The ancient Greek writer Lucian advises that ‘the historian among his books should forget his nationality.’ But frankly this sort of position, which so characterised the enlightenment’s ‘prejudice against prejudices’15 has itself been given such a thorough drubbing in the twentieth century by scholars like Gadamer16 that one has to wonder whether the objectivity of the natural sciences is desirable, let alone possible in the humanities. Of course, I have tried to be as open handed with the sources as any red-blooded Englishman can be. And at the end of the day, Anglo-centrism is not a sin – not in the north of England at any rate! So, I bring a personal view about the evolution of western European civilisation, gazing intently, as I do, from the finibus extremis of that great landmass. I am conscious that my necessarily restricted western/Latin European focus might strike the broader scholar as too occidental – too reflective of a limited Enlightenment historiography – but where I am able, I will pay my respects to African influence (when discussing Anthony, the Desert Fathers, and Augustine in chapters 1 and 2, and the influence of the East in chapters 1 and 15. 

I must also confess up front that I have not given equal wordage to the three great stages through which European culture has passed. The early stages of Pagan Rome and the Christian formation will receive vastly more wordage than the Enlightenment, partly because the latter is so well established, but also because the former is so little understood and appreciated among popular readers. This fact was rather visually highlighted to me in September 2018 when I was very kindly received at the House of European History in Brussels to film an interview with their director Dr Constanz Itzel. This extraordinary and brilliant museum is well worth a whole day’s visit, though the display ratios embraced the glaring bias of a European consciousness grounded in the Enlightenment. Having literally just travelled to Brussels from Aachen, the former centre of the (Carolingian) European Union twelve centuries previously, this did strike me as strange. It is rather like me pointing to a cake that is just coming out of the oven and exclaiming, ‘look! That oven has just made a cake!’ It acknowledges an important process in the cake’s production but shows that I have only just entered the kitchen. The fires of that industrial age certainly produced much heat and perhaps some light too, but in this book, I invite you to join me on a journey much further back; to sample the raw ingredients; as it were, to read the recipe books; perhaps even meeting one or two chefs. 

I, as a northern Brit have come to this subject like Columban came to the continent; from de finibus extremis, the extreme fringe. And, like him, who journeyed south, east and west, so I too have struck out overland following my literary sources, looking for clues and narratives. My sources too, like Columbanus’ monastic band, are from diverse nations; Franks, Lombards, Scotti, and Alemani etc. With them I have crossed and re-crossed borders, heard their languages, enjoyed their cultures. In his excellent 2015 book Silk Roads, Peter Frankopan sought to re-centre European readers geographically.17 But the book you are holding attempts something comparable in the more fundamental realms of spirituality and philosophy. 

And if there might be a European position from which to judge these things, or a western European one, perhaps we might claim it for Robert Schuman – ‘un homme de frontieres’ – born between France and Germany and who was a mix of both geographically, biologically, linguistically and culturally. In his person and his policies Schuman became the essential bridge between both at that critical hour. But even his developed position could not be seen as the bridge between the Enlightenment and the Romantics; between Kant and Hegel, for Schuman’s unassuming humanism – so extraordinarily assured and productive – was a stranger synthesis than any might guess. More medieval than modern; more rooted in Aquinas than Rousseau, more indebted to the socio-political writings of the popes than the purveyors of the new ideologies – he was an enigma to many in his day, and would probably be anathema to ours. Stranger still, his worldview was quite independently shared by his political counterparts in Italy and Germany. And in a paradox worthy of an epigram, it was the neo-scholastic humanism of Schuman, Adenauer and De Gasperi that made possible, what Javier Solana called, ‘the most innovative and successful integration process in the history of humankind.’18 In the midst of the modern amnesia, they reached back further and, in so doing, achieved something more progressive than the progressives ever dreamt, and more pragmatic than the pragmatists ever compromised for. Answering journalists’ questions after his famous declaration on May 9th 1951, Schuman quietly admitted before them all that it was ‘a leap into the unknown’ and yet he and others were able to lead the shattered nations through that unmarked door. This is a simplistic analysis and really one that is only intended to whet the readers’ appetites for something rich and unexpected.  

Admittedly, these great men (and some very notable women who made and supported them) are not known well in Britain, and certainly not as they should be. When Alexander the Great reached Achilles’ tomb he said ‘happy are you, young man, for you will have the benefit of a great spokesman of your achievement.’ Alexander knew he couldn’t find a man of Homer’s ilk to write his own epitaph, and nor have Columban or Schuman through these efforts of mine. Columban was actually the first Irishman to be the subject of biography, and fortunately for us, it was written only shortly after his death. But alas, Schuman has no biography available in English at present – nor does De Gasperi.19 

 Columbanus’ summary of his own predicament are equally mine; ‘Who could listen to a greenhorn? Who is this bumptious babbler that dares to write such things unbidden?’20 I appreciate that our age demands specialisation but it also desperately needs synthesis too. Those of us blue-collar scholars who serve falteringly in the latter capacity will always face the accusation of superficiality, arrogance and dilettantism. To the specialist philosophers, historians21, sociologists, economists and others, I ask for special clemency. For I have trespassed through many areas of scholarship without so much as wiping my feet. This story – which we have either forgotten, or lost22 – must be retold, even if retold imperfectly. This I say with all humility for, unlike others qualified in these fields of study, I have so much more to be humble about.  

To the general reader I also offer a very Columban’ confession; ‘talia confragosa loca’ - I come from a rough place. Far removed from the refinements of academia and the urban intelligentsia, I live in the far northwest of our island; a place where the Roman legions once defended the very borders of civilisation, and where the shepherds still count in old Norse. In fact, I live very literally in the shadow of England’s highest mountains, and in a figure, I wish to lead the reader – as I have led many other visiting friends over the years – along precipitous ridges and through upland environments unfamiliar to them.  

I recently took my flatlander-Norfolk nephews along the infamous Striding Edge; a kilometre-long arête that yearly claims lives and where the adventurer is usually only ever one step from death. There is an under-path to the left and the right, but those who walk them inevitably only see half of the view. And I don’t mean this is merely an ascetic choice either, for each under-path has its own dangers too. I remember as a boy taking the under-path with my father during a winter white-out because the snow, ice and violent winds made the ridge too dangerous. But even in this event, we overshot the end of the ridge and found ourselves making a hazardously steep ascent in deep snow, arriving just under the summit. But for our ropes, ice axes and crampons, even the ‘safe’ under-path might have killed us.  

But my main point here is that at various points, depending on your political or religious leaning, you might earnestly long for the under-path of your persuasion. And at those times you will inevitably feel the strength of the metaphorical rope pulling you off your normal centre. Let it be so in good faith, even for a short time.  

My real sympathy on this hike is with the agnostic and non-religious reader. By virtue of the very subjects under consideration this climb will take you on paths very seldom trodden. From you I ask a very special trust and patience. Having said all that, I do not doubt that even religious readers will also find certain sections a stiff scramble. We are a recalcitrant breed of mountaineer – scrupulous over our maps and hi-tech gear – but unfamiliar with vast mountain ranges beyond our neighbourhood. Poor us! With titans like Schuman and Columban, we will be forced to breathe the thin mountain air of Catholic ascetics, and even have some cherished, Protestant myths about the Celtic church overturned. And the Catholic readers will have to suffer the interpretations and criticism of a sympathetic but non-Catholic pen. So again, my only plea is that you all have patience with the path I have paced out. I hold out my hands left and right. Let us climb together, grumbling where necessary but nevertheless keeping in step with our fellow adventurers – for I believe that the view is amply worth the journey. And if the reader disagrees after that then they can always give the book away to someone they don’t like for Christmas! 

Enough, enough! Let us have done with all this Hibernian self-deprecation and close with Columban’s own words 1400 years ago;  

‘If any of my words have outwardly caused offense to pious ears, pardon me for my treatment of such rugged passages…. And for the freedom of my customs, so to speak, was in part the cause of my boldness. For among us it is not who you are but how you make your case that counts…’