The Middle Ages might seem to be void of such thinkers, especially because it was a world dominated by the Catholic Church, which could not tolerate any deviants, heretics, pagans, heathens, and which was also strongly opposed to Jews and Muslims, that is, to all non-Christians. However, as I have pointed out already several times, this reflects a preconceived and erroneous notion, though we cannot dismiss it entirely, considering how harshly the clerical authorities pursued any deviant believer, or, worse for them, heretic, by means of the Inquisition. The very existence of the Inquisition; the fact that the courts were constantly busy with charges of deviancy; the growing concern with witchcraft and sorcery as profound challenges to the natural sciences, medicine, and especially religion; and many other conflicts in late medieval and early modern society underscore the phenomenon that the pre-modern world was really much less homogenous than we might have previously assumed.2
Full conversion to Christianity within medieval Europe was completed not until the end of the thirteenth century when Lithuania finally abandoned its ancient pagan faiths (1387), as I have discussed much earlier. In other words, for many people, it was a matter of fact that the Christian faith was not ubiquitous and that one had to accept Jews, Muslims, and heathens/pagans as members of their own society or when traveling, at least in their minority status.
One stunning example illustrating the complexity of the entire situation, underscoring the continued presence of pagan belief systems and elements, consists of the highly popular genre of magical charms, many of which were, in the course of time, permeated by Christian elements but continued to reflect deeply seated pagan beliefs. Until today, for instance, people use charms to secure good fortune, to prevent misfortune, or to appeal for help in general, drawing from some superior powers, Christian or pagan.3 In other words, everyday culture confirms much more strongly than the documents produced by members of the official Christian Church how much toleration was practiced in many social circles and by countless individuals on a daily basis, and this simply by default. Anyone who claims to be a Christian and yet also subscribes to ancient rituals or performances from a pre-Christian world automatically stakes out more space for individual faiths than the religious authorities would have liked.
The observation of deviance in medieval and early modern society does not necessarily confirm the existence of actual tolerance, but it underscores that the notion of a ‘persecuting society’, of a homogenous group identity throughout Christian Europe, cannot be simply upheld.4 There were numerous loopholes, contradictions, free spaces, and liberties that made it possible for people throughout the ages to pursue their own faiths, beliefs, ideas, and values.5
Undoubtedly, and tragically, people have always been violence prone when their own ideology or religion is threatened or when the masses are pushed by powerful speakers or preachers to carry out pogroms and other types of collective punishments, but under ordinary circumstances, most people seem to be rather prepared to accept different rituals, ceremonies, teachings, and faiths as enriching, intriguing, useful, or simply as alternative facets of life, both in the pre-modern age and today. The very balance between both extremes can be used as a benchmark for the evaluation of the well being of any society throughout time.
In particular, within the broad stream of philosophical reflections throughout the high and late Middle Ages, we can easily identify a number of voices that reached out to Muslims, Jews, and members of other religions and tried to examine possible ways to establish a constructive forum for discussions and perhaps a way of establishing bridges to the other side, inviting them to convert to Christianity. Of course, no one in medieval Europe would have imagined, or dared to imagine, the opposite approach, such as that an individual would have listened to Muslim teachers, for instance, and then would have converted to Islam, although such situations certainly occurred during enslavement in the Ottoman empire or under other conditions. For example, Georgius of Hungary indicates in his autobiographical account, his Tractatus (ca. 1480), how impressed he was by the Turkish-Muslim culture and that he almost would have converted to Islam and turned into a dervish himself if religious experience had not brought him back in the last minute to the Christian fold.6 Altogether, the religious situation in pre-modern Europe was much more complex than we might have assumed, and for that reason, it amounts to historical fiction when we flatly claim that there were no indications of tolerance, or at least toleration. In the present context, I mean hereby a certain willingness to engage with others irrespective of their faith, either in ordinary living conditions or in intellectual exchanges.
The central purpose of this chapter will be to bring into focus the opinions of some of the few leading intellectuals from the high to the late Middle Ages whom we can identify as some of the first to incorporate representatives of other religions in their own theological discourses. It might be a little far-fetched to recognize here preliminary conditions leading to some form of tolerance as defined by Lessing or Locke, especially because they developed their texts in the explicit hope to build a solid case for Christianity, but now based on a rational argument. The very willingness, however, to engage in such a discourse constitutes a significant step forward because it acknowledges the other side as worthy partners in a discourse in which the Christian does not assume automatically full authority but tries to convince the other by rational arguments of his superior and exclusive religion. This implies a certain degree of toleration insofar as those philosophical and theological authors aimed at a new forum at which each person, whether a Jew, a Muslim, or anything else, would be treated with respect and would be acknowledged as a worthy participant in such a discourse.
More specifically, this chapter will look at three major figures, above all, who endeavored to build communicative links with other co-religionists by way of an intellectual exchange, at least in their imagination. Throughout the late Middle Ages, there were specific public events at which Christians and Jews debated with each other in so-called ‘Disputations’ (in Paris in 1240, in Barcelona in 1263, in Burgos and Avila in 1375, and in Tortosa in 1413).7 The outcome was mostly the same each time, that is, the Christian victory over the opponents, though the Jewish representatives occasionally earned much praise and respect.
Much more important for our purpose proved to be intellectual efforts by members of the Christian Church or teachers to create narrative forums where the representatives of various religion could convene and exchange their ideas about the ultimate truth of their individual faith. Three of them, Peter Abelard, Ramon Lull, and Nicholas of Cusa, have already been examined and critically viewed by scholarship, but mostly from a philosophical and political perspective.8 Here, my purpose focuses, instead, on a close reading of certain texts from their quill in the hope to understand more intimately the intellectual premises from which those authors approached their tasks and to what extent we might be able to assume that a certain tolerant stance was at play. Each one of them strongly defended the Christian faith, for sure, but we can also recognize in them significant spokespersons of a much more open-minded perspective determined by logic, reason, and rationality. None of them could be identified as tolerant thinkers in the modern sense of the word, but we will clearly recognize in them individuals who subscribed to the value of toleration and tried their best, without any force or duress, to convince their counterparts to accept their own views, the Christian faith. As we will recognize, this very willingness to engage with a Jew, a Muslim, a Tartar, or any other individual, even if only in an imaginary fashion, certainly set the stage to relativize Christianity and to challenge and test it in its essential foundations. All of them strongly endeavored to demonstrate that their own religion was the only true one, but they approached their task by way of opening up the platform where other speakers were allowed to participate in a virtually equal fashion.
Medieval Philosophy and Toleration
The Case of Peter Abelard
The aspect of the conversion of Iceland to C
hristianity, as discussed in a previous chapter, can serve us well as a prelude to the philosophical reflections this chapter will examine in detail. In the Laxdæla Saga, King Olaf and Kjartan openly engaged in a constructive dialogue, based on mutual respect, with the former pulling the other over to his side with appeals, suggestions, and arguments, and the latter politely resisting, and yet willing to listen and to accept reasonable notions. A similar process is at play in Abelard’s famous Collationes, also known as Dialogus inter philosophum, iudaeum, et christianum, translated as A Dialogue of a Philosopher with a Jew, and a Christian.9 Granted, the differences in content, genre, and language to the Old Icelandic saga could not be greater, but there are some striking parallels in content and concept regarding the intellectual bridges among various types of people critically engaged in a discourse on the true faith.
I will explore the issue of bridge building further in a separate chapter on the ‘good Saracen’ in medieval literature, but suffices it here to reflect on the basic effort displayed by the Norwegian king. Of course, he wanted Kjartan to convert to Christianity, but all his efforts are predicated on respect and honor, friendship and rationality, and this very similar to Boccaccio’s Paris merchant in his Decameron (tale two of the first day) who can convince his Jewish friend, after much trepidation, to accept the Christian faith.10
But first we should establish some basic data about Abelard to lay the foundation for our textual analysis, and we can draw, hereby, from a wealth of information. Born under the name ‘Pierre le Pallet’ around 1079 in Le Pallet, he quickly acquired a solid education at various major schools in France, studying under Roscelin of Compiègne and William of Champeaux, until he reached Paris around 1100, where he deepened his knowledge and soon also started teaching himself because he got into conflicts with some of his teachers over philosophical issues, such as the theory of universals and dialectics. Around 1111, after some time spent at various schools, he returned to Paris and turned to theology, studying under Anselm of Laon, until he became master of Notre Dame and a canon of Sens. One of the great secrets of his innovative teaching style was that he turned away from traditional lecturing and reading commentaries and subscribed to the principle of disputatio, the method of dialectical argument. It was also at that time (ca. 1117) that Abelard met Heloise, first as her tutor, then as her lover, and later, after she had become pregnant with their son Astrolabe, as her husband. But since he tried to keep his relationship with her a secret, her uncle Fulbert hired a gang of criminals to attack and castrate this famous teacher. This catastrophic development led to a drastic change in the lives of those two young people, Abelard retiring to the monastery of Saint-Denise, while Heloise now took the veil in Argenteuil.11
Abelard returned to teaching and writing, publishing the Tractatus de unitate et trinitate divina, and the first version of his famous Sic et non (Yes and No), in which he pointed out numerous contradictions (ca. 160) in the teachings of the Church Fathers, which could be solved only by means of logical thinking. Most significantly, Abelard did not intend to criticize Christianity, but to inject a sense of rationality into the theological discourse, emphasizing that all humans can err and that, hence, also that all Church authors could be liable to having made mistakes. Personally, however, Abelard experienced much irritation and provoked the monks in his own monastery considerably. Worse even, his teachings were condemned at the Synod of Soissons in 1121, but despite his punishment of permanent confinement, the presiding papal legate immediately allowed him to return to Saint-Denis and continue his teaching, now at a remote location near Troyes, which he dedicated to the ‘Paraclete’, or ‘Holy Spirit’.
He also lived in a remote monastery in Brittany, but eventually returned to Paris to teach more on theology and logic, expanding on his Theologia, opening new perspectives toward the ancients and pagan philosophers, praising them for the use of rationality in their discourse. During that time, Abelard also composed his famous autobiographical Historia Calamitatum (History of My Misfortunes), which later triggered a famous correspondence with Heloise, in which both explored the meaning of love, marriage, and the Christian faith, with her being the one who challenged the institution of marriage and insisted that true love could not be limited to the confines of such a legal arrangement.
Sometime before 1140, Abelard published his masterpiece, Ethica or Scito te ipsum (Know Thyself), in which he developed the idea that sin or sinful actions are to be judged not necessarily by their concrete impact, but by the individual’s intentions. More or less at the same time, he composed his Dialogus inter Philosophum, Judaeum et Christianum (Dialogue between a Philosopher, a Jew, and a Christian), and also Expositio in Epistolam ad Romanos, a commentary on St. Paul’s epistle to the Romans, reflecting on Christ’s life.
Tragically, Abelard got into a severe conflict with the famous Cistercian Abbot Bernard of Clairvaux, who initiated and brought about Abelard’s condemnation as a heretic because they rejected his teachings on sin and intention.12 This was too much of a challenge for Abelard, so he left Saint-Denis and accepted the post as abbot of the very remote monastery Saint-Gildas-de-Rhuys in Brittany. Because his own hermitage at the Paraclete threatened to fall apart, he turned it over to Heloise and her fellow sisters, who created a very successful nunnery there.
Byaround 1136, Abelard was back in Paris, attracting large numbers of students to his classes. In 1141, he was challenged to debate Bernard at an assembly in Sens, but the latter orchestrated a vote by the present religious leaders to condemn Abelard’s teachings a day before the scheduled debate on May 26, 1141. When Abelard realized that this was no longer a debate, but an official trial, he refused to defend himself and turned to Rome to appeal to Pope Innocent II, but the latter issued, even before Abelard had reached him, a bull excommunicating this famous scholar on July 16, 1141. With the help of the Abbot Peter the Venerable of Cluny, however, the excommunication was lifted, and the tension with Bernard alleviated because Abelard pledged to stay under the aegis of Cluny.13 During that time, he composed his famous Dialogue Between a Philosopher, a Jew, and a Christian as an attempt to demonstrate the great need for Christians to resort to reason for the defense of their faith. He died at the priory of Saint-Marcel, near Chalon-sur-Saône in Burgundy, on April 21, 1142.
Abelard’s greatest contributions to philosophy and theology were his strong emphasis on Aristotle, putting Plato’s ideas aside, his argument in favor of intention over general sinfulness, and ethical teachings. Most importantly, according to this twelfth-century philosopher, “[m]oral goodness is defined as intending to show love of God and neighbor and being correct in that intention.”14 Altogether, Abelard proved to be a highly controversial figure, provocative and stimulating, transgressing numerous traditional boundaries in philosophy and theology. Little wonder that his teachers, colleagues, and the authorities disliked him considerably, while students from all over Europe flocked to him.
The love relationship with Heloise and their subsequent exchange of letters has also attracted much scholarly attention,15 but here I want to focus on his Dialogus inter Philosophum, Judaeum et Christianum only and explore to what extent we might detect elements of toleration.16 Abelard was not the first and not the last to explore the truth of Christianity by means of a dialogic narrative, relying on fictional speakers challenging that faith. But the very strategy applied by him and others in subsequent centuries was principally predicated on the assumption that the truth of religion could or would have to be examined rationally, and this in direct confrontation with representatives of other faiths.
In other words, the core issue for Abelard was the question of how the Christian teachings could maintain themselves in the competition with other religions. Would there be any rational arguments that could be drawn upon to defend Christianity at large? How could one move from an emotional, or simply authority-oriented faith, to one that would be based on reasons? Such a competition, however, as imagined by him in his Dialogue, required the involvem
ent of representatives of other convictions and faiths. Without a basic sense of toleration, hence, the entire work could not have been composed, even though Abelard, like most other open-minded intellectuals of the Middle Ages, developed his narrative with the specific purpose of demonstrating the superiority of the Christian faith, just as in the case of the Icelandic saga Laxdaela Saga. In Joseph Rosenblum’s words, “His fusion of logic and theology fostered a new Scholasticism that was spread by his students, who included three future popes and the greatest classicist of the twelfth century, John of Salisbury.”17
Relying on the dream topos, with the narrator relating what he experienced in his sleep, which late medieval poets adopted numerous times for their own purposes—see Guillaume de Lorris’s Roman de la rose, ca. 1230/124018—we are told of a dreamer who sees three men approaching him, all of them worshipping one god, though one of them, the philosopher, identifies this god with natural law. The two other ones are the Jew and the Christian, and each of them holds Holy Scriptures, that is, they rely on written documents ultimately emanating from their respective god. In other words, there are plenty of similarities and parallels, and yet the three men cannot achieve agreement as to the ultimate truth in their respective faith.
Significantly, Abelard has the Philosopher speak first because he had realized how much the world was divided and caught in conflicts over religion. In fact, he identifies the different faiths primarily as separate “schools of thought” (21) and suggests that their methodology should be to study critically each side of this debate. Consequently, rationality would be the only reasonable instrument to decide the matter, if such a decision ever could be reached in the first place. The three men have accepted this debate on the basis of their agreement and mutual consent, which clearly indicates that they are prepared to listen to each other and to decide on the respective faith by means of rational categories (23). After all, the philosopher calls for a judge who could decide objectively the logical outcome of the debate, which approaches religion in an intellectual fashion, not as an institution established from time immemorial, and granted by God.
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