The Portable Medieval Reader

by James Bruce Ross

  But now every source of glorious renown is taken from us, and the only subjects that present themselves are the disasters of a sorrowing country and its manifold misfortune, themes which can serve only to draw forth lamentations and tears....

  It is therefore time to hold our peace; for it seems more fitting to draw the shades of night over our failures than to turn the light of the sun upon our disgrace. There are some, however, who desire us to continue the task once undertaken, who earnestly entreat that every phase of the kingdom of Jerusalem, adverse as well as prosperous, be recorded in this work for posterity. For our encouragement, they cite the example of most distinguished historians, namely Titus Livius, who recorded in his history not only the successes of the Romans, but also their reverses, and Josephus, who made known in his comprehensive works not only the brilliant deeds of the Jews, but also those shameful things which were done to them.

  In their efforts to persuade us to continue this work, they offer many other examples also. We are the more readily influenced to acquiesce in this request, since it is indeed evident that chroniclers of past events have recorded without partiality adverse as well as auspicious happenings. For, by narrating successful achievements, they hope to inspire posterity with courage, while by furnishing examples of misfortunes patiently endured they may render later generations more cautious under similar conditions.

  From A History of Deeds Done beyond the Seas, trans. E. A. Babcock and A. C. Krey.

  The Seven Liberal Arts

  On Study and Teaching

  HUGH OF ST. VICTOR

  Twelfth century

  THERE are many whom nature itself has left so deficient in intelligence that they are scarcely able to grasp intellectually even those things which are easy, and of these, it seems, there are two sorts. For there are some who, although they are not ignorant of their dullness, nevertheless strive eagerly for knowledge, with all the effort of which they are capable. And they incessantly sweat in study, so that what they might have less as a result of labour, they seem to achieve by an act of will. But there are others who, since they feel themselves unable by any means to comprehend the most difficult things, neglect the least; and as if resting secure in their own torpor, the more they avoid learning those lesser things which they can understand, the more they lose the light of truth in the greatest things. As the Psalmist says, “They do not wish to know so that they may do well.” For not to know something is far different from not wanting to know something, since not to know is a weakness, but to detest knowledge is a perversion of the will.

  There is another kind of men whom nature has to a great degree enriched intellectually and to whom nature has given an easy access to truth. Although intellectual power may be equal in all, yet the same virtue or will has not been given to all of them to cultivate the natural intellect through exercises and learning. For there are many who, engrossed in the business and cares of the world beyond what is necessary, or abandoned to the vices and pleasures of the body, bury the talent of God in the earth, and seek from it neither the fruit of wisdom nor the profit of good work, and these indeed are most detestable men. Again, for others the lack of resources and little means lessen the possibility of learning. But we believe that it is not possible to pardon them fully for this reason, since we may see many labouring in hunger, thirst, and nakedness to attain the fruit of knowledge. It is one thing when you cannot learn, or to speak more truly, cannot easily learn, and another when you are able, and do not wish to know. For just as it is more glorious, with no facilities at hand, to attain wisdom by excellence alone, so it is more shameful to be vigorous in mind, to abound in riches, and to grow torpid in laziness....

  Philosophy is divided into the theoretical, the practical, the mechanical, and the logical. Theory is divided into theology, physics, and mathematics. Mathematics includes arithmetic, music, and geometry. Practical philosophy is divided into the solitary, the private, and the public [i.e., ethics, economics, and politics]. The mechanical arts include spinning, arms-making, navigation, agriculture, hunting, medicine, and the theatrical art. Logic includes grammar and expression; there are two kinds of expression, probable and sophistical demonstration. Probable demonstration is divided into dialectic and rhetoric. In this division, only the chief parts of philosophy are contained; there are still other subdivisions of these parts, but the parts can suffice for now. As to these, if you have regard only for number, there are twenty-one; if you wish to compute stages, you will find thirty-eight. Different authors are read in these fields of knowledge; some show how to begin the arts, others, how to advance in them, and others, how to perfect them....

  Among all the sciences enumerated above, however, the ancients settled on seven especially in their own studies, for the work of teaching. In these seven, they perceived that there was greater utility than in the others, so that anyone who would firmly comprehend the discipline of these would afterwards, by investigating and practising diligently more than by listening, attain a knowledge of the others. For they are, as it were, the best instruments and the best beginnings, by which the way is prepared in the mind for the full knowledge of philosophical truth. Hence they are called the trivium and quadrivium,since by these roads, so to speak, the lively mind may enter the secret places of wisdom.

  In those former times, no one seemed worthy of the name of master who could not profess the knowledge of these seven. Pythagoras [of Samos, 6th century B.C.] is said to have observed this custom in his schools, that for seven years, according to the number of the seven liberal arts, none of his pupils should dare to ask the reason for anything which was said by him. But the pupil should put his trust in the master’s words until he had heard everything, and thus he could then discover the reason for things by himself. Certain ones are said to have learned these seven arts with such great zeal, and kept them all so firmly in memory, that, whatever writings they then took in hand, whatever questions they proposed for solution or proof, they did not seek the pages of books, but had instantly ready by heart, one by one, rules and reasons from the liberal arts, to define whatever was in dispute. Hence it happened at that time that there were so many wise men that they wrote more books than we are able to read.

  But our scholars either do not wish or are not able to observe a suitable method of learning, and for that reason we find many students, but few learned men. It seems to me, indeed, that not less care should be taken lest the student expend his labour on unprofitable studies, than lest he should remain lukewarm in a good and useful plan. It is bad to carry out a good plan negligently, it is worse to expend much labour in vain. But since not all can have enough discretion to know what is good for them, I shall briefly show the student which writings seem to me more useful, and then I shall add something also on the method of learning.

  There are two kinds of writings. The first kind consists of those which are properly called arts. The second comprises those which are appendages of the arts. The arts are those which are placed under philosophy, that is, which contain definite and established material of philosophy, such as grammar, dialectic, and others of that sort. Appendages of the arts are those which only look at philosophy, that is, they are concerned with material which is outside philosophy; yet sometimes they touch, in a spotty and confused manner, on certain fragments of the arts, or, to put it simply, they prepare the way to philosophy. Of this kind are all the songs of the poets, like tragedies, comedies, satires, heroic, lyric, iambic poetry, and certain didactic works, also stories and histories, and the writings of those whom we are accustomed to call philosophers, who are wont to stretch out a little matter with long circumlocutions, and to obscure plain sense with confused phrases. They also bring together diverse things, as if to make a single picture out of many colours and shapes. Note the distinction I have made for you. The arts and the appendages of the arts are two things. It seems to me that there is as great a distance between these two as that described in the lines: “The sluggish willow yields to the pale olive, as th
e humble wild nard to a garden of red roses” [Virgil, Eclog. v]. Thus if anyone who wishes to attain to knowledge abandons the truth and wants to entangle himself in the remnants of the arts, he will bear not only great but infinite labour, and scanty fruit.

  Finally, the arts without their appendages are able to make a perfect scholar, but the appendages without the arts can confer no perfection, especially, moreover, since they possess nothing desirable in themselves which may attract the reader, unless it has been taken over and adapted from the arts, and no one will seek in them anything except what belongs to the arts. For this reason it seems to me that effort should first of all be devoted to those arts which are the foundations of all, and where pure and simple truth is revealed, especially to those seven which I have mentioned, which are the instruments of all of philosophy. Then, if there is time, the others may be read, since sometimes the playful mingled with the serious is wont to delight more, and rarity makes a good thing precious. Thus we sometimes more eagerly retain a maxim which is found in the middle of a tale. Nevertheless, the foundation of all learning is in the seven liberal arts, which beyond all others should be kept at hand, since without them philosophic discipline does not or cannot explain or define anything.

  These arts indeed are so closely connected, and are each in turn so dependent on the principles of the others, that if one is lacking, the others are not able to mould the philosopher. Therefore, it seems to me that those err who, not paying attention to such coherence in the arts, select for themselves certain of these arts, and leaving the others untouched, think that they can perfect themselves in those which they have chosen.

  There is again another error not much less serious than this, which is very much to be avoided. For there are some who, although they pass over nothing in their reading, yet do not know how to attribute to any art what is proper to it, but read all into each of them. In grammar they dispute concerning the meaning of syllogisms, in dialectic they investigate “case” endings, and what is more worthy of ridicule, they read almost a whole book in its title, and by the third lecture, they have scarcely got beyond the “incipit.” They do not thus teach others, but they display their own learning. But would that they appeared to others as they seem to me! Look how perverse this custom would be, if indeed the more you collected superfluities, the less you would be able to hold or to retain those things which are useful.

  In each art, therefore, two things especially should be discerned and distinguished by us. First, how one should practise the art itself, and second, how one should apply the principles of that art to any other matters. These are two different things: to practise an art, and to do something else by means of an art. For the sake of an example of practising an art, take grammar. He practises the art of grammar, who treats of the rules concerning the use of words, and the precepts relating to this. Everyone who speaks or writes in accordance with rules acts grammatically. It is therefore suitable only for certain writers, like Priscian, Donatus, Servius, and the like, to practise the art of grammar. But it befits everyone to speak or write grammatically.

  When therefore we are occupied with any art, especially in teaching it, when everything should be restricted and confined to what is brief and easy to understand, it should suffice to explain that which we are dealing with as briefly and aptly as possible, lest, if we should multiply irrelevant ideas to excess, we should confuse rather than edify the student. Not everything should be said which we are able to say, lest those things which we should say are said less profitably. In every art, then, you should seek that which has been established as pertaining especially to that art. Then when you are lecturing on the arts and recognize something in any one of them which is appropriate for disputation and discussion, it will be permissible to apply reciprocally the principles of each, and by considering each in turn to investigate those which you have formerly understood less well. Do not multiply the byways until you have learned the highways. You will travel safely when you are not afraid of making mistakes.

  Three things are necessary for study: nature, exercise, discipline. By nature is meant that what is heard is easily understood, and that which has been understood is firmly retained. By exercise is meant that the natural capacity for understanding is cultivated by labour and application. By discipline is meant that the student who lives in praiseworthy manner joins morals to knowledge. Let us touch briefly by way of introduction on each of these three....

  Those who are devoted to learning should be strong in both intelligence and memory; these two are so closely joined together in every study and discipline, that if one of them is lacking, the other can lead no one to perfection, just as no riches can be of use, where safekeeping is lacking. And he keeps hiding places in vain who has nothing to hide. Natural intelligence discovers, and memory safeguards wisdom. Intelligence is a certain natural power innate in the mind, and is powerful in itself. It springs from nature, is aided by use, is blunted by immoderate labour, and is sharpened by temperate exercise.... There are two things which exercise natural capacity, reading and meditation. Reading is when we are informed by the rules and precepts in the writings which we read. There are three kinds of reading, for teaching, for learning, and reading for its own sake. For we say, “I read a book to that person,” and “I read a book by that person,” and, simply, “I read a book.” In reading, order and method are especially to be considered.

  Order means one thing in disciplines, as when I speak of grammar as more ancient than dialectic, or arithmetic as prior to music, and another in books, as when I say the Catalinarian before the Jugurthine [orations of Sallust], and another in narration which is in a continuous series, and still another in exposition. Order in disciplines is according to nature; in books, according to the character of the author, or the subject matter. In narration it is according to orderly arrangement, which is twofold: natural, that is, when a thing is related in the order in which it was done, and artificial, when that which happened later is told first, and that which happened first is told later. In exposition we consider order according to inquiry. Exposition consists in three things: the letter, the sense, and the conception. By the letter is meant the suitable arrangement of words, which we also call construction. The sense is a certain easy and evident meaning, which is manifested by the letter at first glance. The conception is a deeper meaning, which is found neither in exposition nor interpretation. In these things order consists in seeking first the letter, then the sense, and finally the conception. When this is done, the exposition is perfect.

  Method in reading consists in dividing. All division begins with the finite and progresses to the infinite. Everything finite, moreover, is better known, and is comprehensible to knowledge. Learning then begins from these things which are better known, and through a knowledge of them attains a knowledge of those which are hidden. Further, we investigate by means of reason, and it properly pertains to reason to divide, when, by dividing, and by investigating the natures of individual things, we descend from universals to particulars. For every universal is better determined by its own particulars. Therefore when we learn, we ought to begin from those things which are better known and determined and comprehended, and thus, by descending little by little and distinguishing individual things by means of division, investigate the nature of those things which are related.

  Meditation is frequent and planned cogitation, which prudently investigates the cause and origin, the method and usefulness, of anything. Meditation has its beginning in reading, yet it is not constrained by any rules and precepts of reading. For it is delightful to have recourse to a certain suitable distance, where a free vision is possible for the contemplation of truth, and sometimes to touch lightly now these and then those causes of things, and sometimes to penetrate into them more deeply, and to leave nothing uncertain, and nothing obscure. The beginning of learning, therefore, is in reading, its consummation is in meditation. If anyone learns to love it intimately, and wants to have time for it more often, it bestows an
exceedingly pleasant life, and offers the greatest consolation in time of trouble. For that is best which removes the spirit from the clash of earthly tumults, and also makes it possible in a certain sense to taste in this life the sweetness of everlasting peace. And then through those things which have been created, one will learn to seek and to know Him who created all things; then, equally, knowledge will instruct and joy will fill the mind. And thus it is that the greatest solace is in meditation....

  As to memory, I think it should not at present be forgotten that just as intelligence investigates and discovers by means of division, so memory safeguards the results by bringing them together. It is necessary, then, that what we have separated in learning, we should bring together to be committed to memory. To bring together means to make a short and concise summary of those things which in writing and discussion are more prolix; this the ancients called an “epilogue,” that is, a brief recapitulation of what has been said before. For every treatment of a subject has some beginning on which the whole truth of the matter and the power of judgment depends, and to this everything else is referred. To seek out and to consider this is to bring things together. There is one fount, and many rivulets; why do you follow the windings of the streams? Reach the fount, and you have it all. I say this because man’s memory is sluggish, and rejoices in brevity, and if it is dispersed among many things, it does less well in particulars. We ought, then, in all learning to collect something brief and certain, which may be hidden in the secret places of the memory, whence afterward, when it is necessary, the rest may be derived. It is necessary to repeat this often, and to recall the taste from the belly of the memory to the palate, lest, by long interruption, it should fall into disuse. Therefore I beg you, reader, not to rejoice too greatly if you have read much, but if you have understood much, nor that you have understood much, but that you have been able to retain it. Otherwise it is of little profit either to read or to understand. For this reason I repeat what I have said above, that those who give labour to learning need natural capacity and memory.