Being Green

A post inspired by ‘Seeing Green: A Philadelphia Story‘ by Yeah, Another Blogger

Medieval Green Man

Our English word for the colour ‘green’ comes from the Old English word grene which has the same word root as that of the words grass and grow. It’s no surprise, then, that we associate green with nature and new life. Similarly, in the Middle Ages, the colour green – with its profuse representation in the natural world – was a potent symbol of the beauty of God’s creation. God’s promise of hope, fertility, and abundance was renewed each year as people witnessed the green shoots of Spring pushing through the cold, hard earth of Winter.

The great 12th century abbess and visionary, Hildegard of Bingen, seems to have had quite a fondness for the colour green. Firstly, there is her detailed knowledge of, and admiration for, the plants and herbs of her locality which she used in healing medicines and ointments for her nuns and others needing treatment. Then, there are the green-themed ‘upmarket’ remedies that Hildegard recommended: She regarded the emerald as the “jewel of jewels” for treating many ailments – heart and stomach problems, headaches, even epilepsy. The emerald’s efficacy was due to its excessive greenness which, for her and others of the time, signified that it had absorbed all the green goodness of the natural world as it sprang back to new life each Spring. The emerald was not necessarily ingested, however; just wearing it as a charm or drinking some wine in which it had been placed was considered effective. (No doubt many of us would agree that wearing an emerald might make us feel better!). Hildegard also evoked greenness in relation to spirituality. She used the word viriditas (from the Latin meaning ‘greeness’) to describe the vitality, verdant beauty, and potential for growth of the human soul.

Not everyone saw green as a positive force, however. Some medieval churchmen were wary of the colour precisely because of its association with the natural world. That is, some saw green as representative of the pre-Christian religions that worshipped nature, and found their meaning in the renewal and abundance that the seasons brought. The medieval ‘Green Man’, depicted with his face and head surrounded by foliage, is a motif often found carved into medieval (English) churches. His incorporation into Christianity points to the way that the Church often managed to ‘neutralise’ the power of the Old Religions by appropriating their symbols. Some scholars think that the rise – in literature if not in fact – of the legendary outlaw, Robin Hood (topic for a later post), and his distinctive green clothing, was associated with some people’s yearning for a return to the old forms of worship.

The beauty of the colour green, however, overshadowed the negative associations and it was a popular choice in the illuminated manuscripts of the time. But it was tricky to make. The naturally occurring earth and plant greens were not lightfast and so a mix of the more sturdy primary colours – yellow and blue – gave the best effect. Or, sometimes, verdigris – made from the blue-green rust of copper – was a good alternative but, again, the green colour thus-produced tended to darken over time.

Actually, it was not until the 18th century that a vivid green was produced; and, unfortunately, as it was made by mixing copper with arsenic, it was a dangerous hue, considered responsible for the deaths of many, possibly even Napoleon Bonaparte who had a penchant for green (arsenic-based) wallpaper in his palaces. It was not until the early 20th century that a vivid and safe green was produced. As that great philosopher Kermit the Frog so often said: “It’s not easy being green”.

Greening

greenery

It’s Spring and everything in the garden is blooming. In Sydney the winters are not harsh but we still appreciate the lengthening light, the warmer days, and the signs of nature renewing itself that come with the change of season.

In medieval times, someone who watched and understood the seasonal cycle of renewal Hildegard_von_Bingenwas the great visionary, Hildegard of Bingen. Born in Germany’s Rhineland in 1098, Hildegard was not only a prominent religious figure of her day but also – as her considerable writings and works demonstrate – an expert on natural science, medicine and herbal treatments, cosmology, poetry and music. Further testament to her influence is that many of her writings (and musical compositions) survive to the present day. Hildegard’s works are not ‘easy reads’ but a lot of her ideas resonate with our current interests, particularly our concerns over climate change and caring for our planet.

Don’t be mistaken: Hildegard was a woman of her time and, it seems, a very strong personality. She had an extraordinary intellect and pulled no punches when it came to asserting a theologically precise view of the medieval Church; but, she also had a deep reverence for, and an amazing insight into, the beauty and order of creation. So powerful are Hildegard’s expressed views on the importance and dignity of all creation that the coining of the term viriditas (greening/greeness) is frequently, and somewhat mistakenly, attributed to her.  In fact, earlier theologians such as St Augustine had made mention of viriditas but it is appropriately and particularly associated with Hildegard because of the new and interesting way that she interpreted and applied the concept. For Hildegard, viriditas was the reflection of God’s goodness and beauty in everything in the natural world. It stood for vitality, fertility, fruitfulness and growth; in essence, all the things that we now associate with the greenness of nature.  For Hildegard, viriditas was also synonymous with physical and spiritual health. Similarly, for us today, ‘greenness’ and the seasonal renewal of the natural world are signs that the Earth is healthy and flourishing.

Hildegard was canonised (becoming St Hildegard) by Pope Benedict XVI in May 2012 and, though it took the Church nearly 900 years to acknowledge her remarkable contributions, the canonisation is strangely timely as it coincides with our efforts to come to terms with the ravages of a changing climate. Hildegard of Bingen has a lot to teach us.