by Will Durant
The urban industrialism of Flanders seems to have promoted unbelief. At the beginning of the thirteenth century we find David of Dinant, and near its end Siger of Brabant, leading a strongly skeptical movement. David (c. 1200) taught philosophy at Paris, and entertained Innocent III with his subtle disputations.26 He played with a materialistic pantheism in which God, mind, and pure matter (matter before receiving form) all became one in a new trinity.27 His book, Quaternuli, now lost, was condemned and burned by the Council of Paris in 1210. The same synod denounced the pantheism of another Parisian professor, Amalric of Bène, who had argued that God and the creation are one. Amalric was compelled to retract, and died, we are told, of mortification (1207).28 The Council had his bones exhumed, and burned them in a Paris square as a hint to his many followers. They persisted nevertheless, and enlarged his views to a denial of heaven and hell and the power of the sacraments. Ten of these Amalricians were burned at the stake (1210).29
Free thought flourished in the southern Italy of Frederick II, where St. Thomas grew up. Cardinal Ubaldini, friend of Frederick, openly professed materialism.30 In northern Italy the industrial workers, the business classes, the lawyers, and the professors indulged in a measure of skepticism. The Bolognese faculty was notoriously indifferent to religion; the medical schools there and elsewhere were centers of doubt; and an adage arose that ubi tres medici, duo athei—“where there are three physicians two of them are atheists.”31 About 1240 Averroism became almost a fashion among the educated laity of Italy.32 Thousands accepted the Averroistic doctrines that natural law rules the world without any interference by God; that the world is co-eternal with God; that there is only one immortal soul, the “active intellect” of the cosmos, of which the individual soul is a transitory phase or form; and that heaven and hell are tales invented to coax or terrify the populace into decency.33 To appease the Inquisition, some Averroists advanced the doctrine of twofold truth: a proposition, they argued, might seem true in philosophy or according to natural reason, and yet be false according to Scripture and the Christian faith; they professed at the same time to believe according to faith what they doubted according to reason. Such a theory denied the basic assumption of Scholasticism—the possibility of reconciling reason and faith.
Towards the end of the thirteenth, and throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, the University of Padua was a turbulent center of Averroism. Peter of Abano (c. 1250–1316), professor of medicine at Paris and then of philosophy at Padua, wrote in 1303 a book, Conciliator controversiarum, designed to harmonize medical and philosophical theory. He earned a place in the history of science by teaching that the brain is the source of the nerves, and the heart of the vessels, and by measuring the year with remarkable accuracy as 365 days, six hours, and four minutes.34 Convinced of as-crology, he reduced almost all causation to the power and movement of the stars, and practically eliminated God from the government of the world.35 Inquisitors accused him of heresy, but Marquis Azzo d’Este and Pope Honorius IV were among his patients, and protected him. He was accused again in 1315, and this time escaped trial by dying a natural death. The inquisitors condemned his corpse to be burned at the stake, but his friends so well concealed his remains that the judgment had to be executed in effigy.36
When Thomas Aquinas went from Italy to Paris he discovered that Averroism had long since captured a part of the faculty. In 1240 William of Auvergne noted that “many men” at the University “swallow these [Averroistic] conclusions without investigation”; and in 1252 Thomas found Averroism flourishing among the University youth.37 Perhaps alarmed by Thomas’ report, Pope Alexander IV (1256) charged Albertus Magnus to write a treatise On the Unity of the Intellect Against Averroës. When Thomas taught at Paris (1252–61, 1269–72) the Averroistic movement was at its height; its leader in France, Siger of Brabant, taught in the University from 1266 to 1276. For a generation Averroism and Catholicism made Paris their battlefield.
Siger (1235?–? 1281), a secular priest,38 was a man of learning: even the surviving fragments of his works quote al-Kindi, al-Farabi, al-Ghazali, Avicenna, Avempace, Avicebron, Averroës, and Maimonides. In a series of commentaries on Aristotle, and in a controversial tract Against Those Famous Men in Philosophy, Albert and Thomas, Siger argued that Albert and Thomas falsely—Averroës justly—interpreted the Philosopher.39 He concluded with Averroës that the world is eternal, that natural law is invariable, and that only the soul of the species survives the individual’s death. God, said Siger, is the final, not the efficient, cause of things—He is the goal, not the cause, of creation. Led like Vico and Nietzsche by the fascination of logic, Siger played with the dismal doctrine of eternal recurrence: since (he argued) all earthly events are ultimately determined by stellar combinations, and the number of these possible combinations is finite, each combination must be exactly repeated again and again in an infinity of time, and must bring in its train the same effects as before; “the same species” will return, “the same opinions, laws, religions.”40 Siger was careful to add: “We say this according to the opinion of the Philosopher, but without affirming that it is true.”41 To all his heresies he appended a similar caution. He did not profess the doctrine of two truths; he taught certain conclusions as, in his judgment, following from Aristotle and reason; when these conclusions contradicted the Christian creed he affirmed his belief in the dogmas of the Church, and applied only to them, not to philosophy, the label of truth.42
That Siger had a large following at the University is evident from his candidacy for the rectorship (1271), though it failed. Nothing could better prove the strength of the Averroistic movement in Paris than its repeated denunciation by the Bishop of Paris, Etienne Tempier. In 1269 he condemned as heresies thirteen propositions taught by certain professors in the University:
That there is only one intellect in all men…. That the world is eternal…. That there never was a first man…. That the soul is corrupted with the corruption of the body…. That the will of man wills and chooses from necessity…. That God does not know individual events…. That human actions are not ruled by Divine Providence’.43
Apparently the Averroists continued to teach as before, for in 1277 the Bishop issued a list of 219 propositions which he officially condemned as heresies. These, according to the Bishop, were doctrines taught by Siger, or Boethius of Dacia, or Roger Bacon, or other Parisian professors, including St. Thomas himself. The 219 included those condemned in 1269, and others of which the following are samples:
That creation is impossible…. That a body once corrupted [in death] cannot rise again as the same body’…. That a future resurrection should not be believed by a philosopher, since it cannot be investigated by reason…. That the words of theologians are founded on fables…. That nothing is added to our knowledge by theology…. That the Christian religion impedes learning…. That happiness is obtained in this life, not in another…. That the wise men of the earth are philosophers alone…. That there is no more excellent condition than to have leisure for philosophy.44
In October, 1277, Siger was condemned by the Inquisition. He passed his last years in Italy as a prisoner of the Roman Curia, and was murdered at Orvieto by a half-mad assassin.45
IV. THE DEVELOPMENT OF SCHOLASTICISM
To meet this frontal attack upon Christianity it was not enough to condemn the heretical propositions. Youth had tasted the strong wine of philosophy; could it be won back by reason? As the mutakallimun had defended Mohammedanism from the Mutazilites, so now Franciscan and Dominican theologians, and secular prelates like William of Auvergne and Henry of Ghent, came to the defense of Christianity and the Church.
The defense divided itself into two main camps: the mystic-Platonic, mostly Franciscans; and the intellectual-Aristotelian, mostly Dominicans. Benedictines like Hugh and Richard of St. Victor felt that the best defense of religion lay in man’s direct consciousness of a spiritual reality deeper than all intellectual fathoming. “Rigorists” like Peter of Blois and
Stephen of Tournai argued that philosophy should not discuss the problems of theology, or, if it did, it should speak and behave as a modest servant of theology—ancilla theologiae.46 It should be noted that this view was held by only a sector of the Scholastic front.47
A few Franciscans, like Alexander of Hales (1170?–1245), adopted the intellectual approach, and sought to defend Christianity in philosophical and Aristotelian terms. But most Franciscans distrusted philosophy; they felt that the adventure of reason, whatever strength and glory it might bring to the Church for a time, might later elude control, and lead men so far from faith as to leave Christianity weak and helpless in an unbelieving and unmoral world. They preferred Plato to Aristotle, Bernard to Abélard, Augustine to Aquinas. They defined the soul, with Plato, as an independent spirit inhabiting, and thwarted by, the body, and they were shocked to hear Thomas accepting Aristotle’s definition of the soul as the “substantial form” of the body. They found in Plato a theory of impersonal immortality quite useless for checking the bestial impulses of men. Following Augustine, they ranked will above intellect in both God and man, and aimed at the good rather than the true. In their hierarchy of values the mystic came closer than the philosopher to the secret essence and significance of life.
This Platonic-Augustinian division of the Scholastic army dominated orthodox theology in the first half of the thirteenth century. Its ablest exponent was the saintly Bonaventura—a gentle spirit who persecuted heresy, a mystic writing philosophy, a scholar who deprecated learning, a lifelong friend and opponent of Thomas Aquinas, a defender and exemplar of evangelical poverty under whose ministry the Franciscan Order made great gains in corporate wealth. Born in Tuscany in 1221, Giovanni di Fidanza came for some unknown reason to be called Bonaventura—Good Luck. He nearly died of a childhood malady; his mother prayed to St. Francis for his recovery; Giovanni thereafter felt that he owed his life to the saint. Entering the Order, he was sent to Paris to study under Alexander of Hales. In 1248 he began to teach theology in the University; in 1257, still a youth of thirty-six, he was chosen minister-general of the Franciscans. He did his best to reform the laxity of the Order, but was too genial to succeed. He himself lived in ascetic simplicity. When messengers came to announce that he had been made a cardinal they found him washing dishes. A year later (1274) he died of overwork.
His books were well written, clear, and concise. He pretended to be a mere compiler, but he infused order, fervor, and a disarming modesty into every subject that he touched. His Breviloquium was an admirable summary of Christian theology; his Soliloquium and Itinerarium mentis in Deum (Journey of the Mind to God) were jewels of mystic piety. True knowledge comes not through perception of the material world by the senses, but through intuition of the spiritual world by the soul. While loving St. Thomas, Bonaventura frowned upon the reading of philosophy, and freely criticized some of Aquinas’ conclusions. He reminded the Dominicans that Aristotle was a heathen, whose authority must not be ranked with that of the Fathers; and he asked could the philosophy of Aristotle explain a moment’s movements of a star?48 God is not a philosophical conclusion but a living presence; it is better to feel Him than to define Him. The good is higher than the true, and simple virtue surpasses all the sciences. One day, we are told, Brother Egidio, overwhelmed by Bonaventura’s learning, said to him: “Alas! what shall we ignorant and simple ones do to merit the favor of God?” “My brother,” replied Bonaventura, “you know very well that it suffices to love the Lord.” “Do you then believe,” asked Egidio, “that a simple woman might please him as well as a master in theology?” When the theologian answered in the affirmative, Egidio rushed into the street and cried out to a beggar woman: “Rejoice, for if you love God, you may have a higher place in the Kingdom of Heaven than Brother Bonaventura!”49
Obviously it is a mistake to think of “the” Scholastic philosophy as a dreary unanimity of opinion and approach. There were a hundred Scholastic philosophies. The same university faculty might harbor a Thomas honoring reason, a Bonaventura deprecating it, a William of Auvergne (1180–1249) following Ibn Gabirol into voluntarism, a Siger teaching Averroism. The divergences and conflicts within orthodoxy were almost as intense as between faith and unbelief. A Franciscan bishop, John Peckham, would denounce Aquinas as sternly as Thomas denounced Siger and Averroës; and Albertus Magnus, in an unsaintly moment, wrote: “There are ignorant men who would fight by every means the employment of philosophy; and particularly the Franciscans—brutish beasts who blaspheme that which they do not know.”50
Albert loved knowledge, and admired Aristotle this side of heresy. It was he who first among the Scholastics surveyed all the major works of the Philosopher, and undertook to interpret them in Christian terms. He was born at Lauingen, Swabia, about 1201, son of the rich count of Bollstädt. He studied at Padua, joined the Dominican Order, and taught in Dominican schools at Hildesheim, Freiburg, Ratisbon, Strasbourg, Cologne (1228–45), and Paris (1245–8). Despite his preference for the scholastic life he was made Provincial of his Order for Germany, and Bishop of Ratisbon (1260). Tradition claims that he walked barefoot on all his journeys.51 In 1262 he was allowed to retire to a cloister at Cologne. He left its peace when he was seventy-six (1277) to defend the doctrine and memory of his dead pupil Thomas Aquinas at Paris. He succeeded, returned to his monastery, and died at seventy-nine. His devoted life, unassuming character, and vast intellectual interests show medieval monasticism at its best.
Only the quiet routine of his monastic years, and the massive diligence of German scholarship, can explain how a man who spent so much of his time in teaching and administration could write essays on almost every phase of science, and substantial treatises on every branch of philosophy and theology.* Few men in history have written so much, or borrowed so much, or so frankly acknowledged their debts. Albert bases his works almost title for title on Aristotle; he uses Averroës’ commentaries to interpret the Philosopher; but he corrects both of them manfully when they differ from Christian theology. He draws on the Moslem thinkers to such an extent that his works are an important source for our knowledge of Arabic philosophy. He cites Avicenna on every other page, and occasionally Maimonides’ Guide to the Perplexed. He recognizes Aristotle as the highest authority in science and philosophy, Augustine in theology, the Scriptures in everything. His immense mound of discourse is poorly organized, and never becomes a consistent system of thought; he defends a doctrine in one place, attacks it in another, sometimes in the same treatise; he had no time to resolve his contradictions. He was too good a man, too pious a soul, to be an objective thinker; he was capable of following a commentary on Aristotle with a long treatise in twelve “books” In Praise of the Blessed Virgin Mary, in which he argued that Mary had a perfect knowledge of grammar, rhetoric, logic, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy.
What, then, was his achievement? Above all, as we shall see, he contributed substantially to the scientific research and theory of his time. In philosophy he “gave Aristotle to the Latins”—which was all that he aimed to do; he promoted the use of Aristotle in the teaching of philosophy; he accumulated the storehouse of pagan, Arabic, Jewish, and Christian thought and argument from which his famous pupil drew for a more lucid and orderly synthesis. Perhaps without Albert, Thomas would have been impossible.
V. THOMAS AQUINAS
Like Albert, Thomas came of lordly stock, and gave up riches to win eternity. His father, Count Landulf of Aquino, belonged to the German nobility, was a nephew of Barbarossa, and was among the highest figures at the Apulian court of the impious Frederick II. His mother was descended from the Norman princes of Sicily. Though born in Italy, Thomas was on both sides of northern origin, essentially Teutonic; he had no Italian grace or deviltry in him, but grew to heavy German proportions, with large head, broad face, and blond hair, and a quiet content in intellectual industry. His friends called him “the great dumb ox of Sicily.”52
He was born in 1225 in his father’s castle at Roccasecca
, three miles from Aquino, and halfway between Naples and Rome. The abbey of Monte Cassino was near by, and there Thomas received his early schooling. At fourteen he began five years of study at the University of Naples. Michael Scot was there, translating Averroës into Latin; Jacob Anatoli was there, translating Averroës into Hebrew; Peter of Ireland, one of Thomas’ teachers, was an enthusiastic Aristotelian; the University was a hotbed of Greek, Arabic, and Hebrew influences impinging upon Christian thought. Thomas’ brothers took to poetry; one, Rainaldo, became a page and falconer at Frederick’s court, and begged Thomas to join him there. Piero delle Vigne and Frederick himself seconded the invitation. Instead of accepting, Thomas entered the Dominican Order (1244). Soon thereafter he was sent to Paris to study theology; at the outset of his journey he was kidnaped by two of his brothers at their mother’s urging; he was taken to the Roccasecca castle, and was kept under watch there for a year.53 Every means was used to shake his vocation; a story, probably a legend, tells how a pretty young woman was introduced into his chamber in the hope of seducing him back to life, and how, with a flaming brand snatched from the hearth, he drove her from the room, and burned the sign of the cross into the door.54 His firm piety won his mother to his purposes; she helped him to escape; and his sister Marotta, after many talks with him, became a Benedictine nun.