, ‘Sacrum palatium et ecclesia. L’autorité religieuse royale sous
les Carolingiens (790-840) in Annales. Histoire, sciences sociales. novembre-
décembre 2003 (6), pp. 1252-1253.
35
Liutpold Wallach, Alcuin and Charlemagne, p. 71. Wallach dates the treatise c.
800-804, p. 47.
36
de Jong, ‘Charlemagne’s Church’, p. 110.
wanted to reform was the whole of society. By the ritual of

anointment the responsibility was invested in Charles to protect
the church, enforce the Christian standards (first on the ‘New
Israel’ of the Frankish gens and later on the whole of his populus
christianus), and spread the holy word. In keeping with this ideal,
he would ensure a place for his government in sacred history. It is
significant that he was nicknamed ‘David’, and in the Admonitio
Charles conjured up the image of King Josiah, who reinstated God’s
law.37 Charles did issue a staggering amount of capitularies,
general letters, admonitions and reminders and sent his missi to
see them through.38 Of course, most of those precepts and
regulations weren’t specifically Christian; the missi were usually
sent to investigate abuses and Charles cum suis never started his
reign with this specific ideal of reform. Charlemagne may have
stood in his father’s tradition, since Pippin III backed staunch
reforms of the Frankish church under the impetus of Boniface, 39
but the specific conglomeration of reform via correction,
unification and learning only emerged along the way. Nonetheless
it also must be admitted that there was legislation to procure the
sought-for standards of the Catholic Church. The reader will have
noticed that the De litteris colendis and the part of the Admonitio
generalis discussed were specifically aimed at the clergy. The
clergy as well as liturgical books were the primary targets for the
eradication of errors. It was they who had to worship faultlessly
and set the right example. It was Charles’ mission to bring the
level of learning back up to required standards. This counted for
the whole range of clergy engaged in scholarly activity, from
deacon to bishop (De litteris colendis), but a fortiori for the foot-
soldiering priests with their feet in the mud (Admonitio generalis).
The advancement of learning was not considered as progress,
but as return to the former state of grace. Charles lamented
‘Therefore, because we take care constantly to improve the
condition of our churches, we have striven with watchful zeal to
advance the cause of learning, which has been almost forgotten by
37
Admonitio generalis, MGH Capit. I, p. 54 r. 2-4. II Chronicles 34: 14-33, II
Kings 22: 8-20, 23: 1-16. Cf. Hen, The Royal Patronage of Liturgy, pp. 82-83.
38
Rosamond McKitterick, The Carolingians and the Written Word (Cambridge
etc. 1989), pp. 28-32.
39
De Jong, ‘Carolingian Monasticism. the Power of Prayer’, p. 629
the negligence of our ancestors;’40 His grief may have mirrored the
decrease of general levels of learning at the start of his
government, at the same time as it denounced the previous
Merovingian dynasty, whom I take to be the ‘ancestors’. An
example of the concern that Charles and his scholars had for
Christian standards can be seen in the debates on the conversion
of the Saxons, and whether instruction was needed before baptism
took place.41
To explain how Charles was provided with ample opportunity
to spread Christianity, and how such a religious underpinning came
about, we will have to take a brief look at the political
circumstances of Charlemagne’s reign. This is important for
research on Fredegisus’ text, since Fredegisus wrote against a
background in which this ideal of reform of society converged with
important political developments.
If one regards Charles’ political career from 768-814, there is

a gradual intensification of the religious conception of his reign. 42
It all began with the seventh century religious connotations of the
king as minister of God, as described above. Together with his
religious kingship, Charlemagne also inherited an alliance between
the Carolingian family and the ‘family’ of St. Peter, i.e. the pope. 43
This alliance was intensified by the Frankish capture of the
Lombard kingdom in 774, which occurred after the pope’s request
for military aid. The collectio Dionysio-Hadriana has to be seen in
40
Epistola generalis, MGH Capit. I, p. 80 r. 25-28. trans. D.C. Munroe in Paul
Edward Dutton (ed.), Carolingian Civilization. A reader (2nd ed., Peterborough,
Plymouth and Sydney), p. 91. ‘Igitur quia curae nobis est, ut nostrarum
ecclesiarum ad meliora semper proficiat status, oblitteratam pene maiorum
nostrorum desidia reparare vigilanti studio litterarum satagimus officinam,…’
41
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 110 pp. 156-159.
42
The following four paragraphs are based on Paul Fouracre ‘Frankish Gaul to
814’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.), New Cambridge Medieval History vol. II,
pp. 85-109.
43
Paul Fouracre, ‘Frankish Gaul to 814’, p. 98. Janet Nelson ‘Kingship and
Empire in the Carolingian World’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.) Carolingian
Culture: Emulation and Innovation (Cambridge 1994), p. 56.
this light. This is the collection of canon law that Pope Hadrian
sent the first of April 774, and which served as an exemplar for
royally associated scriptoria.44 One of the consequences of this
conquest was that Charles, as the new king of both the Franks and
the Lombards, acquired new neighbours and developed new
diplomatic contacts. The Byzantine Empire, the Abbasid Caliphate
in Baghdad, and the Slavs were brought into the diplomatic
horizon. Whereas Pippin was occupied by the need to bring
stability to the Frankish realm during most of his government, the
success of which provided Charles with an excellent point of
departure, the latter worked out international relationships. 45 This
was one of the steps towards his later styling himself as Christian
emperor.
This is not to say that cumbersome campaigning to secure
the borders of his regna and to stabilize the territories beyond
didn’t mark Charlemagne’s reign. In fact, Charles spent vast
amounts of time leading his army from the Saxon border to the
Spanish March and back. Especially the Saxon wars were
sometimes extremely bloody affairs (to repay the demise in battle
of some overeager, inexperienced and under aged Frankish
noblemen, Charles had 4000 Saxons decapitated). 46 From 772 on
time and again the Saxons were suppressed by the superior
Frankish army, but revolted when it travelled elsewhere. This
lasted to 785 when their leader Widukind surrendered and
converted. Nonetheless the Saxons would remain a force to be
reckoned with. But however brutal these wars sometimes were, the
heathen Saxon neighbours provided an ideological opportunity to
see Charles as spreading the Christian message. And priests did
follow in the wake of Frankish troops, although questions were
raised as to the Christian calibre of an involuntary and little-
understood baptism.47 The Admonitio generalis, with its command
44
Hen, The Royal Patronage of Liturgy in Frankish Gaul, pp. 66-68.
45
For a critical discussion of the historiographical sources on Peppin III,
Rosamond McKitterick, History and Memory in the Carolingian World
(Cambridge 2004), pp. 137-150.
46
Mayke de Jong provides a useful and very short overview in ‘Het word en het
zwaard. Aan de grenzen van het vroegmiddeleeuwse christendom’ in Tijdschrift
voor Geschiedenis nr. 3 2005 (jrg. 118), pp. 464-466.
47
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 110 pp. 156-159. Cf. Mayke de Jong, ‘Religion’ in
Rosamond McKitterick (ed.), The Early Middle Ages. Europe 400-1000 (Oxford
2001), p. 139.
to have priests of a certain quality, was written only a few years

after 785.48 When the Saxons would finally be suppressed in 804,
by means of mass deportation and colonization, Charles had
become the leader of a large multi-ethnic state consisting of among
others Franks, Lombards, Saxons, Burgundians and Alemannians.
The fact that he ruled over these different ethnic groups proved to
be another step towards being Christian emperor. 49 It was then
possible to claim lordship over the whole populus christianus of the
west and responsibility for their Christian welfare.50
But before he was able to present himself as such, Charles
first had to face a heavy ordeal. In 792 his son Pippin the
Hunchback stood up against his rule together with some noblemen.
The next year chaos was increased by the revolt of both the
Frisians and the Saxons. The Muslims from Spain caught the scent
too of a state in trouble and went raiding in the south of Gaul. The
sense of crisis was even heightened by the fear of an attack by the
Avars. The military problems were rivalled by those on the
religious plane. At the start of the nineties, the acts of the Second
Nicene Council of 787 reached the Frankish court. Much
intellectual energy was spent up to 794 in order to rebut the
‘Byzantine idol-worshippers’, resulting in the famous Opus Caroli.
In the same years, the Carolingian regime faced the Adoptionist
heresy of Felix of Urgel. Charles, like a good Christian emperor,
headed conferences on both religious doctrinal issues. I concur
with Paul Fouracre, who thinks the reaction of the Frankish
government at this time of crisis very significant. At Easter 794 a
synod was held in Frankfurt in which ‘the regime reaffirmed its
orthodoxy and in effect restated its commitment to Christian
government.’51 The Synod of Frankfurt indicated ‘the regime’s
sense of priorities at a time of crisis’ and ‘also shows how deeply
the church had been drawn into government’. 52 It was only after
48
Donald Bullough regards the Admonitio as the document which shows that ‘the
synthesis of ideology and administrative action is for the first time complete.’
‘Aula Renovata’, p. 141.
49
Nelson, ‘Kingship and Empire in the Carolingian World’, p. 70.
50
When pope Hadrian was just elected to office, Charles sent him a letter in 796,
which Dümmler ascribes to Alcuin, in which he made clear distinction between
their respective responsibilities: the pope was to fight a spiritual battle in prayer,
Charles was to take care of the rest. Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 93 p. 137.
51
Fouracre, ‘Frankish Gaul to 814’, p. 103-104.
52
ibidem.
this synod that Charles took military action against the Saxons.
With the help of the Slavs the Saxons were finally subdued in 794.
Pippin’s conspirators however had by then already paid the highest
price. The De litteris colendis, with its more elaborate program
then the 72nd article of the Admonitio, stems from this period of the
reign of Charles. The early nineties proved to be a fundamental
period in the progression towards royal religious authority.
The final stage of developments towards a full-blown
religious conception of Charlemagne’s rule had then set in. After
the Saxons were put down, Charles neutralised the Avar threat. In
795 the central system of Avar fortifications, known as the Avar
‘Ring’, was captured. With the forts a vast treasure fell into his
hands, which he put to good use, for example by greasing the joints
of his diplomatic relations. Another destination for the treasure
was found in the building program that Charles had started. In the
790s he decided to settle in a capital, fit for an empire. 53 The site of
one of his favourite palatia was chosen: Aachen with its hot-
mineral sources (and their healthy sulphuric smell and taste of
long aged eggs), where the court settled down in 794. 54 The rich
chapel crowns to this day its inner city. 55 In building this chapel
Charles followed King Solomon (‘Solomon’ was another nickname
53
Bullough states that the court settled in Aachen 794, and therefore predates
the capture of the Avar treasure, but I gather that the palace chapel was not yet
finished. Bullough, ‘Aula Renovata: the Carolingian Court before the Aachen
Palace’ in his Carolingian Renewal: Sources and Heritage. (Manchester and New
York 1991), p. 142.
54
Janet Nelson, ‘Aachen as a Place of Power’ in M. de Jong, F. Theuws & C. van
Rhijn (eds.), Topographies of Power in the Early Middle Ages (Leiden, Boston
and Köln, 2001), pp. 217-221.
55
Is it a coincidence that the inscription in the octagon of the Chapel, which is in
ninth century facsimile, is ambiguous in its statement?
1 Cum lapides vivi pacis compage ligantur,
2 Inque pares numeros omnia conveniunt;
3 Claret opus domini, totam qui construit aulam,
4 Effectusque piis dat studiis hominum,
5 Quorum perpetui decoris structura manebit,
6 Si perfecta auctor protegat atque regat,
7 Sic deus hoc tutum stabili fundamine templum,
8 Quod Carolus princeps condidit esse velit.
Lines 4 and 5 might be read as:

a) ‘[the lord who] provides fulfilment to the pious efforts of humans, whose
building of perpetual beauty will remain’
of Charles), who built God’s temple at His request. 56 But he also

emulated the Christian emperor Constantine, who built the eastern
capital Constantinople. Inspiration for the court chapel was
therefore taken from Byzantine examples, which were to be found
in Ravenna. In retrospect his coronation as emperor by Pope Leo
III on Christmas day 800 can hardly have been a surprise. He
confirmed his function as Christian emperor in 802 by issuing
another set of capitularies. It was in this political and ideological
climate that Fredegisus wrote his letter to Charles. He probably
wrote just before Charles’ coronation and the coronation had taken
place when the latter asked a second opinion of Dungal.
So far we have seen how in its first phase this upsurge of

cultural activity was conditioned by an ideology and set of ideals
that was shared among its proponents and what the political
circumstances for this ideology were. In order to complete the
general context into which Fredegisus has to be placed, there is
one question left that needs answering. How was the intellectual
impetus created that supported the so-called Carolingian
Renaissance? In treating this question we will describe the
development of the schola palatina and discuss it shortly. This will
at the same time be a short history of the social surroundings that
Fredegisus worked in. David Ganz aptly observed that for its initial
phase the Carolingian Renaissance depended for its development
of script, language and learning on the energies of the periphery. 57
This could well be illustrated with the development of the court
This is certainly the literal meaning since it refers to the building of the chapel.
But these lines might metaphorically be read as:
b) ‘[the lord who] provides fulfilment to the pious studies of humans, whose
culture of perpetual beauty will remain’
This would allude to the religious culture which Charles stimulated, by building
the chapel and by supporting scholarly efforts. I am grateful for dr. Arpad
Orban’s help during the translation. MGH Poetae I, p. 432.
56
I Kings 6, I Kings 5:5.
57
David Ganz, ‘Book Production in the Carolingian Empire and the Spread of
Caroline Minuscule.’ in McKiterrick (ed.), the New Cambridge Medieval History
vol. II, p. 789.
library, since Bernard Bischoff has hypothesized that Charles sent a

request for rare books to his monasteries and bishoprics
throughout his realms.58 It seems a likely hypothesis since taking
stock of extant manuscripts fits very well the general development
towards a central emphasis on learning and it has been accepted. 59
In any case Ganz’ observation holds true for the scholarly
personnel that Charles amassed around him.
The first group of foreigners to enrich Charles’ court were
the Italians.60 For a consequence of the overthrow of the Lombard
king Desiderius was an influx of Italian scholars to Charles’ court
as the new ruler of the Lombards. Peter of Pisa, the Latin grammar
teacher of Charles, joined the court in 773 or 774. Other Lombards
were taken hostage, especially after their uprising in 776. Paul the
Lombard for example came to the Frankish court in 782 in order to
free his brother. An Anglo-Saxon group of scholars, among whom
we probably have to count Fredegisus himself, followed the
Italians.61 Alcuin, as librarian of the extensive library of York, was
invited by Charles to join him in 781. Also we have to take an Irish
contingent of scholars into account, who peregrinated to the
continent in the 780’s. With the Anglo-Saxon influence the literary
culture at court evolved from the Italian love for poetry (how
befitting the popular preconception of the frivolous Italian nature)
to the Anglo-Saxon and Irish ‘atmosphere of common endeavour’ of
intellectual development.62 Last but not least the important
58
This hypothesis is based on a dedicatory poem to Charles in the codex of
Wigbod’s commentary of the Ocateuch. Bernard Bischoff, ‘Die Hofbibliothek
Karls des Grossen’ in Mittelalterliche Studien III (Stuttgart 1981), pp. 154-155.
59
Rosamond McKitterick has accepted this hypothesis in ‘The Eighth Century
Foundations’, pp. 681 and 690, John Contreni in ‘Education and Literary
Culture’, p. 709 and Donald Bullough in ‘Aula Renovata’, p. 138. Gorman has an
interpretation which undermines the evidence from the dedicatory poem in
Wigbod however, although he does not attack the thesis of the query itself in
‘Wigbod and Biblical Studies under Charlemagne’ in Revue Bénédictine 107
(1997), pp. 57-58.
60
Bullough, ‘Aula Renovata’, p. 131. Brown, ‘The Carolingian Renaissance’, p. 29
gives a nice list of all the Italians who came –whether out of free will or not- to
court.
61
Brown, ‘The Carolingian Renaissance’, p. 30.
62
Mary Garrison, ‘The English and the Irish at the Court of Charlemagne.’ in P.L.
Butzer, M. Kerner and W. Oberschelp (eds.), Charlemagne and his Heritage.
1200 Years of Civilization and Science in Europe. (Brepols 1997), p. 97 and ‘The
Emergence of Carolingian Latin Literature and the Court of Charlemagne (780-
814)’ in Rosamond McKitterick (ed.), Carolingian Culture: Emulation and
Theodulf must be mentioned here. He came from Septimania, was

of Visigoth descent, and joined Charles in about 780. From this we
can conclude that Charles formed a school of scholars at the
Frankish court in the seventies and eighties of the eighth century
The heyday of this school fell in the eighties and nineties, after
which its leaders were dispersed. As loyal vassals were rewarded
with counties and beneficia, these scholars were given abbacies
and bishoprics (which could mean that laymen could become
abbot, e.g. Einhard, albeit somewhat later). For example Alcuin
was appointed abbot of the monastery of Tours in 796 and Theodulf
was appointed bishop of Orléans and abbot of the monastery of
Fleury in 798 at the latest. We have seen that Fredegisus himself,
although not an intellectual leader of the same grandeur, was
Alcuin’s successor in Tours in 804 and received St. Bertin and St.
Omer as well. With the appointment of his scholars to these choice
offices Charles not only ensured the loyalty of its occupants, but
also exported the culture of his school at the same time. Especially
the monasteries therefore have to be seen as in a mutual sphere of
influence with the court.63
So what was this court school? Should we see it as a band of
scholars, much in the same way as one can speak of a schola of
soldiers, or as an institution? 64 Matthew Innes has described the
whole of Carolingian royal courts as schools in which talented or
aristocratic youths were socialised and taught norms of self-control
that prepared them for the service of their king in high
ecclesiastical or noble offices.65 This provides an answer to the
question who were schooled at court. Yet to see Charlemagne’s
whole court as school treats the schooling in all its aspects, from
warrior-skills, codes of conduct to the liberal arts. I certainly
accept Innes’ description of the court as school for all these skills,
Innovation (Cambridge 1994), pp. 117-119.

63
Cf. Mayke de Jong, ‘Monastic Writing and Carolingian Court Audiences: Some
Evidence from Biblical Commentary’ in Flavia de Rubeis and Walter Pohl (eds.),
Le Scritture dai monastery. Atti del II o seminario internazionale di studio “I
monastery nell’ alto medioevo” Roma 9-10 maggio 2002 (Rome 2003), pp. 180-
181.
64
Niermeyer, Mediae Latinitatis Lexicon Minus (2nd ed.), lemma on schola
meaning 1,5, p. 945.
65
Matthew Innes, ‘ “A Place of Discipline”: Carolingian Courts and Aristocratic
Youth’ in Catherine Cubitt (ed.), Court Culture in the Early Middle Ages. The
Proceedings of the First Alcuin Conference (Turnhout 2003), pp. 59-76.
yet here we are only interested in the teaching of the liberal arts.
Older historiography has sought for a ‘court school’ for this
reduced aspect of the teaching of the liberal arts. In his research of
the development of the Carolingian chapel Josef Fleckenstein also
paid some attention to the court school. A function of the school
was to provide the chapel of the court with scribes so that it could
perform its chancellery tasks. Let’s not forget that Fredegisus was
a member of the chapel and headed the chancellery for a long
time. But even as Alcuin probably never was a member of the
chapel, so the school seems to have been separate. 66 Fleckenstein
therefore seems to treat the school as a real existing institution.
This might however be a reflection of the older brand of
institutional history he was exercising. But can we prove that it
really was an institution? And there are other questions as well.
For example, what were the pretensions of the school? Is it to be
regarded as the kindergarten of court or more as a college or
polytechnic, in which research is combined with teaching? These
questions merit a thesis of their own, but an approach to an answer
can be made.
A first observation is that the teachings in the liberal arts
were considered to contribute to the moral education to be had at
court, since wisdom and conduct both influence the moral
condition of a person.67 Teachings in some of the liberal arts will
have been given at Charles’ court from a very early date. Yet Peter
Godman warns us not to dream of a school, that is in which the
liberal arts were taught, before the settlement of the court, since
the scholars had to operate ‘amid the bustle of administration,
politics and travel’.68 These are very unfavourable circumstances
for the structural operation of a school indeed. Moreover a
travelling court has difficulties building up an extensive library.
Especially in the 770’s there were probably mainly liturgical texts,
psalters and gospel books at court. The only other text that was
surely at court was the collectio Dyonisio-Hadriana, although
66
Josef Fleckenstein, Die Hofkapelle der deutschen Könige I. Grundlegung. Die
Karolingische Hofkapelle (Stuttgart 1959), p. 70.
67
Innes, ‘A Palace of Discipline’, p. 69. Remember also the De Litteris Colendis, r.
4: ‘For although correct conduct may be better than knowledge, nevertheless
knowledge precedes conduct.’ ‘Quamvis enim melius sit bene facere quam
nosse, prius tame nest nosse quam facere.’
68
Peter Godman, Poetry of the Carolingian Renaissance (London 1985), p. 7. Cf.
John Contreni, ‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, p. 83.
Bullough thinks at least one grammar of Donatus would have

circulated.69 Maybe some other texts were present as well, but it is
very unlikely that a library was present such as is a condition for
an organisation of advanced teaching and scholarly enterprise. The
lack of evidence of creative intellectual activity at court in this
decade corroborates this picture.70 The absence of the institution of
a school does not however exclude basic teaching. Einhard at least
remembers Peter of Pisa as the Latin grammar teacher of
Charles.71
The eighties brought relief with the influx of new scholars of
higher stature. The number of books, patristic and pagan classics,
also increased in the early eighties, supposedly after the request
for books in 780.72 Also Alcuin brought a whole collection from
York: the Categoriae decem, the Institutiones grammaticae of
Priscian and the grammar from Marius Victorinus, Boethius and
Porphyrius.73 Teaching activity probably surged. Fredegisus was
one of Alcuin’s pupils in this period and he was not the only one. 74
The commentary on Donatus of Paul the Deacon (=Paul the
Lombard) bears witness to the teaching. 75 At the same time it is a
token of increased scholarly production. So at least at the end of
the eighties the conditions of having a school are met; there are
69
Bullough, ‘Aula Renovata’, p. 133.
70
Ibidem. Peter Godman, ‘Louis the Pious and his Poets’ in Frühmittelalterliche
Studien 19 (1985), p. 241.
71
Einhard, Vita Karoli Magni, cap. 25.
72
Bullough, ‘Aula Renovata’, p. 138.
73
Mary Garrison ‘The English and Irish at the Court of Charlemagne’, p. 108 and
Bernard Bischoff, Die Hofbibliothek Karls des Grossen, p. 157. L. J. Engels,
‘Priscian in Alcuin’s De Orthographia’, pp. 116-117. Yet there is no certainty on
which work of Boethius Alcuin brought. Louis Holtz, ‘Alcuin et la renaissance des
artes libéraux’ in P.L. Butzer, M. Kerner and W. Oberschelp (eds.), Karl der
Grosse und sein Nachwirken 1200 Jahre Kultur und Wissenschaft in Europa
(Turnhout 1997), p. 58-59. Nor is there certainty whether he brought the
Categoriae with him when he joined the court, or after one of his journeys home
The categoriae decem can be traced back from the copy of bishop Leidrad, who
held office from 798-814 , and we can’t be sure how long the Categoriae were
present at court before hand. It served as material for Alcuin’s De Dialectica, for
which Bullough scrupulously the years 796-797 with a question mark. Bullough,
Alcuin, p. 404. These years therefore serve as terminus ante quem.
74
Fleckenstein provides a list of capellans who had been educated by Alcuin.
Most of these will have been educated in the late eighties and early nineties,
before the settlement of the court. Die Hofkapelle der deutschen Könige I, p. 71.
75
Ibidem, p. 156. Vivien Law, ‘The Study of Grammar’, p. 92-93.
teachers, pupils, texts to teach from and creative activity. Also

there had long been recognition of the need for schooled scribae at
court for effective administration, and the Admonitio of 789
expresses that there were religious reasons as well. 76 So the
question is how serious we have to take Godman’s warning. Some
sort of middle position is taken up by Giles Brown, who envisions
formal tuition for young boys at a resident chapel, maybe in
Herstal.77 This may have been the case, but as far as the court
itself is concerned I still think that Godman has a point however,
since I have big trouble imagining an organisation for structural
and programmed education when politics prescribe itinerary
timetables and schedules of the teachers. Thus in my idea
obviously education did take place, but more on an opportunistic
and ad hoc basis. The increased efforts to educate at the court and
the realisation of the importance of education in 789 may well have
provided extra incentives towards the settlement of the court.
After 794 the situation changed. It is not unlikely that a
school as an institution was created in Aachen. Probably we would
have to imagine a monastic or bishopric school, for which the
Admonitio provided the program. The particular needs of the court
would have demanded the presence of highly educated masters.
The leaders of the court scholars in the 780s were gone by then.
Paulinus went to Aquileia before 787, Paul the Deacon to Monte
Cassino before 787 and Peter to Pisa before 790. 78 The careers of
Alcuin and Theodulf are well known. They were succeeded by a
younger generation who were educated both at court and in other
monastic and episcopal communities.79 It is here that Fredegisus,
as one of the pupils of Alcuin, came to the fore. He was so
prominent among the resident scholars that he was entrusted with
the education of Gisla and Rotrudis, respectively the sister and
daughter of Charles.80 The De substantia was therefore written in a
period when there was room for new intellectual leadership at
court. This consideration has to be borne in mind when
interpreting the epistle of Fredegisus.
76
Donald Bullough, ‘Aula Renovata’, pp. 134, 141.
77
Brown, ‘The Carolingian Renaissance’, p. 31.
78
Peter Godman, Poetry of the Carolingian Renaissance, p. 8.
79
Donald Bullough, ‘Aula Renovata’, pp. 146-147 and Fleckenstein Die
Hofkapelle der deutschen Könige I, p. 71.
80
Alcuin, MGH Epist, IV, nr. 262 pp. 419-420.
2. Two Encyclopedic Lemmata…
What did they really think they were up to? This is the crucial
question that cultural anthropologists aks themselves, and
historians are no different. In my opinion Fredegisus felt that he
was answering a relevant question. But from what source of
inspiration did this question spring and why was it relevant? In
answering these questions I hope to give a new interpretation of
the De substantia. It should be clear by now that one of the main
drives of the Carolingian Renaissance was a much-felt need to
learn correct Latin, primarily in view of a better understanding of
Scripture and the sacred language of liturgy. This, I think, was the
thirst that Fredegisus was trying to quench. More will have to be
said in order to interpret what Fredegisus was doing though. In the
first part of this chapter we focused on the overall need which
provided the impulses for learning correct Latin and the
Carolingian Renaissance in general. Here I want to sum them up
shortly with Richard Sullivan’s excellent article ‘The Context of
Cultural Activity’. He has put to words his conviction that the
Carolingians, educated laymen and clergy alike, were on a spiritual
quest to learn what it meant to be Christian. This quest has led
them to attempt to determine an orthodoxy of Western Christianity,
for example in the Opus Caroli, and a legalistic canonization,
expressed in canons, capitularies and articles of faith. Yet this
spiritual need gave rise to much wider and varied instances of
cultural activity. Sullivan has described it succinctly: ‘Rather, the
deeply felt uncertainties about the essence of Christian life must
be factored into any consideration of how culture was put to the
service of religious renovatio, defined in terms ranging from
instructing the simplest rusticus to unraveling the mysteries of the
eucharist and the Trinity, from converting pagans to determining
the proper use of images.’81 In my view the De substantia belongs
to Sullivan’s ‘tough stuff’ that needs to be researched in order to
know how Carolingian authors went about their spiritual quest.
81
Richard Sullivan, ‘The Context of Cultural Activity’ in Richard Sullivan (ed.),
“The Gentle Voices of Teachers.” Aspects of Learning in the Carolingian Age
(Columbus 1995), p. 75.
In their spiritual quest there is one set of texts that are of

paramount importance. We know these texts as the Bible. But how
does one understand the meaning that is hidden in its pages? It is
here that the perpetual question of the relation between secular
and divine knowledge is relevant. In the modern era this question
has been preoccupied with certain branches of science that falsify
the Christian outlook. But in the Carolingian age this question took
a different form. A better comparison would be with our
‘hermeneutic circle’ (not for naught derived from exegesis), which
states that the reader should already possess some understanding
before he can get to the meaning of the text. The question is then
whether one needs prior knowledge or specific training if one is to
be informed by the Bible. For the Carolingians this question was
readily answered with ‘yes’. One had to know Latin to read the
Vetus Latina or Jerome’s Vulgate. From the beginning, however,
there was discussion about the measure in which secular
knowledge was deemed useful. Should the golden vessels of the
pagan poets be shunned for their poisonous wine, or studied for
their tropes and metaphors?82 We have seen the answer of Alcuin
in the De litteris colendis. Yet Alcuin was prepared to go even
further than this.
Under the scholarly leadership of Alcuin the study of the
liberal arts were introduced (except for grammar) to the royal
court. The liberal arts consisted of the late antique disciplines of
knowledge, examples are rhetorics, dialectics and astronomy.
These scholarly disciplines were of pagan descent, however, and
therefore suspect to many Christian theorists. Yet Alcuin made an
effort to employ these arts by unifying them with theology. The way
that he ‘wedded’ the arts and theology, has aptly been described by
d’Alverny in 1946. By way of allegory Alcuin stated that the liberal
arts were to serve as the seven columns of the temple of Christian
wisdom.83 In this way they were given a value as a propedeutic
82
This is an adaption of classical metaphor used in the ninth century. John
Contreni ‘Learning in the Early Middle Ages’, p. 12-13 and n. 37.
83
Alcuin, De grammaria, PL 101, p. 853. M. –Th. D’Alverny, ‘La sagesse et ses
sept filles.’ in Émile-A. van Moé, Jeanne Vielliard and Pierre Marot (eds.),
Mélanges dédiés a la mémoire de Felix Grat I (Paris 1946), p. 247. This is also a
much turned on theme in the articles of John Contreni, e.g. ‘Inharmonious
Harmony: Education in the Carolingian World’, p. 85.
study for the study of Scripture.84 Alcuin thereby also accorded

importance to the quadrivium in order to understand the Bible,
although the ‘study of letters’ was of primary importance. This
move is sometimes referred to as the ‘sacralization of the liberal
arts’.85 It might seem a strong expression for the validation of use
of the arts for theology, but it can be understood by the following:
Alcuin defined the Christian wisdom as ‘the study of all things
human and divine’.86 Christian wisdom therefore encompasses all
things, the liberal arts included. Thus their scope was eventually
the domain of Christian wisdom. In the introduction to this chapter
Alcuin’s unification of theology and politics was recounted; here he
crossed the border between the secular arts and theology.
Moreover, this all-embracing definition of wisdom can be called
‘encyclopedic’ and it is this way that I want to interpret Claudio
Leonardi’s characterization of the ‘cultura enciclopedica
alcuiniana’.87 Perhaps not everyone will have followed Alcuin in his
broad definition; I already mentioned the resistance against the
appliance of the rules of grammar to the Bible. Many contemporary
scholars did indeed agree with Alcuin though, and it is significant
in this respect that D’Alverny reports a picture in a Bible from the
Tours scriptorium under Fredegisus that recognises this broad
84
Leonardi, ‘Alcuino e la scuola palatina’, p. 475. The seven liberal arts were the
trivium (grammar, dialectic, rhetoric) and quadrivium (arithmetic, music,
geometry, astronomy) as described by Martianus Capella. This is not to say that
the scheme of Martianus Capella was the only scheme of liberal arts that was
current in the eigth and ninth century Other schemes for example left out
grammar but included medicine. cf John Contreni, ‘John Scottus, Martin
Hiberniensis, the Liberal Arts, and Teaching.’ in Michael Herren (ed.), Insular
Latin Studies: Papers on Latin Texts and Manuscripts of the British Isles, 550-
1066 (Toronto 1981), p. 7. Of course Alcuin was not the first to recognize the
importance of ‘propedeutic’ studies. For precursors to Alcuin compare Pierre
Riché, ‘Instruments de travail et méthodes de l’exégète à l’époque carolingienne’
in Pierre Riché and Guy Lobrichon (eds.), Le Moyen Age et la Bible (Paris 1984),
pp. 149-150.
85
Leonardi, ‘Alcuino e la scuola palatina’, p. 475.
86
Alcuin, De rhetorica, PL 101, p. 947. D’Alverny, ‘La sagesse et ses sept filles’,
p. 246.
87
‘La sacralizzazione dell’umano è dunque la giustificazione ideologica della
cultura enciclopedica alcuiniana.’ Leonardi, ‘Alcuino e la scuola palatina’, p. 475.
D’Alverny, ‘La sagesse et ses sept filles’, p. 246.
vision of wisdom.88 I argue that the De substantia is a product of

this encyclopedic approach to wisdom.
In order to appreciate Fredegisus’ effort, his text must be
compared to other concrete studies that satisfied the needs of the
Carolingians in their spiritual quest. In the previous chapters we
already compared Fredegisus to several kinds of texts that are also
important here. In chapter three we compared the De substantia
with texts that were important to the acquisition of correct Latin. I
would especially like to remind the reader of Alcuin’s letter to
Angilbert, with its technical discussion of the two words ‘rubus’
and ‘despexeris’ in a religious context. In chapter four I have
spoken of the grammatical method, which was so important for the
München fragments that John Marenbon has studied. These kinds
of texts shed light on the statement and the method of Fredegisus,
but it is clear that these items of comparison are themselves also
products of the Carolingian quest towards Christianity. Other texts
that clarify this quest have to be studied, while the letter to
Angilbert and the grammatical method that Fredegisus used, need
to be kept in mind. In order to illuminate the use of Fredegisus’
letter, I would like to discuss a third strand of texts: biblical study
tools and glossaries.
The sacralization of the liberal arts led to an extra impetus of
these arts, which resulted, for example, in the grammatical
method. However, the audience for these studies, the people who
benefited from them, were very few. The München fragments,
however important, would not have been read by many people
besides Leidrad. Yet instruction on the Bible and, by implication, in
the fundamentals of Christian wisdom, was taken by many more
students. Therefore the same masters who toiled over the
compilation of useful grammars also composed biblical study tools
for a broader audience.89 Their aim was very practical and
concrete: to facilitate the reading of the text, without delving into
deeper layers of meaning. These tools therefore provided
information which is to the point and easy to follow. They usually
88
John Contreni, ‘Education and Learning in the Early Middle Ages: New
Perspectives and Old Problems’ in The International Journal of Social Education
4 (1989), p. 14. The illumination is ‘Sophia sancta’ holding a book reading the
words ‘omnia sapientia’ in Bamberg, St. Bibl. Ms. Bibl. 1. D’Alverny, ‘La sagesse
et ses sept filles’, pp. 255-256.
89
Cf. John Contreni, ‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, p. 96.
consisted of descriptions of difficult words or elucidated the time

and place of events. Pierre Riché has described a useful list of
these study tools, including, among others, works on the
geography of Palestine, a history of the Jews, works on numerology
and a list of ecclesiastical functions.90 Here I would like to mention
some of the texts that Theodulf appended to his Bible as good
examples.
As we have seen in chapter three, Theodulf made an edition
of the Bible that especially suited scholarly demands. Not only did
he include variants from different textual traditions, he also
included four texts that were meant as directional pointers in the
study of the historical, allegorical and tropological senses of the
Bible.91 I will return to the differences later. The first two of these
texts are important here, since they served to facilitate the basic
reading of the Bible. The first text is the Chronica Minora of
Isidore, which is chapter 5.39 ‘De discretione temporum’ in the
Etymologiae.92 This is a list of rulers and important events, divided
into the six aetates of world history. It is suited to the study of the
Bible, since it places rulers and events from different parts of the
world next to each other. Isidore tells us, for example, that Rome
was founded during the reign of king Achaz in Jeruzalem. 93 By
providing this comparative history, the reader could pair biblical
and non-biblical events in his head and map out salvation history.
The second text that Theodulf included was the second book of the
Instructiones of Eucherius of Lyon.94 This book, written by a 5th c.
bishop, elucidates a variety of topics in the Bible. Eucherius
explained all the words that might trouble an incipient Bible
reader, or that a scholar would want to look up. These were
difficult words, Hebrew and Greek names, peoples, places, rivers,
holy days, vestments, animals and birds, weights and measures.95 It
gives a good idea that Christian wisdom not only entailed
‘scientific’ knowledge of the artes, but more general knowledge as
90
Pierre Riché, ‘Méthodes de l’exégèse carolingienne’, pp. 152-153.
91
John Contreni,‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, p. 79.
92
Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae in PL vol. 82, pp. 224-228.
93
ibidem, p. 225.
94
Eucherius of Lyon, Instructionum libri II, ed. Karl Wotke in CSEL (Vienna
1894) vol. 31, pp. 140-161.
95
well. Another type of study tool, very similar to this second book of
Eucherius, is the glossary.
In the early Middle Ages, Virgil was read for his Latin and the
Bible for God’s will. In their repetitive teaching of the same texts,
the masters made glosses in their copies as a reminder what had to
be explained when reading certain words. These glosses, which
often sprang from Virgil copies and Bible studies, were collected
into glossaria, most of which were alphabetically organised.
However, the compiler of a glossary was not restricted to the
copies of monastic masters. He could consult any available text and
include excerpts thereof.96 In a world lacking internet,
encyclopedia and even dictionaries, these glossaries provided
powerful study tools. The most famous of these glossaries in the
early Middle Ages was the Liber Glossarum, which was composed
during Fredegisus’ lifetime. The terminus ante quem for this
glossary is 830, but if Charlemagne was really involved, it might
have been composed as early as the 790s. 97 The Liber Glossarum
was not just a short descriptive wordlist like other glossaries, such
as the Abstrusa or Abolita glossaries. It combined entranies of
other glossaries but also material from works of Isidore, Ambrose,
Augustine, Jerome, Gregory, Eucherius, Junilius, Orosius,
Eutropius, Oribasius, Phocas, Priscianus, and anonymous works. 98
Unfortunately Lindsay did not edited the full entries in this
glossary, which appears to be much longer than in a regular
glossary, but I wholeheartedly trust David Ganz’s judgment that it
should be considered an encyclopedia of Carolingian learning.
Considering the massive size (the oldest manuscript has 361 folia
in two volumes), it is a major achievement and testament to the
drive with which the Carolingians constructed tools for their
(biblical)studies.99
96
Cf. Michael Lapidge’s foreword to his edition of Wallace Lindsay, Studies in
Early Mediaeval Latin Glossaries (Aldershot and Brookfield 1996), p. xiii. The
view of glossaries as products of monastic teaching is Lindsay’s view, that of
glossaries as quarries of ancient lore is Goetz’s. If taken as extreme positions,
both are untenable.
97
David Ganz, ‘The “Liber Glossarum”: A Carolingian Encyclopedia’ in Paul
Butzer and Dietrich Lohrmann (eds.), Science in Western and Eastern
Civilization in Carolingian Times (Basel, Boston and Berlin 1993), pp. 129, 131.
98
David Ganz, ‘The “Liber Glossarum”’, p. 127.
99
Ibidem, p. 133.
With Fredegisus’ letter in mind, it is interesting to find that

neither the Liber Glossarum nor the Abstrusa and Abolita
glossaries (which served as sources for the Liber Glossarum) have
entries for the words ‘nihil’ and ‘tenebrae’.100 Several inferences
may be drawn from this. One might interpret this lack as a void
that Fredegisus meant to fill. For my part I draw the opposite
inference: apparently these words weren’t difficult enough for the
average reader to need illumination. Therefore Fredegisus’
question can only come from the linguistic focus, for it is here that
the relation between word and referent is questioned. The fact that
Isidore already provided an explanation in book 10 of the
Etymologiae supports my inference, for it undermines the whole
idea of the void. In any case, the practical use of the lists and
glossaries has now been established.
These glossaries, together with the grammars in chapter
three and the grammatical method in chapter four, provide the
varied ingredients that make up the De substantia. In my opinion
Fredegisus’ letter has received a lot of attention because it is so
typical. His treatise cannot properly be categorised as a certain
genre, other than ‘letter’. The reason for this is that the De
substantia has to be situated in between these three types of tools
for study; it shares properties with all of them. It derived its
question from the linguistic focus and it used the grammatical
method to solve the question. But the De substantia is also meant
as a practical reference tool, as the last sentence of the letter
clearly indicates. In this respect it can be compared to texts as
Eucherius’ second book of the Instructiones. It was the same drive
to educate and provide reference that drove Fredegisus to write
his text, which drove Theodulf to include Eucherius and Isidore,
among others, and that led to the composition of the encyclopedic
Liber Glossarum. The De substantia especially resembles this last
work, even though it had a rather limited number of entries and
boasted an explicit and formal argumentation. Still, it gave a
solution for every instance of ‘nihil’ and ‘tenebrae’ that might be
encountered in Scripture, the Fathers, or other texts. It is precisely
this function that it shares with a glossary. Furthermore, it was the
whole variety of tools discussed that aided the Carolingians in the
Librum Glossarum, ed. Wallace Martin Lindsay (ed.), in Glossaria Latina vol. I
100
(Hildesheim 1965). Abstrusa and Abolita, ed. Wallace Martin Lindsay in

Glossaria Latina vol. III (Hildesheim 1965).
search for Christian wisdom as defined by Alcuin. Fredegisus wrote

in the same vein: he intended this little work as a tool for study for
those with especially religious studies in mind. Therefore the De
substantia can be regarded as consisting of two encyclopedic
lemmata, which are treated in an analogous way. The word
‘encyclopedic’ in this hypothesis has two layers of meaning. The De
substantia is both an expression of the all-compassing search for
Christian wisdom and a small reference tool for two words. It is
this interpretation, i.e. as two encyclopedic lemmata, which
captures the use of the epistle.
But how can it be that Fredegisus’ letter combines such
disparate elements? Why does the De substantia have its form? In
order to answer these last questions, we will have to take a look at
the intended audience: Charles and his prominent courtiers.
3. …Meet the Requirements…
When Fredegisus wrote his De substantia, he had a very

specific audience in mind. This audience had its own expectations,
conventions and wishes. In order to procure a favourable
judgement, as I deem believe to be Fredegisus’ desire, an author
will under normal circumstances comply with these ‘parameters’. If
we want to understand the demands that Fredegisus had to work
and with which were thus an important factor in the shaping of the
epistle, we will have to take a look at the intended audience. In
other words: it is this audience that provides the social setting for
the use of the De substantia. Fredegisus has not left us in the dark
on this point, since his letter bears clear addressees: ‘to all the
faithful of God and of Charles who are gathered in his holy palace’.
Although Charles himself is not explicitly included, it seems
doubtless that Charles, as Fredegisus’ lord, was also meant to take
notice of the contents of the text. Obviously all the gathered
faithful were Charles’ courtiers, but it is very questionable whether
the soap-makers, hunters and sword-smiths in Aachen heard it. The
‘gathered faithful’ should rather be interpreted as the proceres
palatii, the prominent of the court, who had some time available
and enough of an educational background to follow the De
substantia. These prominent courtiers mainly consisted of the
scholars of the palace school. The great minds of the 80s and 90s
had left, but their places were taken by the new generation, of
which Einhard and Angilbert were examples. There is also another
group that must be taken into account. The proceres were also
formed by the prominent lay noblemen at court, and Sullivan’s
quest can be ascribed to members of their group as well. 1 Einhard,
for example, was such a nobleman. Another hint of this group is
found in a letter of Alcuin to Charlemagne. In this letter, to which
we will return later, Alcuin tries to answer an exegetical question
about two contradicting statements on swords. 2 The interesting
point is that a lay soldier asked this question. 3 We do not know
much about this lay soldier, but the fact that he could pose his
question to Charles -who in turn delegated it to Alcuin- suggests
that he was a member of the aristocracy. 4 Perhaps it was soldiers of
his sort, who belonged to a ‘self conscious elite’ surrounding the
ruler in Aachen, that Fredegisus also had in mind while writing. If
Charles showed an interest in these matters, which he most
probably did, this would provide more than sufficient incentive for
the palatini to be interested as well. The king, after all, gave the
example of right behaviour, which the competitive court society
tried to emulate so that gifts and grants from the king would come
their way.5
Charles and these courtiers probably had ample opportunity
to (be) read the De substantia. It was the custom for public debates
to be held in which emerging topics were discussed. At least in
very important cases, we know that the court and those from
abroad whom it concerned gathered and debated. These important
topics could be theological and political. At the synod of Frankfurt
in 794 and on occasion of the filioque question in 809 (does the
Holy Spirit derive from the Father alone or from both the Father
and the Son?) Charles gathered his bishops and publicly debated
and decided what had to be thought and done. Yet matters could
1
Janet Nelson describes the formation of a palace elite in, ‘Aachen as a Place of
Power’, pp. 223-224. Mayke de Jong, ‘Monastic Writing and Carolingian Court
Audiences’, p. 183. Adalhard the former soldier, may serve as an example of
such a nobleman. Nelson, ‘Aachen as a Place of Power’, pp. 226-230.
2
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 136 pp. 205-210.
3
Cf. Mayke de Jong, ‘Het woord en het zwaard’, p. 474.
4
Alcuin himself had no idea who the soldier was. He remarks: ‘Tamen iste laicus,
quisquis fuit, sapiens est corde, etsi manibus miles’, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 136 p.
205 r. 28-29.
5
Innes, ‘A Palace of Discipline’, pp. 61-63.
also be ‘scientific’. In 809 experts were called to the palace in

Aachen to debate computus, resulting in a computistic
encyclopedia.6 And in 812 Charles sent out a questionnaire to his
archbishops on their ideas of the instruction prior to baptism.7 It
would strain credibility to presume that the question of the status
of the words ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ was so important that every
important grammarian was called to the court in 800 with
Fredegisus providing his answer for such an audience. However,
there probably was an ongoing debate on (the referents of)
negative concepts, as we saw in chapter four. Just as the laicus
asked Charles about the two swords, so other laici might have been
involved in discussions about things like nothing and darkness.
Could it not have been the case that there was a public meeting at
court after which, or even for which Fredegisus wrote his letter?
This meeting may have been more modest then the ones described
above, but still the court would have been present. The opening of
the letter, with the plural ‘fidelibus’, suggests at least that
Fredegisus didn’t write his letter for Charles’ eyes only. And in any
case, we know for a fact that Charles read it and sent it to Dungal.
This makes it extremely likely that wider court circles were
informed about the letter.
If it was the court in which the De substantia had a purpose
to serve, the requirements of the court and of its supreme courtier
Charles would have shaped the text in some measure. In other
words, a consideration of the expectations of the court audience
must clarify and corroborate my claim that the intended use of the
De substantia was as two encyclopedic lemmata. The first demand
that this court audience would have posed, was for the texts
presented to them to be brief and to the point. John Contreni, when
researching ninth century prefatory letters to biblical
commentaries, has identified an explanation for this. These letters
suggested that the demon of business already besieged important
readers in the Carolingian age besieged. Moreover, this demon was
present everywhere, since it beleaguered the writers as well. 8
6
Arno Borst, ‘Alkuin und die Enzyklopädie von 809’ in Paul Butzer and Dietrich
Lohrmann (eds.), Science in Western and Eastern Civilization in Carolingian
Times (Basel, Boston and Berlin 1993), pp. 70-71.
7
Susan Keefe has made an edition and study of the 63 extant answers that
Charles got in return. Water and the Word. Baptism and the Education of the
Clergy in the Carolingian Empire (Indiana 2002) two volumes.
8
John Contreni, ‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, pp. 83, 86.
Perhaps Fredegisus was an exception to this rule and his chores

left him some time to write the De substantia of his own volition. In
any case, there is no hint in the text to say Fredegisus was
commissioned to answer the questions and wrote in between his
other occupations. Yet it is safe to say that the ruler and his inner
circle were busy men by any standard and usually didn’t like to be
occupied by elaborate explanations or speculations. It was the
results of research that mattered to them.
The commentary on the Octateuch that Wigbod wrote in the
last years of the eighth century on Charles’ commission may be
given as a counter-example, though. Especially in the
‘encyclopedic’ part on Genesis, Wigbod strove for
comprehensiveness, and it therefore became repetitious. This 9
commentary can hardly be called ‘brief’. Yet this counter-example

might be explained away by Gorman’s suggestion that it may have
been part of a program to provide official commentaries. 10 This
would mean that a certain degree of completeness was required,
since it would be unjust to tradition if an opinion of, for example,
Augustine had been left out. Furthermore I think there is another
reason for the part of Genesis to be encyclopedic, to which I will
come to later. One can consider this commentary as a ‘guide to the
exegetical literature that was being read at or near Charlemagne’s
court’. This guide then shows that it was not the Fathers
themselves that were read:11 it was the simplified compendia,
introductions, florilegia and abridgements of their works, not the
originals themselves. I doubt the applicability of this ‘guide’ for
(former) court scholars like Alcuin, Theodulf and Candidus. These
men surely had the scholarly self-esteem to embark on the original
works of the Fathers themselves. This guide actually reflects the
limitations of Wigbod’s library in Lorsch in the late eighth
century.12 Moreover, even if a program of official commentaries was
started, Charles still was to take notice of it. When one also
considers that Charles was prepared to read through the whole
9
Michael Gorman, ‘The Encyclopedic Commentary on Genesis Prepared for
Charlemagne by Wigbod’ in Recherches Augustiniennes 17 (1982), p. 186.
10
Michael Gorman, ‘Wigbod and Biblical Studies under Charlemagne’ in Revue
Bénédictine 107 (1997), p. 73.
11
Michael Gorman, ibidem, p. 45 and ‘The Encyclopedic Commentary on Genesis
Prepared for Charlemagne by Wigbod’, p. 193.
12
‘Michael Gorman, ‘The Encyclopedic Commentary on Genesis Prepared for
Charlemagne by Wigbod’, p. 193.
Opus Caroli, one could question how much time Charles actually
invested in reading through intellectual biblical commentary, busy
though he was. Seen in this context, the size and method of
Fredegisus’ letter will not have posed problems to Charles.
Charles had a lively interest in many things, and Wigbod’s
commentary shows that theology was an important one of them.
Yet his interests were dictated in large measure by the necessities
of his government. We can see an example of this in the letter from
c. 798 that was prompted by the question of the aforementioned
laicus. The letter has been astutely discussed by Mayke de Jong. 13
The problem was that different moral values were attributed to the
sword. Jesus told the apostles to sell their cloak and buy a sword,
while Peter was commanded to refrain from the use of it after he
had chopped off Malchus’ ear, one of the soldiers who came to
arrest the Christ.14 Since Jesus said ‘Put your sword back into its
place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword’. 15 The
situation is aggravated if we are told in Ephes 6:17 that we have to
understand the sword, which the apostles buy, as the word of
God.16 The implication would be that everyone who receives the
word of God perishes by it. 17 Alcuin’s answer was that the different
contexts of the Gospels had to be taken into account. ‘The sword’
could have very different meanings in these contexts and thus they
couldn’t simply be interchanged.18 Although this answer may have
been satisfactory, it must have left Charles with a nasty taste, since
he and his noble friends had to wield the sword personally on a
regular basis.19 This example clarifies that it was the practical
context that provided relevancy to this otherwise Scriptural
question. Yet to say ‘otherwise’ in the previous sentence is to make
13
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 136 pp. 205-210. Cf. Mayke de Jong’s discussion in
‘Het woord en het zwaard. Aan de grenzen van het vroegmiddeleeuwse
christendom’, p. 475.
14
Luke 22: 36-38, John 18:10.
15
Matthew 26:52.
16
Ephes. 6:17.
17
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 136, p. 206 r. 7-9. ‘Si gladius est verbum Dei et
Dominus, quando gladium emere praecepit, verbum Dei significavit; quomodo
congruit, ut omnis, qui accipitat verbum Dei, verbo Dei pereat?
18
Ibidem, r. 10-12 ‘Sed facilis est solution, si singulorum consideratur
evangelistarum huic loco circumstantial et diversae intellegunter gladii
significations. Non enim aequaliter ubique gladius significant,...’
19
Mayke de Jong, ‘Het woord en het zwaard. Aan de grenzen van het
vroegmiddeleeuwse christendom’, p. 476.
an unwarranted divide between Scripture and practice. Scripture

and patristic writings in many ways had an important bearing on
how to act. Other questions with a biblical background and
practical relevancy were about the right baptism or time calculus,
since they implicated the course of action that needed to be taken
in the Saxon territories and the correct date on which Easter
should be celebrated. The consequences of failure of either were
deemed dire.
The De substantia does not share in this immediate practical
relevance. It does not prescribe what to do in a certain situation.
But it does prescribe what to think when either of these two words
is read- when studying, for example, Wigbod’s commentary.
Moreover, Charles really was not exclusively interested in matters
in so far as they dictated his actions. There was room for other
questions as well. We saw this in the letter of Alcuin about rubus
and dispexeris, for example. Therefore, Fredegisus’ epistle met the
demands that his audience would have posed. It is concise and
short. Fredegisus indicates that he has more to say, but does not
since he believes that the capacity to learn has been stimulated
enough. With the audience in mind, this does not come across as
an admission of his intellectual weakness, but as a realistic
assessment of the wishes of many of his readers.20 How many
politicians would in our times be prepared to go into discussion
with a scientist on methodological matters? Not only is the letter
brief, but it also addresses the practical requirement, albeit in a
derivative way, for it serves a concrete and practical purpose when
reading the Bible and its commentaries. As encyclopedic lemmata,
the De substantia provided a text that was indulgent towards its
public.
This leads to the question of Fredegisus’ motivation. With his
encyclopedic lemmata, Fredegisus wanted to answer a question
that was posed at court, and actually tried to tutor the court. In the
general introduction we have seen that Fredegisus wrote his letter
when there was some latitude at court for those who give counsel,
especially since Alcuin had gone to Tours. I suggest that
Fredegisus was not only writing to answer a question and tutor the
court, but also to prove he was up for the job. Yet it is doubtful that
he met instant approval.
‘Readers’ is here to be taken in a broad meaning. I also consider someone to
20
whom the letter is read aloud as a reader.

4. …But not the Question (or: Things not Words)
Although the De substantia met the general requirements,

more is yet to be said. For if Fredegisus’ work was so pleasing to
the public, why was Charles so bewildered by it as to ask Dungal
for a second opinion? Charles and his court demanded concise and
applicable writings in general, and Fredegisus complied. Therefore
we have to find out what Charles expected from Fredegisus at that
moment, not in terms of size and shape, but concerning his
question. What did Charles actually want to know at the time? We
can get a clue about his wishes in his letter to Dungal.21 In this very
short letter, Charles had asked Dungal the following:
‘Assidously and painstakingly, we wish you to explore

the pronouncements or arguments we have sent you
about the substance of nothing and of darkness.
Endeavour to make clear to us whether they are right
and true, or whether there are any things notable for
any falsity. Do not apply yourself to any allegorical or
figural [exegesis] but to the naked speech and the
naked letter signifying the naked matter. Yet it is not
hidden to us what our elders may have wished to
understand allegorically concerning these matters, for
if you look for other examples how very many are there
at hand,…’22
21
When I write ‘his letter’, I do not want to imply that Charles himself wrote it,
merely that he commanded it written. David Howlett has kindly permitted to
read a draft of an article in which he will advance the thesis that it was
Fredegisus himself who wrote the letter, on the basis of a similar numerological
composition of both the De substantia and the letter to Dungal and on the basis
of an element of irony or autosubversion on the side of Fredegisus by using the
word ‘nihil’ non referring in the letter to Dungal. Whether Fredegisus also wrote
the letter to Dungal or not is not relevant for this thesis, as long as Fredegisus’
overall intentions were serious. Of this David Howlett is also convinced and
therefore an elaborated treatment of his manuscript is not necessary.
22
The text and translation of the letter are given in the first part of the thesis,
but the lines seemed critical enough to deserve extra attention.
What immediately arrests attention is the difference between

allegory (allegorice) and literal meaning (nudam litteram rem
nudam significantem). This contrast derives from the theory of
Scriptural exegesis. There are several ways in which the Bible can
be read that correspond to layers of meaning in biblical texts. In
the late eighth and ninth century the ways of exegesis are divided
in literal exposition (what happened where and when?) and the
allegorical (what Christian meaning does it have?) way of reading.
In two long sermons, Henri de Lubac has clarified the history and
respective meaning of these ways of reading the Bible and two
other ways as well (the tropological and the anagogical). 23 The
historical and allegorical meanings of the Bible have to be
elucidated to a larger extent.
The literal and the allegorical meanings are the two most
fundamentally and widely recognised different ways or reading. 24
The literal meaning of Scripture is also called the ‘historical’
meaning. If one takes the Bible literally, it will tell of the deeds of
the Jews and Jesus. The Bible therefore recounts the res gestae,
which are the objects of history.25 The implication was readily made
that certain parts of Scripture, e.g. the Canticle of Canticles, are
then without a literal or historical meaning.26 The etymology of
historia given by Isidore was that it derived from the Greek
historein, which means ‘to see’ and ‘get to know’.27 Henri de Lubac
says insightfully: ‘An etymology justifies this equivalence by
seeming to assimilate history to the letter, i.e., to the exterior and
sensible aspect of things, as opposed to their mystic or hidden
signification, which is not at all perceived by the senses but only by
the understanding.’28 The ‘hidden significance’, which is not an
object of sensory perception but of the intellect, is the allegorical
23
Henri de Lubac, Exégèse médiévale. Les quatre sens de l’écriture. Vols. I and
II (Paris 1959). Vol. II has been translated by M. Macierowski, Medieval
Exegesis. The Four Senses of Scripture (Grand Rapids and Edinburgh 2000).
Further notes of the second volume will be to the English translation.
24
Henri de Lubac, Medieval Exegesis. Vol. II, p. 25.
25
P. Agaësse introduction générale to Augustine, La Genèse au sens littéral en
douze livres (I-VIII) transl. P. Agaësse and A. Solignac (Paris 1969), p. 39.
26
Lubac, Medieval Exegesis. Vol. II, p. 57.
27
Isidore of Seville, Etymologiae I, 41, n.1. Lubac, ibidem, p. 43.
28
Lubac, ibidem, p. 42. The etymology that Lubac uses directly after this
quotation is another one by Robert of Melun. The import, however, is the same.
Since Robert of Melun postdates this thesis, I deemed it possible to replace this
etymology by Isidore’, which Lubac gives one page later.
meaning of the text. An allegory is a figure of speech in which one

thing is understood by something else.29 In a classical allegory, this
‘something else’, which is the carrier of the meaning, is only
instrumental for the figure of speech and cannot claim reality.
When Anaxagoras considered Greek mythology as allegory, he
meant that the Gods are not real but stand for abstract principles
and their relationships.30 Paul has altered this classical meaning,
especially in his epistle to the Galatians. He explained the deeper
significance of Abraham’s sons of Hagar and Sara in Gal. 4:21-31,
without refuting that Abraham actually had these sons. Pauline
allegory therefore does not deny the ‘something else’. Ambrose
gave a good definition of Pauline or Christian allegory: ‘there is
allegory when one thing is being done, another is being figured’.31
With this definition, it is possible to search Scripture for its figures.
One can search for the ways in which the New Testament is figured
in the Old Testament or how Christ, the second parousia, and the
church are figured in the whole Bible.32 Or, one might explore the
way that (one’s view of) contemporary history is figured in
Scripture. He who understands these figures not only understands
salvation history, but receives an inner spiritual transformation. 33
Christian allegory therefore promotes an understanding of the
Christian faith and edifies it.34
This was the opposition between literal and allegorical that
Charles referred to in his letter to Dungal. It should be explained
why Charles was specifically asking for the literal meaning of
‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’, when it has just been stated that the
Christian spiritual meaning resided in the allegorical layer. Here
specific interests of that particular group and time at the court
come into play. It will not come as a surprise that generally
speaking the study of this literal layer of meaning was very popular
in the last decades of the eighth century. 35 The question is how we
should interpret this interest in the literal level of interpretation at
court.
29
Cf. Lubac for classical and early medieval formulae. ibidem, p. 89-90.
30
Mark Amsler, The Theory of Latin “Etymologia”, p. 80.
31
Ambrose, De Abraham libri duo, ed. Karl Schenkl in CSEL 32, cap. iv. nr. 28 p.
523 r. 2. Cf. Lubac, ibidem, p. 90.
32
Lubac, ibidem, pp. 90-91,110-111. P. Agaësse, introduction générale, p. 35.
33
Lubac, ibidem, pp. 96-97.
34
Lubac, ibidem, pp. 114-115.
35
Contreni, ‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, pp. 94-95.
One option is to see the interest in the light of an enthusiasm

for the literally in late eighth century and early ninth century
biblical exegesis. This enthusiasm can be found in the exegesis that
Bernard Bischoff regarded as typically Irish in his ‘Wendepunkte in
der Geschichte der Lateinischen Exegese im Frühmittelalter’. 36
Due to of the presence of Irish masters on the continent this kind
of exegesis exerted such an influence on continental exegesis that
it constituted one of the ‘Wendepunkte’. More recently, Bischoff’s
thesis has been weakened and much of his ‘Irish’ exegesis has
been redefined as ‘Carolingian’, so the Irish are seen as only a
‘component’ of continental exegesis in the late eighth and early
ninth century37 Still, whether we have to label this exegesis as
‘Irish’ or ‘Carolingian’, it does not compromise the aforementioned
focus on the literal. The fact that many of these manuscripts were
produced by continental scriptoria means that they were deemed
worthwhile to preserve and copy.38
How then was this focus on the literal expressed? Examples
can be given from the ‘undoubtedly’ Irish collection of
commentaries on the whole Bible that Bischoff has named the
‘Bibelwerk’.39 It is preserved in at least nine continental ninth
century manuscripts, and Bischoff dates the composition of this
work to the end of the eighth century. 40 The Bibelwerk exhibits an
interest in the Greek and Hebrew counterparts of Latin words and
names, mentions the first time events take place and persons are
introduced, and inserts extensive supplementary information (e.g.
the details of army hierarchy). When it deals with the adoratio
magi, the Bibelwerk gives their names and questions the manner
and how long they followed the star. Concerning the star, it
mentions that its position was higher than birds fly but lower than
the other stars.41 This kind of explanation of the res gestae of
Scripture is reminiscent of the biblical study tools on, for example,
the geography of Palestine and the list of ecclesiastical functions
36
Bernard Bischoff, ‘Wendepunkte in der Geschichte der Latieinischen Exegese
im Frühmittelalter’ in Mittelalterliche Studien. Ausgewählte Aufsätze aur
Schriftkunde und Literaturgeschichte. Vol. I (Stuttgart 1966), pp. 209-229.
37
38
Bernard Bischoff, ‘Wendepunkte’, p. 224.
39
John Contreni, ‘Carolingian Biblical Studies’, p 95.
40
Bernard Bischoff, ‘Wendepunkte’, pp. 222-223, 231.
41
Ibidem, pp. 219, 222, 226-227, n. 105. Cf. John Contreni, ‘Carolingian Biblical
Studies’, p 95.
mentioned earlier. The exegesis, which was en vogue in these

decennia, was therefore eminently suited to the introduction of
students to the Bible, and it is in this educational context that
Contreni refers to it.
Would Charles have referred to this kind of exegesis when he
asked Dungal to attend to the ‘naked letter signifying the naked
thing’? This option is not appealing. In 800, 32 years into his
government, Charles could hardly be considered to need an
introduction to the Bible. Furthermore, court scholars such as
Alcuin and Theodulf would have provided him with more relevant
information. Moreover, at least one of these scholars had very
serious misgivings about Irish exegesis. Theodulf is famous for his
battle with the Irishman Cadac-Andreas. Even more telling are
some lines in his court poem. In at the end of a long defamation of
Irishmen he refers to the Irish way of exegesis:
‘May that savage enemy seethe with the wish to criticise,

but let his ability not match his desire to censure.
He has learnt many things, but nothing fixed and sure.
He, a numbskull, thinks he knows everything.
He did not learn in order to be considered a sage,
but so that he would have arms ready at hand for the fray.
You know many things and have no wisdom: you’re a learned
ignoramus!
What more shall I then say? Facts you have, understanding
you don’t!’42
Of course this is harsh criticism from only one, though certainly

not lowest standing, courtier. If Charles had wanted, he could have
ignored this criticism, but it makes the ‘Irish option’ less likely. In
my opinion another option is much more likely.
42
Theodulf, MGH poeta I, p. 489 r. 227-234. transl. Peter Godman, Poetry of the
Carolingian Renaissance, pp. 161-163.
‘Et reprehendendi studio ferus aestuet hostis,
Cui sit posse procul, iam quia velle prope est.
Plurima qui didicit, nil fixum, nil quoque certum;
Quae tamen ignorat, omnia nosse putat.
Non ideo didicit, sapiens ut possit haberi,
Sed contendi ut promptus ad arma foret.
Multa scis et nulla sapis: plura inscie nosti.
Quid dicam inde magis? Non sapis atque sapis!’
In order to get at this other option we must properly

understand the question that Charles posed to Dungal. Charles did
not explicitly ask for exegesis, but the words he used and the
examples he gave later in the letter seem to imply that he expected
biblical exegesis from Dungal. Yet it is clear from his question that
he did not want a full-fledged exegesis, for that would involve an
allegorical interpretation as well. To read the Bible only literally (or
‘carnally’, without understanding) was to read the way the Jews
read the Old Testament and in the ninth century it was even
considered a mark of heresy.43 In the Opus Caroli, the manifest
against the worship of images, the Byzantines were reproached for
the error of reading some passages of the Bible only literally,
where they should have been read typologically. 44 Reading the Old
Testament properly, in the eighth century as well as in the ninth
century, involved showing how the Jews were superseded by the
Franks, just as the New Testament superseded the Old Law. 45 So
what was it that Charles wanted to know, for which the literal
meaning would suffice?
The answer to this question can be given by connecting
Fredegisus’ letter with another of Charles’ interests. It is well
known that Charles and his court had a vested interest in some
matters that in our times would be called ‘scientific’ scholarship.
The great computus conference in Aachen in 809 serves as a good
example. This conference was not some haphazard event, but was
prepared by a decennia long development. Arno Borst has
described this development and how Charles already came to be
interested in this subject in 782. 46 During this long period of
apparently intense interest, Charles had a written conversation
with Alcuin in the years 797-800 about the course of the moon, the
sun and the planets and discussing how this influenced time
43
Mayke de Jong, ‘Monastic Writing and Carolingian Court Audiences: Some
Evidence from Biblical Commentary’ in Flavia de Rubeis and Walter Pohl (eds.),
Le Scritture dai monastery. Atti del II o seminario internazionale di studio “I
monastery nell’ alto medioevo” Roma 9-10 maggio 2002 (Rome 2003), p. 194.
44
Thomas Noble, ‘Tradition and Learning in Search of Ideology: The Libri
Carolingi’ in Richard Sullivan (ed.), “The Gentle Voices of Teachers.” Aspects of
Learning in the Carolingian Age. (Ohio 1995), p. 238.
45
Ibidem, p. 239-240. Mayke de Jong, ‘Monastic Writing and Carolingian Court
Audiences’, p. 192.
46
Arno Borst, ‘Alkuin und die Enzykopädie von 809.’
calculus and Easter-tables.47 It was during this exchange that

Alcuin defended himself and his computations against the ‘pueri
Aegyptici’ of Charles’ court, who wanted to start the year in
September.48 This (Eastern) style of New Year’s Day makes some
people suspect that there were Irishmen among the new
councillors of the king.49 How the different calculations and
theories on the courses of the planets worked, does not concern us
here. What is important is that in the years 797-800, Charles, the
court, and Alcuin in Tours were occupied by astronomical topics.
These astronomical questions naturally led to an interest in
cosmology. Alcuin answered one of Charles’ letters, brought to him
by Fredegisus: ‘Yet at present the narrow-mindedness of many
does not care to know the theories of arithmetic, however
necessary [these may be] for knowing Holy Scripture, and however
pleasing the knowledge of the heavenly stars and their course.’50
This lament expresses the need that Alcuin, and probably also
Charles, felt to discover the numerical relationships with which
God created nature.51 Computus and arithmetic were seen to serve
their purpose in the broader context of cosmology. Therefore a
distinction was made between necessity (necessaria) and nicety
(iocunda). It was agreeable to be able to discover the course of a
planet, but it was necessary to understand cosmology. Cosmology
and cosmogony are dealt with in Genesis. Thus Alcuin states that
arithmetics are necessary to understand scripture. It must have
been a well considered decision on Alcuin’s part to start the epistle
47
ibidem, pp. 64-67. Dietrich Lohrmann, ‘Alcuins Korrespondenz mit Karl dem
Grossen über Kalender und Astronomie’ in Paul Butzer and Dietrich Lohrmann
(eds.), Science in Western and Eastern Civilization in Carolingian Times (Basel,
Boston and Berlin 1993), pp. 79-114.
48
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 145 p. 231 r. 21 – p. 232 r. 5.
49
Dietrich Lohrmann, ‘Alcuins Korrespondenz mit Karl dem Grossen’, p. 100,
Arno Borst, ‘Alkuin und die Enzykopädie von 809’, p. 64.
50
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 148 p. 239 r. 30-33. ‘Sed nunc pusillanimitas
multorum non curat scire rationes arithmetica, quam necessaria ad
cognoscendas scripturas divinas; quam iocunda est cognitio caelestium astrorum
et cursus illorum.’
51
ibidem, r. 18-22. ‘Nam philosophi non fuerunt conditores harum artium, sed
inventores. Nam creator omnium rerum condidit eas in naturis, sicut voluit; illi
vero, qui sapientiores erant in mundo, inventores erant harum artium in naturis
rerum; sicut de sole et luna et stellis facile potes intellegere.’
with an abstract of Genesis, mentioning from the first day to the

fourth what was created.52
This interest in cosmology can be inferred from other sources
as well. In this brief period of three years in which this letter
exchange on astronomy took place, other texts were also presented
to Charles, for example Wigbod’s commentary on the Octateuch
and another of Alcuin’s letters on words such as ‘eternity’,
‘always’, ‘perpetual’ and ‘time’. To disclose the conclusions ahead
of the argumentation, Fredegisus’ epistle on ‘nothing’ and
‘darkness’ can be placed in this cosmological vogue or trend as
well. First Wigbod’s commentary on the Octateuch has to be
discussed, since it fits this cosmological context. Michael Gorman
has shown how Wigbod made his commentary on Genesis
encyclopedic, but followed mainly the allegorical commentaries of
Isidore in the rest of his compilation. 53 As I have mentioned before,
Wigbod’s aim in his commentary on Genesis was to be
comprehensive. Therefore this commentary is longer than all of the
other commentaries on the Ocataeuch combined. 54 It is striking
that most of Wigbod’s material in this encyclopedic commentary
has the literal interpretation of the Bible. Gorman found that 66%
of the commentary on the first three chapters of Genesis ultimately
derived from Augustine and that the De Genesi ad litteram make
up the largest share of this Augustinian portion. 55 The De Genesi
ad litteram is the work in which Augustine tried to explain the
relation between the creation account in Genesis and the factual
creation.56 Wigbod in his turn compiled the literal explanations that
were available to him. Through Wigbod’s compilation Charles
learned what the Fathers had to say on the actual creation of the
cosmos.
Why would Wigbod have made only his Genesis commentary
encyclopedic? Gorman has hypothesized that Wigbod’s effort may
have been designed to produce a comprehensive commentary on
52
ibidem, p. 238 r. 1-10.
53
Charlemagne by Wigbod’, p. 176.
54
ibidem, p. 177.
55
ibidem, p. 183.
56
Augustinus, De Genesi ad litteram VIII, 2, 5. ‘Nunc autem quia voluit Dominus
ut ea diligentius intuens atque considerans, non frustra, quantum opinor,
extimarem etiam per me posse secundum propriam, non secundum allegoricam
locutionem haec scripta esse monstrari,…’
the Bible, just like the Bibelwerk, and that it could have been part
of an official program, commanded by Charles.57 The implication of
this hypothesis is that Wigbod’s pious effort was cut short after
Genesis. In this case, one could further suggest that Wigbod built
the rest of his commentaries around Isidore as a frame in which he
could later insert other material. Yet another hypothesis would be
that Charles commanded him to make only the part on Genesis
encyclopedic and literal, as a result of his heightened interest in
cosmology. 800 was the same year in which Wigbod offered his
work to Charles, and that the letter exchange between Charles and
Alcuin on astronomy ended. Gorman could be right, however,
asserting that the section on Genesis was finished since it was the
first part to be done and that it was offered to Charles in 800 when
he was crowned emperor. In this case one could say that the
commentary has nothing to do with Charles’ interest in cosmology.
This account, however, leaves the work’s focus on the literal
meaning in Genesis unexplained. It can only be made intelligible
with this interest in mind.
A concerted attention for cosmology is also apparent in a
letter that Alcuin sent to Charles in 799. This letter, which has
hitherto failed to attract the attention it deserves, is of key import
for this thesis for two reasons. First, if Wigbod’s encyclopedic
commentary on Genesis does not shown that Charles’ interest in
cosmology was wider than astronomy and computus, this letter
will. Secondly, it resembles the topics in Fredegisus’ letter but
details a different method or model with which to solve it’s
questions. Charles’ bewildered reaction to the De substantia makes
sense if he expected a similar letter from Fredegisus. The question
that Alcuin addresses is the difference between ‘eternal’
(aeternum) and ‘everlasting’ (sempiternum); ‘permanent’
(perpetuum) and ‘immortal’ (inmortale); and ‘age’ (saeculum),
‘eternity’ (aevum) and ‘time’ (tempus).58 These words all evolved
around qualitative differences between the temporal nature of the
cosmos and its eternal creator. The difference is that God is outside
57
Charlemagne by Wigbod’, p. 188 ‘Wigbod and Biblical Studies under
Charlemagne’, p. 73.
58
Alcuin, MGH Epist. IV, nr. 163 p. 263 r. 14-16. ‘Haec ergo est interrogatio,
quae nobis ab eodem adlata est; scilicet: quid sit inter aeternum et
sempiternum; et perpetuum et inmortale’ et saeculum, et aevum, et tempus?’
of time and therefore considered immutable and the only entity

that truly can be called ‘eternal’. 59 For God the difference between
past, present and future is non existent and so all things are in the
present in his view.60 Creation is time-bound.61 Some items in
creation, namely the soul and nature as such, are immortal, yet
they are not immutable and are therefore unlike God. 62 This proper
use of words does not prevent the Scripture from using words
slightly different or interchanging them. In these cases, however,
the words imply the proper meaning. Paul may call God ‘immortal’
in 1. Tim. 6. 16, even when the idea would be better expressed by
the term ‘immutable’. Yet the implication is the same, since that
which is mutable can die by becoming something it was not. 63
Apparently exceptions have to be made for the soul and nature,
which are mutable yet immortal. This letter thus reads as an
introduction to Augustine and it would be interesting to research
whether it has been influenced directly by the Timaeius. The point
is that Charles was evidently also interested in this intersection
between cosmology and theology.
If Gennaro’s dating of the De substantia is correct, then
Alcuin’s epistle was written only one year earlier. Charles must
have been accustomed to Alcuin’s style of writing, whether
Fredegisus wrote in 800 or somewhat later. This letter of Alcuin is
a more typical model of Charles’ anticipation than Alcuin’s letter
on rubus and despexeris, due to the similar nature of the
questions. Alcuin’s letter is a well balanced whole which is divided
into three parts. It has a short introduction to the words under
59
ibidem, r. 29-30. ‘Solus Deus vere inmortalis et inmutabilis, quia solus vere et
proporie aeternus.’
60
ibidem, p. 265 r. 12-13. ‘Deo vero nihil praeteritum vel futurm, sed omnia
praesentia sunt, qui servo suo Moysi ait: ‘Ego sum, qui sum’.’
61
ibidem, p. 264 r. 14-15. ‘Saeculum vero dicitur post creatas rerum species, et
in diversas temporum mutabilitates distinctae;’
62
ibidem, p. 263 r. 25-29. ‘Inmortalis enim illa dicitur natura, quae mori non
potest, non tamen semper inmutabilis, id est quae inmutari non possit: sicut
anima humana, quae inmoralis creata est, sed inmutabilis procul dubio non est,
quia de peiore in melius vel de meliore in peius vel de peiore in peius vel de
meliore in melius mutari potest, sicut dictum est : ‘Ibunt sancti de virtute in
virtutem’.’
63
ibidem, p. 263 r. 31-33. ‘[Deus], de quo apostolus: ‘Qui solus habet
inmortalitatem.’ Et inmortale posuit pro inmutabili; quia quod mutabile est,
quodammodo moritur eo, quod est, dum aliud aliquid incipit esse, quod non
erat.’
scrutiny, in which some etymology or short definitions and

differences in meaning are given.64 This introduction is then
followed by reflections on the use, meanings, referents and
relationships of the specific words- a section that ends with a very
short statement on the relation between words, concepts, objects
and truth.65 Finally, an allegorical reflection on the word ‘end’
(finis) is given as the temporal end and the completion of a goal.
Herewith Alcuin ends his letter.66 Compared to this letter, the De
substantia reads like sandpaper. Alcuin’s style, tone of voice and
variation are more pleasant to the ear. Yet the De substantia has
most of the elements of Alcuin’s epistle. It has the vision, albeit a
different one, on the relation between words and things. Also in the
first lines of the part on ‘nothing’, Fredegisus touches on an
ambiguity in the use of the word, although it must be said that
Fredegisus omits the pure syntactical us of ‘nihil’ as a negation.
What differs between the two letters is the appliance of logic.
Alcuin’s epistle is certainly not devoid of logic, but it also does not
dictate a formal configuration of the text. Fredegisus, however,
gives syllogism upon syllogism to hammer his point home. Yet the
real difference between Alcuin and Fredegisus’ letters lies in what
I would like to call ‘relevance’. After reading Alcuin’s text, Charles
knew the meaning of the words, how they were used, and what
they referred to. This was probably what Charles wanted: in one
fell swoop he acquired insight in the cosmos and learned to read
and use the vocabulary. Alcuin provided a ‘complete package’.
Fredegisus’ final product must have been a poor one in Charles’
eyes. His only point was that ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ have extant
referents. Yet what is the use of this small bit of knowledge if one
does not even know what Nothing is, or how darkness figures in
the cosmos? By focussing on the relation of the words to their
referents, Fredegisus failed to answer the question Charles was
interested in.
Several questions have now been clarified. We now
understand why Charles wanted Dungal to answer his question in a
literal fashion. This understanding explains Charles’ bewildered
reaction to the De substantia. The hypothesis that Charles wanted
64
Ibidem, r. 16-24. This section is ended by ‘Sed modo videamus horum
distantiam nominum’ which signals that a longer treatment begins.
65
Ibidem, r. 25- 265 r. 21.
66
Ibidem, p. 265, r. 22-33.
a cosmological question answered explains both Charles’ request

for a second opinion and his command to Dungal to come up with a
literal answer. Like Augustine, Charlemagne was interested in the
res gesta of creation, which meant that Dungal had to leave out all
of the allegory. This also makes it intelligable that Charles chose
Dungal to give a second opinion. Dungal was deeply involved in
astronomy and cosmology. We know that Dungal had written a
letter to Charles on two solar eclipses in 810. 67 In the letter he
used Pliny’s Natural History and Macrobius’ Commentary on the
Dream of Scipio.68 According to Bischoff he later emended the
Leiden manuscript of Lucretius’ De Rerum Natura in Italy.69 In 800
Dungal would have been less learned, but apparently up to the task
of checking Fredegisus’ letter in Charles’ eyes.
Dungal’s letter has only survived in one of the three extant
ninth century manuscripts, namely in the Brussels manuscript (B1).
As stated in the treatment of the text tradition, this manuscript has
a privileged position compared to the Paris (P) and Vatican (V)
manuscripts. The palaeographical evidence showed that B1, just as
P, was copied c. 800-830, while V was copied somewhere c. 860-
870. P (and V) has three lacunae, one of which is of drastic
importance for the contents of Fredegisus’ text, since it removes
the whole notions of significativa, while B1 only has one ‘minor’
lacuna.70 It seems that this lacuna in P, which removes the vox
significativa, is not an unintentional error, but a simplification of
the text since it is rather extensive (it regards sentences 10-14),
eliminates a concept with philosophical connotations important in
Fredegisus’ argumentation, and does not have the letter to Dungal.
This is a problem that merits more thought, however. In any case
B1 is the extant ninth century manuscript that is closest to
Fredegisus’.
What is clear is that apparently the copyist of B1 thought that
Charles’ letter was worthwhile to copy with the De substantia. We
67
Dungal, MGH Epist. IV, ed. Dümmler, nr. 1 pp. 570-578.
68
Cf. Stephen McCluskey, ‘Astronomies in the Latin West from the Fifth to the
Ninth Centuries’ in Paul Butzer and Dietrich Lohrmann (eds.), Science in
Western and Eastern Civilization in Carolingian Times (Basel, Boston and Berlin
1993), pp. 152-153.
69
Bernhard Bischoff, ‘Irische Schreiber im Karolingerreich’ in Mittelalterliche
Studien III (Stuttgart 1981), p.42. According to David Ganz in a personal
conversation, Dungal would have emended the manuscript c. 830.
70
Gennaro, Fridugiso di Tours, pp. 24, 16.
can speculate on the reasons for him to insert this letter. It might
be motivated by the urge to copy the complete conversation.
However, in this case we might ask why the copyist did not include
Dungal’s answer. Was the copyist close enough to the fire to obtain
Fredegisus’ text and Charles’ letter, but too far to get his hands on
Dungal’s answer? This is a possible scenario, and then we have to
imagine a scribe who had easy access to Fredegisus and Charles’
letters but not to Dungal’s answer. A reason for this might be that
Dungal’s answer was sent to Charles and not directly to
Fredegisus. This would point in the direction of a scribe maybe in
Tours after Fredegisus’ had assumed the office of abbot. Yet other
scenarios are as likely. We might construe scenario’s around the
idea that Dungal’s answer was at hand, but that the copyist’s
motivation did not necessitate to copy Dungal’s letter as well. A
second scenario is that Fredegisus himself wanted to preserve his
literary activity for posterity. Then we would certainly want to look
for a scribe in Tours. A reason why Dungal’s answer was not copied
may then be that Dungal’s answer totally ravaged Fredegisus’
argumentation, leaving an unfavourable impression of Fredegisus’
arguments. Then Fredegisus would have an interest in having
Charles’ letter copied, to show that he even rocked the emperor’s
world, but to exclude Dungal’s. In a third scenario the De
substantia and Charles’ letter to Dungal were copied by someone
who wanted to show that Charles was engaged in intellectual
activity, showing that Charles could respond with expert Scriptural
knowledge to such a strange argument of Fredegisus’. Such a
motivation would provide less incentive to include Dungal’s answer
since this would be irrelevant for the image of Charles as an
intellectual ruler. These questions, however, need to be answered
by the historian who will write about the reception of the De
substantia.
I argued in this chapter that in the quest for Christian
wisdom, Fredegisus tried to solve a difficult question about the
meaning of ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ to the best of his abilities, and
presented it as two encyclopedic lemmata. This matched the
requirements of his courtly audience and probably would have
ensured Charles’ approval, but for one thing: Charles did not find
in Fredegisus’ letter the cosmological insights that he looked for at
the time.
Conclusion
I
n the three years prior to the composition of the De substantia,
Charles, his court and Alcuin, then abbot in Tours, had an interest
in cosmology. This interest did not only comprise the courses of
planets, but also the cosmogony. Alcuin explained to Charles, for
example, the difference between time-bound creation and God’s
timeless nature. In this explanation he not only focussed on the
difference itself, but chiefly on the right words that express this
difference, how to use these words and how these words are used
in Scripture. Thereby he presented Charles with a ‘total-package’
of what one needed to know theoretically and practically when
reading and using the words under discussion. Fredegisus also
wanted to tutor Charles on words that were important in the
Christian story of cosmogony; namely the words ‘nothing’ and
‘darkness’. His view was that these two words had extra-mental
referents, meaning that the words referred to real things. However,
Fredegisus in no way offered the ‘total package’ that Charles had
learned to expect from Alcuin. The statement itself was strange
too: did not Augustine and Alcuin teach that ‘nothing’ only was a
name of a negation? Charles therefore ordered a letter to be sent
to the astronomer Dungal to ask for a second opinion. Dungal was
to sort out the right from the wrong in Fredegisus’ letter, and to
recount only the story of the creation of the world, thus without the
moral Christian lessons that could be drawn from it. Whether
Fredegisus himself composed Charles’ letter or not, the request
was sent on Charles’ command and with his knowledge.
Charles’ surprise over Fredegisus’ letter did not stem from a
lack of effort on Fredegisus’ side. Quite to the contrary,
Fredegisus’ argument in the De substantia used the most novel and
progressive method of analysis to be had at the time: the
grammatical method. Maybe Fredegisus thought that his lord was
Conclusion 165
entitled to the newest methods, or perhaps he wanted to show off

his abilities to Charles and the rest of the court. In any case, he
used the rediscovered theory of the categories that he had learned
from Alcuin, the concept of the vox significativa from Aristotelian-
Boethian philosophy of language and elements from the
etymological theory. Fredegisus tightly tied the results of his
modern research techniques together so that he had his ‘arms
ready at hand for the fray’. His pedantic rhetoric reminds one of
the exuberance of youthful modern hip-hop lyrics.
This is not so strange, since Fredegisus expected challenges.
His theory, that ‘nothing’ had an extra-mental referent, was an odd
one at the time. Moreover the implication that could be drawn from
his letter, that this referent was God’s nature, might have raised
the eyebrows of those who drew it even higher. This implication
can partly be drawn from the different methods that Fredegisus
used to treat ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’. I would, however, like to do
more research on the currency of the ideas of negative theology
and the lines that may be drawn to the later ninth century and John
Scottus. It is not so strange that Fredegisus had something to say
on the referent too, albeit in last resort and only by implication.
The grammatical method was used by Alcuin and Candidus to
analyse ‘objects’ like the Trinity and the existence of God .
Although Fredegisus’ letter was about words, it can be seen in
accordance with these München fragments too. After all, I have
shown only that Fredegisus’ first and foremost priority lay with the
words, not that he had no ideas whatsoever on the referents of the
words. There only is a non sequitur when one assumes that a word
has nothing to do with a thing. Yet in the early Middle Ages, when
the word was still considered the primary unit of meaning, a strong
connection between a name and its referent was envisioned.
Fredegisus also believed in this connection between names and
their referents, although for him a name like vox significata was
only a vocal sound. Yet the common origin between names and
things was preserved by the fact that these vocal sounds were
principally given by God Himself.
In the introduction I have written about the counterintuitive
way that Fredegisus interprets his Scriptural quotations and
orthodox dogmas. He ignored the fact that words might be used
metaphorically or that the context influences the way in which a
sentence can be read. The initially strange seeming rules, which
Conclusion 166
Fredegisus stuck to when interpreting his evidence, can now be

explained. By inferring that there is a strong connection between
names and their referents, he could take any statement at face
value for his argument, without worrying too much about tropes or
figures. Further, in his proof of the existence of darkness, the
categories and their treatment in the Categoriae decem provided
him with rules for how to see the appliance of predicates to
subjects, in language and in reality. This use of grammatical theory,
in which one can move from an analysis of the words to an analysis
of the things, is understandable in a culture which assumes that its
reality is revealed in a text. One then has to mine the text for the
precious ore of meaning in order to interpret reality with it. Only
this meaning was even more real and precious than gold. In
Fredegisus’ days this idea was not novel, but the methods he used
were.
In the recovery of the meaning of Scripture, a broad
knowledge was required. In the first place, good command of Latin
was necessary. Since Latin was alsoconsidered a privileged
language, as the language of the former Roman Empire, this led to
a linguistic focus, in which the correctness of Latin, in all its
aspects from orthography to tropes, was stressed. Yet this
command of Latin certainly was not enough; an all embracive
encyclopaedic knowledge was to be sought after in order to
understand the Bible and acquire Christian wisdom. Therefore
biblical study tools, which also were made in the previous
centuries, were devised and collected in order to facilitate Bible
study and to give quick access to Christian wisdom. The extensive
Liber Glossarum can be regarded as a major Carolingian
achievement in this drive to collect and provide broader access.
Fredegisus’ letter also shared in this development. On the one
hand he wrote about two words and claims that they had referents.
This is practical knowledge if one wants to know how to use these
words correctly. On the other hand Fredegisus wrote his letter as if
they were two separate lemmata of an encyclopaedia, treating
‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’ in concise stretches of text, and thereby
providing a, albeit very short, biblical study tool on these two
words. Furthermore, he thus contributed to the search for
encyclopaedic knowledge in order to get to Christian wisdom. The
letter Fredegisus wrote can therefore be considered as
‘encyclopaedic’ in both a pragmatical (two encyclopaedic lemmata)
Conclusion 167
and ideological (encyclopaedic knowledge) way. This realisation

allows for a return to Charles and the court: as busy king Charles
valued concise answers to his questions. These questions were
often inspired by the search for Christian wisdom. His interests in
cosmology and cosmogony were very clear expressions of this
search. Fredeigus’ letter on the words ‘nothing’ and ‘darkness’,
which figure so prominently in the Christian story of creation, find
their rightful context in these interests. The contexts of the
Carolingian Renaissance and of the royal court, therefore, merge in
the hypothesis that the use of Fredegisus’ letter was
‘encyclopaedic’.
In this thesis, the historical context of the royal court and the
Carolingian Renaissance were therefore used to gain a new
perspective on the De substantia. I used the results of previous
research on Fredegisus’ use of antique philosophy of language by
Mignucci and Colish and augmented these with these with
etymological theory, as described by Mark Amsler, and negative
theology, following Shimizu Tetsuro’s lead. Next I tried to fit these
results into the research on education, letter writing, biblical
commentary and the royal court, with which historians such as my
own supervisor Mayke de Jong and John Contreni are involved. In
other words, I have tried to fit Colish’ work into Contreni’s. Thus
new questions could be posed to Fredegisus’ text.
Yet can the De substantia also bring forth some new
questions about the Carolingian Renaissance? I can see three
questions to be posed. The first is very specific: what has been the
fate of the De substantia in the later Carolingian Renaissance? Has
it been used as an advanced school text, or was it treated as a
curiosity? The second is less specific: are there lines to be drawn
from late antiquity to John Scott via Fredegisus in negative
theology? The third question is more general still. I have shown
that the De substantia is peculiar in that it fused the new methods
of philosophical analysis, the demands of court letters and the form
of a biblical study tool into one text. But how peculiar is this fusion
exactly? Are there other texts in which similar disparate forms of
knowledge acquisition and transmission are joined? What can such
a fusion tell us about Carolingian attitudes towards knowledge?
The De substantia can thus form the starting point of new research
into the ways that the Carolingians treated their Christian wisdom.
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Introduction

‘Alcuin: What is that which is and is not?

Charles therefore commanded that a letter was sent to the

response! But alas, the historian has to make do with the

and it is likely that Alcuin took Fredegisus with him when he

Einhard also reports that Fredegisus was among the witnesses

On a first reading of the De substantia many (modern)

It is the strangeness of the letter and the use of these

ways in which the transmission of knowledge could take place in

This thesis sets out to study the De substantia in both its

misunderstanding in the historiography beginning with Max

to this question will, under the guidance of Shimizu Tetsuro,

analysis of Mignucci- since the first and second parts of the

Finally I want to express my gratitude to several people.

Before we go to the translation of the text, a short note is

1)Paris BN Lat. 5577, fols. 134r-137r

As can be seen, B1 and B2 are contained in the same codex,

The catalogues, and Bernard Bischoff for B, provide dates

Martorana has excluded manuscript B2 in her research since it

There is also the question of possible relationships

When using the editions of the De substantia one has to

translation. Therefore, Mayke de Jong and me deemed it

INTERROGATIO DOMNI CAROLI SERENISSIMI IMPERATORIS

IN NOMINE PATRIS ET FILII ET SPIRITVS SANCTI

1 Sententias siue rationes quas tibi dirigimus de substantia

cum tamen possint huiusmodi exempla innumera proferri in

29 Quoniam his breuiter dictis commode finem inposui mox ad

33 Sic enim inquit Et tenebrae erat super faciem abyssi.

50 Nam caelum et teram facilius est transire quam

73 Nam non essent exteriores tenebrae nisi essent et

INTERROGATION OF THE LORD CHARLES, MOST SERENE EMPEROR

ABOUT THE SUBSTANCE OF NOTHING AND OF DARKNESS

1 Assidously and painstakingly, we wish you to explore the

like ‘Bless, light and darkness, the Lord’

ON THE SUBSTANCE OF NOTHING

1 They have left me the troubling question about nothing,

10 Therefore if ‘nothing’ is a noun at all, as grammarians assert,

ON THE SUBSTANCE OF DARKNESS

29 Given that I have put a suitable end to this brief exposition,

37 By predicating, therefore, in that which is said ‘Darkness was

47 Is darkness significative of nothing

64 In the same way that [quotation]: ‘He placed darkness as His

wherefore it cannot be unmade as though it is not.

The annotations are only to the text of the De subsantia, not to

opening words The addressees of the letter were the faithful of

thesis of logic in light of Aristotle’s categories.3 The idea in the

Fredegisus is typical. Yet church doctrine also is a source of

very weak meaning and is only meant to connect once sentence to

In the second syllogism, the vox significativa is also a term

explanation uses Mignucci’s idea that the third syllogism is

has a low opinion of Fredegisus, this could well sound as an ill

Colish thinks that ‘darkness’ is examined as an example to

Fredegisus used stress the fact that darkness is a thing by proving

Bible.28 The idea is that everything that can be touched must be

entities that can be categorised together, then an explanation has

darkness, if it was not something that could be located. This

is very positive, since he was gifted with a deep philosophical

in the former tradition was Prantl’s main concern, but he scratched

Fredegisus meant by Nothing. Fredegisus’ observation that many

‘unformedness’. Being without form was the most important

In 1963 Concettina Gennaro made a new critical edition of

It is after Gennaro’s publication that the greatest