Title: The Mediaeval Mind (Volume II of II) - A History of the Development of Thought and Emotion in the Middle Ages
Author: Taylor, Henry Osborn
Language: English
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THE MEDIAEVAL MIND



  MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
  London · Bombay · Calcutta
  Melbourne

  THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
  New York · Boston · Chicago
  Atlanta · San Francisco

  THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
  TORONTO



  THE MEDIAEVAL MIND

  A HISTORY OF THE DEVELOPMENT
  OF THOUGHT AND EMOTION
  IN THE MIDDLE AGES


  BY HENRY OSBORN TAYLOR


  IN TWO VOLUMES

  VOL. II


  MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
  ST. MARTIN’S STREET, LONDON
  1911



CONTENTS


                                                                      PAGE

  BOOK IV

  THE IDEAL AND THE ACTUAL: SOCIETY (_continued_)

  CHAPTER XXV

    THE HEART OF HELOÏSE                                                 3

  CHAPTER XXVI

    GERMAN CONSIDERATIONS: WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE                   28


  BOOK V

  SYMBOLISM

  CHAPTER XXVII

    SCRIPTURAL ALLEGORIES IN THE EARLY MIDDLE AGES; HONORIUS OF AUTUN   41

  CHAPTER XXVIII

    THE RATIONALE OF THE VISIBLE WORLD: HUGO OF ST. VICTOR              60

  CHAPTER XXIX

    CATHEDRAL AND MASS; HYMN AND IMAGINATIVE POEM                       76

        I. Guilelmus Durandus and Vincent of Beauvais.

       II. The Hymns of Adam of St. Victor and the _Anticlaudianus_
           of Alanus of Lille.


  BOOK VI

  LATINITY AND LAW

  CHAPTER XXX

    THE SPELL OF THE CLASSICS                                          107

        I. Classical Reading.

       II. Grammar.

      III. The Effect upon the Mediaeval Man; Hildebert of Lavardin.

  CHAPTER XXXI

    EVOLUTION OF MEDIAEVAL LATIN PROSE                                 148

  CHAPTER XXXII

    EVOLUTION OF MEDIAEVAL LATIN VERSE                                 186

        I. Metrical Verse.

       II. Substitution of Accent for Quantity.

      III. Sequence-Hymn and Student-Song.

       IV. Passage of Themes into the Vernacular.

  CHAPTER XXXIII

    MEDIAEVAL APPROPRIATION OF THE ROMAN LAW                           231

        I. The Fontes Juris Civilis.

       II. Roman and Barbarian Codification.

      III. The Mediaeval Appropriation.

       IV. Church Law.

        V. Political Theorizing.


  BOOK VII

  ULTIMATE INTELLECTUAL INTERESTS OF THE TWELFTH AND THIRTEENTH CENTURIES

  CHAPTER XXXIV

    SCHOLASTICISM: SPIRIT, SCOPE, AND METHOD                           283

  CHAPTER XXXV

    CLASSIFICATION OF TOPICS; STAGES OF EVOLUTION                      311

        I. Philosophic Classification of the Sciences; the
           Arrangement of Vincent’s Encyclopaedia, of the Lombard’s
           _Sentences_, of Aquinas’s _Summa theologiae_.

       II. The Stages of Development: Grammar, Logic, Metalogics.

  CHAPTER XXXVI

    TWELFTH-CENTURY SCHOLASTICISM                                      338

        I. The Problem of Universals: Abaelard.

       II. The Mystic Strain: Hugo and Bernard.

      III. The Later Decades: Bernard Silvestris; Gilbert de la
           Porrée; William of Conches; John of Salisbury, and Alanus
           of Lille.

  CHAPTER XXXVII

    THE UNIVERSITIES, ARISTOTLE, AND THE MENDICANTS                    378

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

    BONAVENTURA                                                        402

  CHAPTER XXXIX

    ALBERTUS MAGNUS                                                    420

  CHAPTER XL

    THOMAS AQUINAS                                                     433

        I. Thomas’s Conception of Human Beatitude.

       II. Man’s Capacity to know God.

      III. How God knows.

       IV. How the Angels know.

        V. How Men know.

       VI. Knowledge through Faith perfected in Love.

  CHAPTER XLI

    ROGER BACON                                                        484

  CHAPTER XLII

    DUNS SCOTUS AND OCCAM                                              509

  CHAPTER XLIII

    THE MEDIAEVAL SYNTHESIS: DANTE                                     525

  INDEX                                                                561



BOOK IV

THE IDEAL AND THE ACTUAL: SOCIETY

(_Continued_)



CHAPTER XXV

THE HEART OF HELOÏSE


The romantic growth and imaginative shaping of chivalric love having been
followed in the fortunes of its great exemplars, Tristan, Iseult,
Lancelot, Guinevere, Parzival, a different illustration of mediaeval
passion may be had by turning from these creations of literature to an
actual woman, whose love for a living man was thought out as keenly and as
tragically felt as any heart-break of imagined lovers, and was impressed
with as entire a self-surrender as ever ravished the soul of nun panting
with love of the God-man.

There has never been a passion between a man and woman more famous than
that which brought happiness and sorrow to the lives of Abaelard and
Heloïse. Here fame is just. It was a great love, and its course was a
perfect soul’s tragedy. Abaelard was a celebrity, the intellectual glory
of an active-minded epoch. His love-story has done as much for his
posthumous fame as all his intellectual activities. Heloïse became known
in her time through her relations with Abaelard; in his songs her name was
wafted far. She has come down to us as one of the world’s love-heroines.
Yet few of those who have been touched by her story have known that
Heloïse was a great woman, possessed of an admirable mind, a character
which proved its strength through years, and, above all, a capacity for
loving--for loving out to the full conclusions of love’s convictions, and
for feeling in their full range and power whatever moods and emotions
could arise from an unhappy situation and a passion as deeply felt as it
was deeply thought upon.

Abaelard was not a great character--aside from his intellect. He was vain
and inconsiderate, a man who delighted in confounding and supplanting his
teachers, and in being a thorn in the flesh of all opponents. But he
became chastened through his misfortunes and through Heloïse’s high and
self-sacrificing love. In the end, perhaps, his love was worthy of the
love of Heloïse. Yet her love from the beginning was nobler and deeper
than his love of her. Love was for him an incident in his experience, then
an element in his life. Love made the life of Heloïse; it remained her
all. Moreover, in the records of their passion, Heloïse’s love is unveiled
as Abaelard’s is not. For all these reasons, the heart of Heloïse rather
than the heart of Abaelard discloses the greatness of a love that wept
itself out in the twelfth century, and it is her love rather than his that
can teach us much regarding the mediaeval capacity for loving. Hers is a
story of mediaeval womanhood, and sin, and repentance perhaps, with peace
at last, or at least the lips shut close and further protest foregone.

Abaelard’s stormy intellectual career[1] and the story of the love between
him and the canon’s niece are well known. Let us follow him in those parts
of his narrative which disclose the depth and power of Heloïse’s love for
him. We draw from his _Historia calamitatum_, written “to a friend,”
apparently an open letter intended to circulate.

“There was,” writes he, referring to the time of his sojourn in Paris,
when he was about thirty-six years old, and at the height of his fame as a
lecturer in the schools--

    “There was in Paris a young girl named Heloïse, the niece of a canon,
    Fulbert. It was his affectionate wish that she should have the best
    education in letters that could be procured. Her face was not unfair,
    and her knowledge was unequalled. This attainment, so rare in women,
    had given her great reputation.

    “I had hitherto lived continently, but now was casting my eyes about,
    and I saw that she possessed every attraction that lovers seek; nor
    did I regard my success as doubtful, when I considered my fame and my
    goodly person, and also her love of letters. Inflamed with love, I
    thought how I could best become intimate with her. It occurred to me
    to obtain lodgings with her uncle, on the plea that household cares
    distracted me from study. Friends quickly brought this about, the old
    man being miserly and yet desirous of instruction for his niece. He
    eagerly entrusted her to my tutorship, and begged me to give her all
    the time I could take from my lectures, authorizing me to see her at
    any hour of the day or night, and punish her when necessary. I
    marvelled with what simplicity he confided a tender lamb to a hungry
    wolf. As he had given me authority to punish her, I saw that if
    caresses would not win my object, I could bend her by threats and
    blows. Doubtless he was misled by love of his niece and my own good
    reputation. Well, what need to say more: we were united first by the
    one roof above us, and then by our hearts. Our hours of study were
    given to love. The books lay open, but our words were of love rather
    than philosophy, there were more kisses than aphorisms; and love was
    oftener reflected in our eyes than the lettered page. To avert
    suspicion, I struck her occasionally--very gentle blows of love. The
    joy of love, new to us both, brought no satiety. The more I was taken
    up with this pleasure, the less time I gave to philosophy and the
    schools--how tiresome had all that become! I became unproductive,
    merely repeating my old lectures, and if I composed any verses, love
    was their subject, and not the secrets of philosophy; you know how
    popular and widely sung these have become. But the students! what
    groans and laments arose from them at my distraction! A passion so
    plain was not to be concealed; every one knew of it except Fulbert. A
    man is often the last to know of his own shame. Yet what everybody
    knows cannot be hid forever, and so after some months he learned all.
    Oh how bitter was that uncle’s grief! and what was the grief of the
    separated lovers! How ashamed I was, and afflicted at the affliction
    of the girl! And what a storm of sorrow came over her at my disgrace.
    Neither complained for himself, but each grieved at what the other
    must endure.”

Although Abaelard was moved at the plight of Heloïse, he bitterly felt his
own discomfiture in the eyes of the once admiring world. But the sentence
touching Heloïse is a first true note of her devoted love: what a storm of
sorrow (_moeroris aestus_) came over her at my disgrace. Through this
trouble and woe, Heloïse never thought of her own pain save as it pained
her to be the source of grief to Abaelard.

Abaelard continues:

    “The separation of our bodies joined our souls more closely and
    inflamed our love. Shame spent itself and made us unashamed, so small
    a thing it seemed compared with satisfying love. Not long afterwards
    the girl knew that she was to be a mother, and in the greatest
    exultation wrote and asked me to advise what she should do. One night,
    as we agreed on, when Fulbert was away I bore her off secretly and
    sent her to my own country, Brittany, where she stayed with my sister
    till she gave birth to a son, whom she named Astralabius.

    “The uncle, on his return to his empty house, was frantic. He did not
    know what to do to me. If he should kill or do me some bodily injury,
    he feared lest his niece, whom he loved, would suffer for it among my
    people in Brittany. He could not seize me, as I was prepared against
    all attempts. At length, pitying his anguish, and feeling remorse at
    having caused it, I went to him as a suppliant and promised whatever
    satisfaction he should demand. I assured him that nothing in my
    conduct would seem remarkable to any one who had felt the strength of
    love or would take the pains to recall how many of the greatest men
    had been thrown down by women, ever since the world began. Whereupon I
    offered him a satisfaction greater than he could have hoped, to wit,
    that I would marry her whom I had corrupted, if only the marriage
    might be kept secret so that it should not injure me in the minds of
    men. He agreed and pledged his faith, and the faith of his friends,
    and sealed with kisses the reconciliation which I had sought--so that
    he might more easily betray me!”

It will be remembered that Abaelard was a clerk, a _clericus_, in virtue
of his profession of letters and theology. Never having taken orders, he
could marry; but while a clerk’s slip could be forgotten, marriage might
lead people to think he had slighted his vocation, and would certainly bar
the ecclesiastical preferment which such a famous _clericus_ might
naturally look forward to. Nevertheless, he at once set out to fetch
Heloïse from Brittany, to make her his wife.

The stand which she now took shows both her mind and heart:

    “She strongly disapproved, and urged two reasons against the marriage,
    to wit, the danger and the disgrace in which it would involve me. She
    swore--and so it proved--that no satisfaction would ever appease her
    uncle. She asked how she was to have any glory through me when she
    should have made me inglorious, and should have humiliated both
    herself and me. What penalties would the world exact from her if she
    deprived it of such a luminary; what curses, what damage to the
    Church, what lamentations of philosophers, would follow on this
    marriage. How indecent, how lamentable would it be for a man whom
    nature had made for all, to declare that he belonged to one woman, and
    subject himself to such shame. From her soul, she detested this
    marriage which would be so utterly ignominious for me, and a burden to
    me. She expatiated on the disgrace and inconvenience of matrimony for
    me and quoted the Apostle Paul exhorting men to shun it. If I would
    not take the apostle’s advice or listen to what the saints had said
    regarding the matrimonial yoke, I should at least pay attention to the
    philosophers--to Theophrastus’s words upon the intolerable evils of
    marriage, and to the refusal of Cicero to take a wife after he had
    divorced Terentia, when he said that he could not devote himself to a
    wife and philosophy at the same time. ‘Or,’ she continued, laying
    aside the disaccord between study and a wife, ‘consider what a married
    man’s establishment would be to you. What sweet accord there would be
    between the schools and domestics, between copyists and cradles,
    between books and distaffs, between pen and spindle! Who, engaged in
    religious or philosophical meditations, could endure a baby’s crying
    and the nurse’s ditties stilling it, and all the noise of servants?
    Could you put up with the dirty ways of children? The rich can, you
    say, with their palaces and apartments of all kinds; their wealth does
    not feel the expense or the daily care and annoyance. But I say, the
    state of the rich is not that of philosophers; nor have men entangled
    in riches and affairs any time for the study of Scripture or
    philosophy. The renowned philosophers of old, despising the world,
    fleeing rather than relinquishing it, forbade themselves all
    pleasures, and reposed in the embraces of philosophy.’”

Speaking thus, Heloïse fortified her argument with quotations from Seneca,
and the examples of Jewish and Gentile worthies and Christian saints, and
continued:

    “It is not for me to point out--for I would not be thought to instruct
    Minerva--how soberly and continently all these men lived who,
    according to Augustine and others, were called philosophers as much
    for their way of life as or their knowledge. If laymen and Gentiles,
    bound by no profession of religion, lived thus, surely you, a clerk
    and canon, should not prefer low pleasures to sacred duties, nor let
    yourself be sucked down by this Charybdis and smothered in filth
    inextricably. If you do not value the privilege of a clerk, at least
    defend the dignity of a philosopher. If reverence for God be despised,
    still let love of decency temper immodesty. Remember, Socrates was
    tied to a wife, and through a nasty accident wiped out this blot upon
    philosophy, that others afterwards might be more cautious; which
    Jerome relates in his book against Jovinianus, how once when enduring
    a storm of Xanthippe’s clamours from the floor above, he was ducked
    with slops, and simply said, ‘I knew such thunder would bring rain.’

    “Finally she said that it would be dangerous for me to take her back
    to Paris; it was more becoming to me, and sweeter to her, to be called
    my mistress, so that affection alone might keep me hers and not the
    binding power of any matrimonial chain; and if we should be separated
    for a time, our joys at meeting would be the dearer for their rarity.
    When at last with all her persuasions and dissuasions she could not
    turn me from my folly, and could not bear to offend me, with a burst
    of tears she ended in these words: ‘One thing is left: in the ruin of
    us both the grief which follows shall not be less than the love which
    went before.’ Nor did she here lack the spirit of prophecy.”

Heloïse’s reasonings show love great and true and her absolute devotion to
Abaelard’s interests. None the less striking is her clear intelligence.
She reasoned correctly; she was right, the marriage would do great harm to
Abaelard and little good to her. We see this too, if we lay aside our
sense of the ennobling purity of marriage--a sentiment not commonly felt
in the twelfth century. Marriage was holy in the mind of Christ. But it
did not preserve its holiness through the centuries which saw the rise of
monasticism and priestly celibacy. A way of life is not pure and holy when
another way is holier and purer; this is peculiarly true in Christianity,
which demands the ideal best with such intensity as to cast reflection on
whatever falls below the highest standard. From the time of the barbarian
inroads, on through the Carolingian periods, and into the later Middle
Ages, there was enough barbarism and brutality to prevent the
preservation, or impede the development, of a high standard of marriage.
Not monasticism, but his own half-barbarian, lustful heart led Charlemagne
to marry and remarry at will, and have many mistresses besides. It was the
same with the countless barons and mediaeval kings, rude and half
civilized. This was barbarous lust, not due to the influence of
monasticism. But, on the other hand, it was always the virgin or celibate
state that the Church held before the eyes of all this semi-barbarous
laity as the ideal for a Christian man or woman. The Church sanctioned
marriage, but hardly lauded it or held it up as a condition in which lives
of holiness and purity could be led. Such were the sentiments in which
Heloïse was born and bred. They were subconscious factors in her thoughts
regarding herself and her lover. Devoted and unselfish was her love;
undoubtedly Heloïse would have sacrificed herself for Abaelard under any
social conditions. Nevertheless, with her, marriage added little to love;
it was a mere formal and binding authorization; love was no purer for it.
To her mind, for a man in Abaelard’s situation to be entangled in a
temporary _amour_ was better than to be chained to his passion, with his
career irrevocably ruined, in marriage. In so far as her thoughts or
Abaelard’s were influenced by the environment of priestly thinking,
marriage would seem a rendering permanent of a passionate and sinful
state, which it were _best_ to cast off altogether. For herself, as she
said truly, the marriage would bring obloquy rather than reinstatement.
She had been mistress to a clerk; marriage would make her the partner of
his abandonment of his vocation, the accomplice of broken purposes if not
of broken vows. And finally, as there was then no line of disgrace as now
between bastard and lawful issue, Heloïse had no thought that the
interests of her son demanded that his mother should become his father’s
wife.

    “Leaving our son in my sister’s care, we stole back to Paris, and
    shortly after, having in the night celebrated our vigils in a certain
    church, we were married at dawn in the presence of her uncle and some
    of his and our friends. We left at once separately and with secrecy,
    and afterwards saw each other only in privacy, so as to conceal what
    we had done. But her uncle and his household began at once to announce
    the marriage and violate his word; while she, on the contrary,
    protested vehemently and swore that it was false. At that he became
    enraged and treated her vilely. When I discovered this I sent her to
    the convent of Argenteuil, near Paris, where she had been educated.
    There I had her take the garb of a nun, except the veil. Hearing this,
    the uncle and his relations thought that I had duped them, ridding
    myself of Heloïse by making her a nun. So having bribed my servant,
    they came upon me by night, when I was sleeping, and took on me a
    vengeance as cruel and irretrievable as it was vile and shameful. Two
    of the perpetrators were pursued and vengeance taken.

    “In the morning the whole town was assembled, crying and lamenting my
    plight, especially the clerks and students; at which I was afflicted
    with more shame than I suffered physical pain. I thought of my ruined
    hopes and glory, and then saw that by God’s just judgment I was
    punished where I had most sinned, and that Fulbert had justly
    avenged treachery with treachery. But what a figure I should cut in
    public! how the world would point its finger at me! I was also
    confounded at the thought of the Levitical law, according to which I
    had become an abomination to the Church.[2] In this misery the
    confusion of shame--I confess it--rather than the ardour of conversion
    drove me to the cover of the cloister, after she had willingly obeyed
    my command to take the veil. I became a monk in the abbey of St.
    Denis, and she a nun in the convent of Argenteuil. Many begged her not
    to set that yoke upon her youth; at which, amid her tears, she broke
    out in Cornelia’s lament: ‘O great husband! undeserving of my couch!
    Has fortune rights over a head so high? Why did I, impious, marry thee
    to make thee wretched? Accept these penalties, which I gladly pay.’[3]
    With these words, she went straight to the altar, received the veil
    blessed by the bishop, and took the vows before them all.”

Abaelard’s _Historia calamitatum_ now turns to troubles having no
connection with Heloïse: his difficulties with the monks of St. Denis,
with other monks, with every one, in fact, except his scholars; his
arraignment before the Council of Soissons, the public burning of his
book, _De Unitate et Trinitate divina_, and various other troubles, till,
seeking a retreat, he constructed an oratory on the bank of the Ardisson.
He named it the Paraclete, and there he taught and lectured. He was
afterwards elected abbot of a monastery in Brittany, where he discovered
that those under him were savage beasts rather than monks. Here the
_Historia calamitatum_ was written.

The monks of St. Denis had never ceased to hate Abaelard for his assertion
that their great Saint was not really Dionysius the Areopagite who heard
Paul preach. Their abbot now brought forward and proved an ancient title
to the land where stood the convent of Argenteuil, “in which,” to resume
Abaelard’s account,

    “she, once my wife, now my sister in Christ, had taken the veil, and
    was at this time prioress. The nuns were rudely driven out. News of
    this came to me as a suggestion from the Lord to bethink me of the
    deserted Paraclete. Going thither, I invited Heloïse and her nuns to
    come and take possession. They accepted, and I gave it to them.
    Afterward Pope Innocent II. confirmed this grant to them and their
    successors in perpetuity. There for a time they lived in want; but
    soon the Divine Pity showed itself the true Paraclete, and moved the
    people of the neighbourhood to take compassion on them, and they soon
    knew no lack. Indeed as women are the weaker sex, their need moves men
    more readily to pity, and their virtues are the more grateful to both
    God and man. And on our sister the Lord bestowed such favour in the
    eyes of all, that the bishops loved her as a daughter, the abbots as a
    sister, the laity as a mother; and all wondered at her piety, her
    wisdom, and her gentle patience in everything. She rarely let herself
    be seen, that she might devote herself more wholly to prayers and
    meditations in her cell; but all the more persistently people sought
    her spiritual counsel.”

What were those meditations and those prayers uttered or unuttered in that
cell? They did not always refer to the kingdom of heaven, judging from the
abbess’s first letter to her former lover. After the installation of
Heloïse and her nuns, Abaelard rarely visited the Paraclete, although his
advice and instruction was desired there. His visits gave rise to too much
scandal. In the course of time, however, the _Historia calamitatum_ came
into the hands of Heloïse, and occasioned this letter, which seems to
issue forth out of a long silence; ten years had passed since she became a
nun. The superscription is as follows:

    “To her master, rather to a father, to her husband, rather to a
    brother, his maid or rather daughter, his wife or rather sister, to
    Abaelard, Heloïse.

    “Your letter, beloved, written to comfort a friend, chanced recently
    to reach me. Seeing by its first lines from whom it was, I burned to
    read it for the love I bear the writer, hoping also from its words to
    recreate an image of him whose life I have ruined. Those words dropped
    gall and absinthe as they brought back the unhappy story of our
    intercourse and thy ceaseless crosses, O my only one. Truly the letter
    must have convinced the friend that his troubles were light compared
    with yours, as you showed the treachery and persecutions which had
    followed you, the calumnies of enemies and the burning of your
    glorious book, the machinations of false brothers, and the vile acts
    of those worthless monks whom you call your sons. No one could read it
    with dry eyes. Your perils have renewed my griefs; here we all despair
    of your life and each day with trembling hearts expect news of your
    death. In the name of Christ, who so far has somehow preserved thee
    for himself, deign with frequent letters to let these weak servants of
    Him and thee know of the storms overwhelming the swimmer, so that we
    who alone remain to thee may be participators of thy pain or joy. One
    who grieves may gain consolation from those grieving with him; a
    burden borne by many is more lightly borne. And if this tempest
    abates, how happy shall we be to know it. Whatever the letters may
    contain they will show at least that we are not forgotten. Has not
    Seneca said in his letter to Lucilius, that the letters of an absent
    friend are sweet? When no malice can stop your giving us this much of
    you, do not let neglect prove a bar.

    “You have written that long letter to console a friend with the story
    of your own misfortunes, and have thereby roused our grief and added
    to our desolation. Heal these new wounds. You owe to us a deeper debt
    of friendship than to him, for we are not only friends, but friends
    the dearest, and your daughters. After God, you alone are the founder
    of this place, the builder of this oratory and of this congregation.
    This new plantation for a holy purpose is your own; the delicate
    plants need frequent watering. He who gives so much to his enemies,
    should consider his daughters. Or, leaving out the others here, think
    how this is owing me from thee: what thou owest to all women under
    vows, thou shalt pay more devotedly to thine only one. How many books
    have the holy fathers written for holy women, for their exhortation
    and instruction! I marvel at thy forgetfulness of these frail
    beginnings of our conversion. Neither respect of God nor love of us
    nor the example of the blessed fathers, has led thee by speech or
    letter to console me, cast about, and consumed with grief. This
    obligation was the stronger, because the sacrament of marriage joined
    thee to me, and I--every one sees it--cling to thee with unmeasured
    love.

    “Dearest, thou knowest--who knows not?--how much I lost in thee, and
    that an infamous act of treachery robbed me of thee and of myself at
    once. The greater my grief, the greater need of consolation, not from
    another but from thee, that thou who art alone my cause of grief may
    be alone my consolation. It is thou alone that canst sadden me or
    gladden me or comfort me. And thou alone owest this to me, especially
    since I have done thy will so utterly that, unable to offend thee, I
    endured to wreck myself at thy command. Nay, more than this, love
    turned to madness and cut itself off from hope of that which alone it
    sought, when I obediently changed my garb and my heart too in order
    that I might prove thee sole owner of my body as well as of my spirit.
    God knows, I have ever sought in thee only thyself, desiring simply
    thee and not what was thine. I asked no matrimonial contract, I looked
    for no dowry; not my pleasure, not my will, but thine have I striven
    to fulfil. And if the name of wife seemed holier or more potent, the
    word mistress (_amica_) was always sweeter to me, or even--be not
    angry!--concubine or harlot; for the more I lowered myself before
    thee, the more I hoped to gain thy favour, and the less I should hurt
    the glory of thy renown. This thou didst graciously remember, when
    condescending to point out in that letter to a friend some of the
    reasons (but not all!) why I preferred love to wedlock and liberty to
    a chain. I call God to witness that if Augustus, the master of the
    world, would honour me with marriage and invest me with equal rule, it
    would still seem to me dearer and more honourable to be called thy
    strumpet than his empress. He who is rich and powerful is not the
    better man: that is a matter of fortune, this of merit. And she is
    venal who marries a rich man sooner than a poor man, and yearns for a
    husband’s riches rather than himself. Such a woman deserves pay and
    not affection. She is not seeking the man but his goods, and would
    wish, if possible, to prostitute herself to one still richer. Aspasia
    put this clearly when she was trying to effect a reconciliation
    between Xenophon and his wife: ‘Until you come to think that there is
    nowhere else a better man or a woman more desirable, you will be
    continually looking for what you think to be the best, and will wish
    to be married to the man or woman who is the very best.’ This is
    indeed a holy, rather than a philosophical sentiment, and wisdom, not
    philosophy, speaks. This is the holy error and blessed deception
    between man and wife, when affection perfect and unimpaired keeps
    marriage inviolate not so much by continency of body as by chastity of
    mind. But what with other women is an error, is, in my case, the
    manifest truth: since what they suppose in their husbands, I--and the
    whole world agrees--know to be in thee. My love for thee is truth,
    being free from all error. Who among kings or philosophers can vie
    with your fame? What country, what city does not thirst to see you?
    Who, I ask, did not hurry to see you appearing in public and crane his
    neck to catch a last glimpse as you departed? What wife, what maid did
    not yearn for you absent, and burn when you were present? What queen
    did not envy me my joys and couch? There were in you two qualities by
    which you could draw the soul of any woman, the gift of poetry and the
    gift of singing, gifts which other philosophers have lacked. As a
    distraction from labour, you composed love-songs both in metre and in
    rhyme, which for their sweet sentiment and music have been sung and
    resung and have kept your name in every mouth. Your sweet melodies do
    not permit even the illiterate to forget you. Because of these gifts
    women sighed for your love. And, as these songs sung of our loves,
    they quickly spread my name in many lands, and made me the envy of my
    sex. What excellence of mind or body did not adorn your youth? No
    woman, then envious, but now would pity me bereft of such delights.
    What enemy even would not now be softened by the compassion due me?

    “I have brought thee evil, thou knowest how innocently. Not the result
    of the act but the disposition of the doer makes the crime; justice
    does not consider what happens, but through what intent it happens. My
    intent towards thee thou only hast proved and alone canst judge. I
    commit everything to thy weighing and submit to thy decree.

    “Tell me one thing: why, after our conversion, commanded by thee, did
    I drop into oblivion, to be no more refreshed by speech of thine or
    letter? Tell me, I say, if you can, or I will say what I feel and what
    every one suspects: desire rather than friendship drew you to me, lust
    rather than love. So when desire ceased, whatever you were manifesting
    for its sake likewise vanished. This, beloved, is not so much my
    opinion as the opinion of all. Would it were only mine and that thy
    love might find defenders to argue away my pain. Would that I could
    invent some reason to excuse you and also cover my cheapness. Listen,
    I beg, to what I ask, and it will seem small and very easy to you.
    Since I am cheated of your presence, at least put vows in words, of
    which you have a store, and so keep before me the sweetness of thine
    image. I shall vainly expect you to be bountiful in acts if I find you
    a miser in words. Truly I thought that I merited much from you, when I
    had done all for your sake and still continue in obedience. When
    little more than a girl I took the hard vows of a nun, not from piety
    but at your command. If I merit nothing from thee, how vain I deem my
    labour! I can expect no reward from God, as I have done nothing from
    love of Him. Thee hurrying to God I followed, or rather went before.
    For, as you remembered how Lot’s wife turned back, you first delivered
    me to God bound with the vow, and then yourself. That single act of
    distrust, I confess, grieved me and made me blush. God knows, at your
    command I would have followed or preceded you to fiery places. For my
    heart is not with me, but with thee; and now more than ever, if not
    with thee it is nowhere, for it cannot exist without thee. That my
    heart may be well with thee, see to it, I beg; and it will be well if
    it finds thee kind, rendering grace for grace--a little for much.
    Beloved, would that thy love were less sure of me so that it might be
    more solicitous; I have made you so secure that you are negligent.
    Remember all I have done and think what you owe. While I enjoyed
    carnal joy with you, many people were uncertain whether I acted from
    love or lust. Now the end makes clear the beginning; I have cut myself
    off from pleasure to obey thy will. I have kept nothing, save to be
    more than ever thine. Think how wicked it were in thee where all the
    more is due to render less, nothing almost; especially when little is
    asked, and that so easy for you. In the name of God to whom you have
    vowed yourself, give me that of thee which is possible, the
    consolation of a letter. I promise, thus refreshed, to serve God more
    readily. When of old you would call me to pleasures, you sought me
    with frequent letters, and never failed with thy songs to keep thy
    Heloïse on every tongue; the streets, the houses re-echoed me. How
    much fitter that you should now incite me to God than then to lust?
    Bethink thee what thou owest; heed what I ask; and a long letter I
    will conclude with a brief ending: farewell only one!”

Remarks upon this letter would seem to profane a shrine--had the man
profaned that shrine? He had not always worshipped there. Heloïse knew
this, for all her love. She said it too, writing in phraseology which had
been brutalized through the denouncing spirit of Latin monasticism. How
truly she puts the situation and how clearly she thinks withal, discerning
as it were the beautiful and true in love and marriage. The whole letter
is well arranged, and written in a style showing the writer’s training in
Latin mediaeval rhetoric. It was not the less deeply felt because composed
with care and skill. Evidently the writer is of the Middle Ages; her
occasional prolixity was not of her sex but of her time; and she quotes
the ancients so naturally; what they say should be convincing. How the
letter bares the motives of her own conduct: not for God’s sake, or the
kingdom of heaven’s sake, but for Abaelard’s sake she became a nun. She
had no inclination thereto; her letters do not indicate that she ever
became really and spontaneously devoted to her calling. Abaelard was her
God, and as her God she held him to the end; though she applied herself to
the consideration of religious topics, as we shall see. Moreover, her
position as nun and abbess could not fail to force such topics on her
consideration.

Is there another such love-letter, setting forth a situation so
triple-barred and hopeless? And the love which fills the letter, which
throbs and burns in it, which speaks and argues in it, how absolute is
this love. It is love carried out to its full conclusions; it includes the
whole woman and the whole of her life; whatever lies beyond its ken and
care is scorned and rejected. This love is extreme in its humility, and
yet realizes its own purity and worth; it is grieved at the thought of
rousing a feeling baser than itself. Heloïse had been and still was
Heloïse, devoted and self-sacrificing in her love. But the situation has
become torture; her heart is filled with all manner of pain, old and new,
till it is driven to assert its right at least to consolation. Thus
Heloïse’s love becomes insistent and requiring. Was it possibly burdensome
to the man who now might wish to think no more of passion? who might wish
no longer to be loved in that way? In his reply Abaelard does not unveil
himself; he seems to take an attitude which may have been the most
faithful expression that he could devise of his changed self.

    “To Heloïse his beloved sister in Christ, Abaelard her brother in the
    Same.”

This superscription was a gentle reminder of their present
relationship--in Christ. The writer begins: his not having written since
their conversion was to be ascribed not to his negligence, but to his
confidence in her wisdom; he did not think that she who, so full of grace,
had consoled her sister nuns when prioress, could as abbess need teaching
or exhortation for the guidance of her daughters; but if, in her humility,
she felt the need of his instruction in matters pertaining to God, she
might write, and he would answer, as the Lord should grant. Thanks be to
God who had filled their hearts--hers and her nuns--with solicitude for
his perils, and had made them participators in his afflictions; through
their prayers the divine pity had protected him. He had hastened to send
the Psalter, requested by his sister, formerly dear to him in the world
and now most dear in Christ, to assist their prayers. The potency of
prayer, with God and the saints, and especially the prayer of women for
those dear to them, is frequently declared in Scripture; he cites a number
of passages to prove it. May these move her to pray for him. He refers
with affectionate gratitude to the prayers which the nuns had been
offering for him, and encloses a short prayer for his safety, which he
begs and implores may be used in their daily canonical hours. If the Lord,
however, delivers him into the hands of his enemies to kill him, or if he
meet his death in any way, he begs that his body may be brought to the
Paraclete for burial, so that the sight of his sepulchre may move his
daughters and sisters in Christ to pray for him; no place could be so safe
and salutary for the soul of one bitterly repenting of his sins, as that
consecrated to the true Paraclete--the Comforter; nor could fitter
Christian burial be found than among women devoted by their vows to
Christ. He begs that the great solicitude which they now have for his
bodily safety, they will then have for the salvation of his soul, and by
the suffrage of their prayer for the dead man show how they had loved him
when alive. The letter closes, not with a personal word to Heloïse, but
with this distich:

  “Vive, vale, vivantque tuae valeantque sorores,
   Vivite, sed Christo, quaeso, mei memores.”

Thus as against Heloïse’s beseeching love, Abaelard lifted his hands,
palms out, repelling it. His letter ignored all that filled the soul and
the letter of Heloïse. His reply did not lack words of spiritual
affection, and its tone was not as formal then as it now seems. When
Abaelard asked for the prayers of Heloïse and her nuns, he meant it; he
desired the efficacy of their prayers. Then he wished to be buried among
them. We are touched by this; but, again, Abaelard meant it, as he said,
for his soul’s welfare; it was no love sentiment. The letter stirred the
heart of Heloïse to a rebellious outcry against the cruelty of God, if not
of Abaelard, a soul’s cry against life and the calm attitude of one who no
longer was--or at least meant to be no longer--what he had been to her.

    “To her only one, next to Christ, his only one in Christ.

    “I wonder, my only one, that contrary to epistolary custom and the
    natural order of things, in the salutation of your letter you have
    placed me before you, a woman before a man, a wife before a husband, a
    servant before her lord, a nun before a monk and priest, a deaconess
    before an abbot. The proper order is for one writing to a superior to
    put his own name last, but when writing to an inferior, the writer’s
    name should precede. We also marvelled, that where you should have
    afforded us consolation, you added to our desolation, and excited the
    tears you should have quieted. How could we restrain our tears when
    reading what you wrote towards the end: ‘If the Lord shall deliver me
    into the hand of my enemies to slay me’! Dearest, how couldst thou
    think or say that? May God never forget His handmaids, to leave them
    living when you are no more! May He never allot to us that life, which
    would be harder than any death! It is for you to perform our obsequies
    and commend our souls to God, and send before to God those whom you
    have gathered for Him--that you may have no further anxiety, and
    follow us the more gladly because assured of our safety. Refrain, my
    lord, I beg, from making the miserable most miserable with such words;
    destroy not our life before we die. ‘Sufficient unto the day is the
    evil thereof’--and that day will come to all with bitterness enough.
    ‘What need,’ says Seneca, ‘to add to evil, and destroy life before
    death?’

    “Thou askest, only one, that, in the event of thy death when absent
    from us, we should have thy body brought to our cemetery, in order
    that, being always in our memory, thou shouldst obtain greater benefit
    from our prayers. Did you think that your memory could slip from us?
    How could we pray, with distracted minds? What use of tongue or reason
    would be left to us? When the mind is crazed against God it will not
    placate Him with prayer so much as irritate Him with complaints. We
    could only weep, pressing to follow rather than bury you. How could we
    live after we had lost our life in you? The thought of your death is
    death to us; what would be the actuality? God grant we shall not have
    to pay those rites to one from whom we look for them; may we go before
    and not follow! A heart crushed with grief is not calm, nor is a mind
    tossed by troubles open to God. Do not, I beg, hinder the divine
    service to which we are dedicated.

    “What remains of hope for me when thou art gone? Or what reason to
    continue in this pilgrimage, where I have no solace save thee? and of
    thee I have but the bare knowledge that thou dost live, since thy
    restoring presence is not granted me. Oh!--if it is right to say
    it--how cruel has God been to me! Inclement Clemency! Fortune has
    emptied her quiver against me, so that others have nothing to fear! If
    indeed a single dart were left, no place could be found in me for a
    new wound. Fortune fears only lest I escape her tortures by death.
    Wretched and unhappy! in thee I was lifted above all women; in thee am
    I the more fatally thrown down. What glory did I have in thee! what
    ruin have I now! Fortune made me the happiest of women that she might
    make me the most miserable. The injury was the more outrageous in that
    all ways of right were broken. While we were abandoned to love’s
    delights, the divine severity spared us. When we made the forbidden
    lawful and by marriage wiped out fornication’s stains, the Lord’s
    wrath broke on us, impatient of an unsullied bed when it long had
    borne with one defiled. A man taken in adultery would have been amply
    punished by what came to you. What others deserved for adultery, that
    you got from the marriage which you thought had made amends for
    everything. Adulteresses bring their paramours what your own wife
    brought you. Not when we lived for pleasure, but when, separated, we
    lived in chastity, you presiding at the Paris schools, I at thy
    command dwelling with the nuns at Argenteuil; you devoted to study, I
    to prayer and holy reading; it was then that you alone paid the
    penalty for what we had done together. Alone you bore the punishment,
    which you deserved less than I. When you had humiliated yourself and
    elevated me and all my kin, you little merited that punishment either
    from God or from those traitors. Miserable me, begotten to cause such
    a crime! O womankind ever the ruin of the noblest men![4]

    “Well the Tempter knows how easy is man’s overthrow through a wife. He
    cast his malice over us, and the man whom he could not throw down
    through fornication, he tried with marriage, using a good to bring
    about an evil where evil means had failed. I thank God at least for
    this, that the Tempter did not draw me to assent to that which became
    the cause of the evil deed. Yet, although in this my mind absolves me,
    too many sins had gone before to leave me guiltless of that crime. For
    long a servant of forbidden joys, I earned the punishment which I now
    suffer of past sins. Let the evil end be attributed to ill beginnings!
    May my penitence be meet for what I have done, and may long remorse in
    some way compensate for the penalty you suffered! What once you
    suffered in the body, may I through contrition bear to the end of
    life, that so I may make satisfaction to thee if not to God. To
    confess the infirmities of my most wretched soul, I can find no
    penitence to offer God, whom I never cease to accuse of utter cruelty
    towards you. Rebellious to His rule, I offend Him with indignation
    more than I placate Him with penitence. For that cannot be called the
    sinner’s penitence where, whatever be the body’s suffering, the mind
    retains the will to sin and still burns with the same desires. It is
    easy in confession to accuse oneself of sins, and also to do penance
    with the body; but hard indeed to turn the heart from the desire of
    its greatest joys![5] Love’s pleasures, which we knew together, cannot
    be made displeasing to me nor driven from my memory. Wherever I turn,
    they press upon me, nor do they spare my dreams. Even in the solemn
    moments of the Mass, when prayer should be the purest, their phantoms
    catch my soul. When I should groan for what I have done, I sigh for
    what I have lost. Not only our acts, but times and places stick fast
    in my mind, and my body quivers. O truly wretched me, fit only to
    utter this cry of the soul: ‘Wretched that I am, who shall deliver me
    from the body of this death?’ Would I could add with truth what
    follows:--‘I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ Such
    thanksgiving, dearest, may be thine, by one bodily ill cured of many
    tortures of the soul, and God may have been merciful where He seemed
    against you; like a good physician who does not spare the pain needed
    to save life. But I am tortured with passion and the fires of memory.
    They call me chaste, who do not know me for a hypocrite. They look
    upon purity of the flesh as virtue--which is of the soul, not of the
    body. Having some praise from men, I merit none from God, who knows
    the heart. I am called religious at a time when most religion is
    hypocrisy, and when whoever keeps from offence against human law is
    praised. Perhaps it seems praiseworthy and acceptable to God, through
    decent conduct,--whatever the intent--to avoid scandalizing the Church
    or causing the Lord’s name to be blasphemed or the religious Order
    discredited. Perhaps it may be of grace just to abstain from evil. But
    the Scripture says, ‘Refrain from evil and do good’; and vainly he
    attempts either who does not act from love of God. God knows that I
    have always feared to offend thee more than I feared to offend Him;
    and have desired to please thee rather than Him. Thy command, not the
    divine love, put on me this garb of religion. What a wretched life I
    lead if I vainly endure all this here and am to have no reward
    hereafter. My hypocrisy has long deceived you, as it has others, and
    therefore you desire my prayers. Have no such confidence; I need your
    prayers; do not withdraw their aid. Do not take away the medicine,
    thinking me whole. Do not cease to think me needy; do not think me
    strong; do not delay your help. Cease from praising me, I beg. No one
    versed in medicine will judge of inner disease from outward view. Thy
    praise is the more perilous because I love it, and desire to please
    thee always. Be fearful rather than confident regarding me, so that I
    may have the help of your care. Do not seek to spur me on, by quoting,
    ‘For strength is made perfect in weakness,’ or ‘He is not crowned
    unless he have contended lawfully.’ I am not looking for the crown of
    victory; enough for me to escape peril;--safer to shun peril than to
    wage war! In whatever little corner of heaven God puts me, that will
    satisfy me. Hear what Saint Jerome says: ‘I confess my weakness; I do
    not wish to fight for the hope of victory, lest I lose.’ Why give up
    certainties to follow the uncertain?”

This letter gives a view of Heloïse’s mind, its strong grasp and its
capacity for reasoning, though its reasoning is here distraught with
passion. Scathingly, half-blinded by her pain, she declares the
perversities of Providence, as they glared upon her. Such a disclosure of
the woman’s mind suggests how broadly based in thought and largely reared
was that great love into which her whole soul had been poured, the mind as
well as heart. Her love was great, unique, not only from its force of
feeling, but from the power and scope of thought by which passion and
feeling were carried out so far and fully to the last conclusions of
devotion. The letter also shows a woman driven by stress of misery to
utter cries and clutch at remedies that her calmer self would have put
by. It is not hypocrisy to conceal the desires or imaginings which one
would never act upon. To tell these is not true disclosure of oneself, but
slander. Torn by pain, Heloïse makes herself more vile and needy than in
other moments she knew herself to be. Yet the letter also uncovers her,
and in nakedness there is some truth. Doubtless her nun’s garb did clothe
a hypocrite. Whatever she felt--and here we see the worst she felt--before
the world she had to act the nun. We shall soon see how she forced herself
to act, or be, the nun toward Abaelard.

Abaelard replied in a letter filled with religious argument and
consolation. It was self-controlled, firm, authoritative, and strong in
those arguments regarding God’s mercy which have stood the test of time.
If they sometimes fail to satisfy the embittered soul, at least they are
the best that man has known. And withal, the letter is calmly and nobly
affectionate--what place was there for love’s protestations? They would
have increased the evil, adding fuel to Heloïse’s passionate misery.

The master-note is struck in the address: “To the spouse of Christ, His
servant.” The letter seeks to turn Heloïse’s thoughts to her nun’s calling
and her soul’s salvation. It divides her expressions of complaint under
four heads. First, he had put her name first, because she had become his
superior from the moment of her bridal with his master Christ. Jerome
writing to Eustochium called her Lady, when she had become the spouse of
Jerome’s Lord. Abaelard shows, with citations from the Song of Songs, the
glory of the spouse, and how her prayers should be sought by one who was
the servant of her Husband. Second, as to the terrors roused in her by his
mention of his peril and possible death, he points out that in her first
letter she had bidden him write of those perils; if they brought him
death, she should deem that a kind release. She should not wish to see his
miseries drawn out, even for her sake. Third, he shows that his praise of
her was justified even by her disclaimer of merit--as it is written, Who
humbles himself shall be exalted. He warns her against false modesty which
may be vanity.

He turns at last to the old and ceaseless plaint which she makes against
God for cruelty, when she should rather glorify Him; he had thought that
that bitterness had departed, so dangerous for her, so painful to him. If
she wished to please him, let her lay it aside; retaining it, she could
not please him or advance with him to blessedness; let her have this much
religion, not to separate herself from him hastening to God; let her take
comfort in their journeying to the same goal. He then shows her that his
punishment was just as well as merciful; he had deserved it from God and
also from Fulbert. If she will consider, she will see in it God’s justice
and His mercy; God had saved them from shipwreck; had raised a barrier
against shame and lust. For himself the punishment was purification, not
privation; will not she, as his inseparable comrade, participate in the
workings of this grace, even as she shared the guilt and its pardon? Once
he had thought of binding her to him in wedlock; but God found a means to
turn them both to Him; and the Lord was continuing His mercy towards her,
causing her to bring forth spiritual daughters, when otherwise she would
only have borne children in the flesh; in her the curse of Eve is turned
to the blessing of Mary. God had purified them both; whom God loveth He
correcteth. Oh! let her thoughts dwell with the Son of God, seized,
dragged, beaten, spit upon, crowned with thorns, hung on a vile cross. Let
her think of Him as her spouse, and for Him let her make lament; He bought
her with himself, He loved her. In comparison with His love, his own
(Abaelard’s) was lust, seeking the pleasure it could get from her. If he,
Abaelard, had suffered for her, it was not willingly nor for her sake, as
Christ had suffered, and for her salvation. Let her weep for Him who made
her whole, not for her corrupter; for her Redeemer, not for her defiler;
for the Lord who died for her, not for the living servant, himself just
freed from the death. Let his sister accept with patience what came to her
in mercy from Him who wounded the body to save the soul.

    “We are one in Christ, as through marriage we were one flesh. Whatever
    is thine is not alien to me. Christ is thine, because thou art His
    spouse. And now thou hast me for a servant, who formerly was thy
    master--a servant united to thee by spiritual love. I trust in thy
    pleading with Him for such defence as my own prayers may not obtain.
    That nothing may hinder this petition I have composed this prayer,
    which I send thee: ‘O God, who formed woman from the side of man and
    didst sanction the sacrament of marriage; who didst bestow upon my
    frailty a cure for its incontinence; do not despise the prayers of thy
    handmaid, and the prayers which I pour out for my sins and those of my
    dear one. Pardon our great crimes, and may the enormity of our faults
    find the greatness of thy ineffable mercy. Punish the culprits in the
    present; spare, in the future. Thou hast joined us, Lord, and hast
    divided us, as it pleased thee. Now complete most mercifully what thou
    hast begun in mercy; and those whom thou hast divided in this world,
    join eternally in heaven, thou who art our hope, our portion, our
    expectation, our consolation, Lord blessed forever. Amen.’

    “Farewell in Christ, spouse of Christ; in Christ farewell and in
    Christ live. Amen.”

In her next letter Heloïse obeys, and turns her pen if not her thoughts to
the topics suggested by Abaelard’s admonitions. The short scholastically
phrased address cannot be rendered in any modern fashion: “Domino
specialiter sua singulariter.”

    “That you may have no further reason to call me disobedient, your
    command shall bridle the words of unrestrained grief; in writing I
    will moderate my language, which I might be unable to do in speech.
    Nothing is less in our power than our heart; which compels us to obey
    more often than it obeys us. When our affections goad us, we cannot
    keep the sudden impulse from breaking out in words; as it is written,
    ‘From the fulness of the heart the mouth speaketh.’ So I will withhold
    my hand from writing whenever I am unable to control my words. Would
    that the sorrowing heart were as ready to obey as the hand that
    writes! You can afford some remedy to grief, even when unable to
    dispel it quite. As one nail driven in drives out another, a new
    thought pushes away its predecessor, and the mind is freed for a time.
    A thought, moreover, takes the mind up and leads it from others more
    effectually, if the subject of the thought is excellent and of great
    importance.”

The rest of this long letter shows Heloïse putting her principles in
practice. She is forcing her mind to consider and her pen to discourse
upon topics which might properly occupy an abbess’s thoughts--topics,
moreover, which would satisfy Abaelard and call forth long letters in
reply. Whether she cared really for these matters or ever came to care
for them; or whether she turned to them to distract her mind and keep up
some poor makeshift of intercourse with one who would and could no longer
be her lover; or whether all these motives mingled, and in what
proportion, perhaps may best be left to Him who tries the heart.

The abbess writes:

    “All of us here, servants of Christ and thy daughters, make two
    requests of thy fathership which we deem most needful. The one is,
    that you would instruct us concerning the origins of the order of nuns
    and the authority for our calling. The other is, that you would draw
    up a written _regula_, suitable for women, which shall prescribe and
    set the order and usages of our convent. We do not find any adequate
    _regula_ for women among the works of the holy Fathers. It is a
    manifest defect in monastic institutions that the same rules should be
    imposed upon both monks and nuns, and that the weaker sex should bear
    the same monastic yoke as the stronger.”

Heloïse, having set this task for Abaelard, proceeds to show how the
various monastic _regulae_, from Benedict’s downward, failed to make
suitable provision for the habits and requirements and weaknesses of
women, the _regulae_ hitherto having been concerned with the weaknesses of
men. She enters upon matters of clothing and diet, and everything
concerning the lives of nuns. She writes as one learned in Scripture and
the writings of the Fathers, and sets the whole matter forth, in its
details, with admirable understanding of its intricacies. She concludes,
reminding Abaelard that it is for him in his lifetime to set a _regula_
for them to follow forever; after God, he is their founder. They might
thereafter have some teacher who would build in alien fashion; such a one
might have less care and understanding, and might not be as readily obeyed
as himself; it is for him to speak, and they will listen. _Vale._

The first of Heloïse’s letters is a great expression of a great love; in
the second, anguish drives the writer’s hand; in the third, she has gained
self-control; she suppresses her heart, and writes a letter which is
discursive and impersonal from the beginning to the little _Vale_ at the
end.

Abaelard returned a long epistle upon the Scriptural origin of the order
of nuns, and soon followed it with another, still longer, containing
instruction, advice, and rules for the nuns of the Paraclete. He also
wrote them a letter upon the study of Scripture. From this time forth he
proved his devotion to Heloïse and her nuns by the large body of writings
which he composed for their edification. Heloïse sent him a long list of
questions upon obscure phrases and knotty points of Scripture, which he
answered diligently in detail.[6] He then sent her a collection of hymns
written or “rearranged” by himself for the use of the nuns, accompanied by
a prefatory letter: “At thy prayers, my sister Heloïse, once dear to me in
the world, now most dear in Christ, I have composed what in Greek are
called hymns, and in Hebrew _tillim_.” He then explains why, yielding to
the requests of the nuns, he had written hymns, of which the Church had
such a store.

Next he composed for them a large volume of sermons, which he also sent
with a letter to Heloïse: “Having completed the book of hymns and
sequences, revered in Christ and loved sister Heloïse, I have hastened to
compose some sermons for your congregation; I have paid more attention to
the meaning than the language. But perhaps an unstudied style is well
suited to simple auditors. In composing and arranging these sermons I have
followed the order of Church festivals. Farewell in the Lord, servant of
His, once dear to me in the world, now most dear in Christ: in the flesh
then my wife, now my sister in the spirit and partner in our sacred
calling.”

At a subsequent period, when his opinions were condemned by the Council of
Sens, he sent to Heloïse a confession of faith. Shortly afterward his
stormy life found a last refuge in the monastery of Cluny. His closing
years (of peace?) are described in a letter to Heloïse from the good and
revered abbot, Peter the Venerable. He writes that he had received with
joy the letter which her affection had dictated,[7] and now took the first
opportunity to express his recognition of her affection and his reverence
for herself. He refers to her keenly prosecuted studies (so rare for
women) before taking the veil, and then to the glorious example of her
sage and holy life in the nun’s sacred calling--her victory over the proud
Prince of this World. His admiration for her was deep; his expression of
it was extreme. A learned, wise, and holy woman could not be praised more
ardently than Heloïse is praised by this good man. He had spoken of the
advantages his monastery would have derived from her presence, and then
continued:

    “But although God’s providence denied us this, it was granted us to
    enjoy the presence of him--who was yours--Master Peter Abaelard, a man
    always to be spoken of with honour as a true servant of Christ and a
    philosopher. The divine dispensation placed him in Cluny for his last
    years, and through him enriched our monastery with treasure richer
    than gold. No brief writing could do justice to his holy, humble, and
    devoted life among us. I have not seen his equal in humility of garb
    and manner. When in the crowd of our brethren I forced him to take a
    first place, in meanness of clothing he appeared as the last of all.
    Often I marvelled, as the monks walked past me, to see a man so great
    and famous thus despise and abase himself. He was abstemious in food
    and drink, refusing and condemning everything beyond the bare
    necessities. He was assiduous in study, frequent in prayer, always
    silent unless compelled to answer the question of some brother or
    expound sacred themes before us. He partook of the sacrament as often
    as possible. Truly his mind, his tongue, his act, taught and
    exemplified religion, philosophy, and learning. So he dwelt with us, a
    man simple and righteous, fearing God, turning from evil, consecrating
    to God the latter days of his life. At last, because of his bodily
    infirmities, I sent him to a quiet and salubrious retreat on the banks
    of the Saone. There he bent over his books, as long as his strength
    lasted, always praying, reading, writing, or dictating. In these
    sacred exercises, not sleeping but watching, he was found by the
    heavenly Visitor; who summoned him to the eternal wedding-feast not as
    a foolish but as a wise virgin, bearing his lamp filled with oil--the
    consciousness of a holy life. When he came to pay humanity’s last
    debt, his illness was brief. With holy devotion he made confession of
    the Catholic Faith, then of his sins. The brothers who were with him
    can testify how devoutly he received the viaticum of that last
    journey, and with what fervent faith he commended his body and soul to
    his Redeemer. Thus this master, Peter, completed his days. He who was
    known throughout the world by the fame of his teaching, entered the
    school of Him who said, ‘Learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of
    heart’; and continuing meek and lowly he passed to Him, as we may
    believe.

    “Venerable and dearest sister in the Lord, the man who was once joined
    to thee in the flesh, and then by the stronger chain of divine love,
    him in thy stead, or as another thee, the Lord holds in His bosom; and
    at the day of His coming, His grace will restore him to thee.”

The abbot afterwards visited the Paraclete, and on returning to Cluny
received this letter from the abbess:

    “God’s mercy visiting us, we have been visited by the favour of your
    graciousness. We are glad, kindest father, and we glory that your
    greatness condescended to our insignificance. A visit from you is an
    honour even to the great. The others may know the great benefit they
    received from the presence of your highness. I cannot tell in words,
    or even comprehend in thought, how beneficial and how sweet your
    coming was to me. You, our abbot and our lord, celebrated mass with us
    the sixteenth of the Calends of last December; you commended us to the
    Holy Spirit; you nourished us with the Divine Word;--you gave us the
    body of the master, and confirmed that gift from Cluny. To me also,
    unworthy to be your servant, though by word and letter you have called
    me sister, you gave as a pledge of sincere love the privilege of a
    Tricenarium, to be performed by the brethren of Cluny, after my death,
    for the benefit of my soul. You have promised to confirm this under
    your seal. May you fulfil this, my lord. Might it please you also to
    send to me that other sealed roll, containing the absolution of the
    master, that I may hang it on his tomb. Remember also, for the love of
    God, our--and your--Astralabius, to obtain for him a prebend from the
    bishop of Paris or another. Farewell. May God preserve you, and grant
    to us sometime your presence.”

The good abbot replied with a kind and affectionate letter, confirming his
gift of the Tricenarium, promising to do all he could for Astralabius, and
sending with his letter the record of Abaelard’s absolution, as follows:

    “I, Peter, Abbot of Cluny, who received Peter Abaelard to be a monk in
    Cluny, and granted his body, secretly transported, to the Abbess
    Heloïse and the nuns of the Paraclete, absolve him, in the performance
    of my office (_pro officio_) by the authority of the omnipotent God
    and all the saints, from all his sins.”

Abaelard died in the year 1142, aged sixty-three. Twenty-one years
afterward Heloïse died at the same age, and was buried in the same tomb
with him at the Paraclete:

  “Hoc tumulo abbatissa jacet prudens Heloïssa.”



CHAPTER XXVI

GERMAN CONSIDERATIONS: WALTHER VON DER VOGELWEIDE


A criticism of the world of feudalism, chivalry, and love may be had from
the impressions and temperamental reactions of a certain thinking atom
revolving in the same. The atom referred to was Walther von der
Vogelweide, a German, a knight, a Minnesinger, and a national poet whose
thoughts were moved by the instincts of his caste and race.

In language, temperament, and character, the Germans east of the Rhine
were Germans still in the thirteenth century. They had accepted, and even
vitally appropriated, Latin Christianity; those of them who were educated
had received a Latin education. Yet their natures, though somewhat
tempered, showed largely and distinctly German. Moreover, through the
centuries, they had acquired--or rather they had never lost--a national
antipathy toward those Roman papal well-springs of authority, which seemed
to suck back German gold and lands in return for spiritual assurance and
political betrayal.

A different and already mediaevalized element had also become part of
German culture, to wit, the matter of the French Arthurian romances and
the lyric fashions of Provence, which, working together, had captivated
modish German circles from the Rhine to the Danube. Nevertheless the
German character maintained itself in the _Minnelieder_ which followed
Provençal poetry, and in the _höfisch_ (courtly) epics which were palpable
translations from the French.[8] The distinguished group of German poets
whose lives fall around the year 1200, were as German as their language,
although they borrowed from abroad the form and matter of their
compositions.

There could be no better Germans than the two most thoughtful of this
group, Wolfram von Eschenbach and Walther von der Vogelweide. Most
Germanically the former wrestled with that ancient theme, “from suffering,
wisdom,” which he pressed into the tale of _Parzival_. His great poem,
achieved with toil and sweat, was mighty in its climaxes, and fit to
strengthen the hearts of those men who through sorrow and loneliness and
despair’s temptations were growing “slowly wise.”

The virtues which Wolfram praised and embodied in his hero were those
praised in the verses, and even, one may think, strugglingly exemplified
in the conduct, of Walther von der Vogelweide,[9] most famous of
Minnesingers, and a power in the German lands through his _Sprüche_, or
verses personal and political. Less is known of his life than of his whole
and manly views, his poetic fancies, his musings, his hopes, and great
depressions. Many places have claimed the honour of his birth, which took
place somewhat before 1170. He was poor, and through his youth and manhood
moved about from castle to castle, and from court to court, seeking to win
some recompense for his excellent verses and good company. Thus he learned
much of men, “climbing another’s stairs,” with his fellows, at the
Landgraf Hermann’s Wartburg, or at the Austrian ducal Court.

Walther’s _Sprüche_ render his moods most surely, and reflect his outlook
on the world. His charming _Minnelieder_ bear more conventional evidence.
The courtly German love-songs passing by this name were affected by the
conceits and conventions of the Provençal poetry upon which they were
modelled. A strong nature might use such with power, or break with their
influence. Walther made his own the high convention of trouvère and
troubadour, that love uplifts the lover’s being. Besides this, and besides
the lighter forms and phrases current in such poetry, his _Lieder_ carry
natural feeling, joy, and moral levity, according to the theme; they also
may express Walther’s convictions.

To take examples: Walther’s _Tagelied_[10] imitates the Provençal _alba_
(dawn), in which knight and truant lady bewail the coming of the light and
the parting which it brings. Far more joyous, and as immoral as one
pleases, is _Unter der Linde_, most famous of his songs. Marvellously it
gives the mood of love’s joy remembered--and anticipated too. The
immorality is complete (if we will be serious), and is rendered most
alluring by the utter gladness of the girl’s song--no repentance, no
regret; only joy and roguish laughter.

Walther was young, he was a knight and a Minnesinger; he had doubtless
loved, in this way! His love-songs have plenty to say of the red mouth,
good for kissing--I care not who knows it either. But he also realizes,
and greatly sings, the height and breadth and worth of love the true and
stable, the blessing and completion of two lives, which comes to a false
heart never.[11] He seems to feel it necessary to defend love for itself,
perhaps because _marriage_ was taken more seriously in this imitative
German literature than in the French and Provençal originals: “Who says
that love is sin, let him consider well. Many an honour dwells with her,
and troth and happiness. If one does ill to the other, love is grieved. I
do not mean false love; that were better named un-love. No friend of that,
am I.” But his thoughts turn quickly to love as a lasting union: “He happy
man, she happy woman, whose hearts are to each other true; both lives
increased in price and worth; blessed their years and all their days.”[12]

Giving play to his caustic temper, Walther puts scorn upon the light of
love: “Fool he who cannot understand what joy and good, love brings. But
the light man is ever pleased with light things, as is fit!”[13] This
Minnesinger applied most earnest standards to life; lofty his praise of
the qualities of womanhood, which are better than beauty or riches:
“woman” is a higher word than “lady”[14]--it took a German to say this.
“He who carries hidden sorrow in his heart, let him think upon a good
woman--he is freed.”[15] With a burst of patriotism, in one of his
greatest poems Walther praises German women as the best in all the
world.[16]

But even in the _Minnelieder_, Walther has his despondencies. One of the
most definite, and possibly conventional, was regret for love’s labour
lost, and the days of youth spent in service of an ungracious fair. The
poet wonders how it is that he who has helped other men is tongue-tied
before his lady. Again, his reflections broaden from thoughts of
unresponsive fair ones to a conviction of life’s thanklessness. “I have
well served the World (_Frau Welt_, Society), and gladly would serve her
more, but for her evil thanks and her way of preferring fools to me....
Come, World, give me better greeting--the loss is not all mine.” He knows
his good unbending temper which will not endure to hear ill spoken of the
upright. But he thinks, what is the use? why speak so sweetly, why sing,
when virtue and beauty are so lightly held, and every one does evil,
fearing nought? The verse which carries these reflections is tossing in
the squally haven of Society; soon the poet will encounter the wild sea
without. Still from the windy harbour comes one grand lament over art’s
decline: “The worst songs please, frogs’ voices! Oh, I laugh from anger!
Lady World, no score of mine is on your devil’s slate. Many a life of man
and woman have I made glad--might I so have gladdened mine! Here, I make
my Will, and bequeath my goods--to the envious my ill-luck, my sorrows to
the liars, my follies to false lovers, and to the ladies my heart’s
pain.”[17] He makes a solemn offering of his poems: “Good women, worthy
men, a loving greeting is my due. Forty years have I sung fittingly of
love; and now, take my songs which gladden, as my gift to you. Your favour
be my return. And with my staff I will fare on, still wooing worth with
undisheartened work, as from my childhood. So shall I be, in lowly lot,
one of the Noble--for me enough.”

To relish Walther’s love-songs, one need not know whether she was dark or
fair, kept forest-tryst or listened by some castle’s hearth, or in what
German land that castle stood. Likewise in his _Sprüche_, which have other
bearing, the roll of his protesting voice carries the universal human. To
comprehend them it were well to know that life was then as now niggardly
in rewarding virtue; beyond this, one needs to have the type-idea of the
Empire and the Papacy, those two powers which were set, somewhat
antagonistically, on the decree of God; both claiming the world’s
headship; the one, Roman in tradition, but in strength and temper German,
and of this world decidedly. The other, Roman in the genius of its
organization, and Christian in its subordination of the life below to the
life to come, if not in the methods of establishing this consummation;
Christian too, but more especially mediaeval, in its formal disdain for
whatever belonged to earth. In Germany these two partial opposites were
further antagonized, since the native resources recoiled from the foreign
drain upon them, and the struggling patriotism of a broken land resented
the pressure of a state within and above the state of duke and king and
emperor.

In Walther’s time Innocent III. swayed the nations from Peter’s throne.
Just before Innocent’s accession, Germany’s able emperor, Henry VI., died
suddenly in Sicily (September 1197), leaving an heir not two years old.
The queen-mother, dying the next year, bequeathed this child, Frederick,
to the paternal care of Innocent, his feudal as well as ghostly lord,
since the queen, for herself and child, had accepted the Pope as the
feudal suzerain of their kingdom of Sicily. In Germany (using that name
loosely and broadly) Philip Hohenstauffen, Henry’s brother and Duke of
Suabia, claimed the throne. His unequal opponent was Otto of Brunswick, of
the ever-rebellious house of Henry the Lion. The Pope opposed the
Hohenstauffen; but was obliged to acknowledge him when the course of the
ten years of wasting civil war in Germany decided in his
favour--whereupon, alack! Philip was murdered (1207). Quickly the Pope
turned back to Otto; but the latter, after he had been crowned king and
emperor, became intolerable to Innocent through the compulsion of his
position as the head of an empire inherently hostile to the papacy. To
thwart him Innocent set up his own ward, Frederick. Soon this precocious
youth began to make head against pope-forsaken Otto; and then the
excommunicated emperor was overthrown in 1214 by Philip Augustus of
France, who had intervened in Frederick’s favour. So Otto passed away,
and, some time after, Frederick was crowned German king at
Aix-la-Chapelle.[18] In the meanwhile Innocent died (1216), and amity
followed between Frederick and the gentle Honorius III., who crowned
Frederick emperor at Rome in 1220. This peace ended quickly when the
sterner Gregory IX. ascended the papal throne on the death of Honorius in
1227.

Walther’s life extended through these events. Though apparently changing
sides under the stress of his necessities, he was patriotically German to
the end. First he clave to the Hohenstauffen, Philip, as the true upholder
of German interests against Otto and the Pope. On Philip’s death, he
turned to Otto; but with all the world left him at last for Frederick. It
is known that Walther, an easily angered man, felt himself ill-used by
Otto and justified in turning to the open-handed Frederick, who finally
gave him a small fief. To the last, Walther upheld him as Germany’s
sovereign. Probably the poet died in the year 1228, just as Gregory was
succeeding Honorius, and the death-struggle of the Empire with the Papacy
was opening.

With no light heart, as well may be imagined, had Walther looked about him
on the death of the emperor Henry in 1197. “I sat upon a rock, crossed
knee on knee, and with elbow so supported, chin on hand I leaned.
Anxiously I pondered. I could see no way to win gain without loss. Honour
and riches do not go hand in hand, both of less value than God’s favour.
Would I have them all? Alas! riches and worldly honour and God’s favour
come not within the closure of one heart’s wishes. The ways are barred;
perfidy lurks in secret, and might walks the highroads. Peace and law are
wounded.”[19]

The personal dilemma of the poet with his fortune to make, but desirous of
doing right, mirrors the desperate situation of the State: “Woe is thee,
German tongue; ill stand thy order and thy honour!--I hear the lies of
Rome betraying two kings!” And in verses of wrath Walther inveighs against
the Pope. The sweeping nature of his denunciation raises the question
whether he merely attacked the supposed treachery of the reigning pope, or
was opposed to the papacy as an institution hostile to the German nation.

The answer is not clear. Mediaeval denunciations of the Church range from
indictments of particular abuses, on through more general invectives, to
the clear protests of heretics impugning the ecclesiastical system. It is
not always easy to ascertain the speaker’s meaning. Usually the abuse and
not the system is attacked. Hostility to the latter, however sweeping the
language of satirist or preacher, is not lightly to be inferred. The
invectives of St. Bernard and Damiani are very broad; but where had the
Church more devoted sons? Even the satirists composing in Old French
rarely intended an assault upon her spiritual authority. It would seem as
if, at least in the Romance countries, one must look for such hostility to
heretical circles, the Waldenses for example. And from the orthodox
mediaeval standpoint, this was their most accursed heresy.

It would have been hard for any German to use broader language than some
of the French satirists and Latin castigators. If there was a difference,
it must be sought in the specific matter of the German disapproval viewed
in connection with the political situation. Was a position ever taken
incompatible with the Church’s absolute spiritual authority? or one
intrinsically irreconcilable with the secular power of the papacy? At any
time, in any country, papal claims might become irreconcilable with the
royal prerogative--as William the Conqueror had held those of Gregory VII.
in England, and as, two centuries afterwards, Philip the Fair was to hold
those of Boniface VIII. in France. But in neither case was there such
sheer and fundamental antagonism as men felt to exist between the Empire
and the Papacy. Perhaps it was possible in the early thirteenth century
for a German whose whole heart was on the German side to dispute even the
sacerdotal principle of papal authority. It is hard to judge otherwise of
Freidank, the very German composer or collector of trenchant sayings in
the early thirteenth century. Many of these sneer at Rome and the Pope,
and some of them strike the gist of the matter: “Sunde nieman mac vergeben
wan Got alein” (“God alone can forgive sins”). This is the direct
statement; he gives its scornful converse: “Could the Pope absolve me from
my oaths and duties, I’d let other sureties go and fasten to him
alone.”[20] Such words mean denial of the Church’s authority to forgive,
and the Pope’s to grant absolution from oaths of allegiance. Freidank is
very near rejecting the principles of the ecclesiastical system.

Walther, Freidank’s contemporary, is more picturesque: “King Constantine,
he gave so much--as I will tell you--to the Chair of Rome: spear, cross,
and crown. At once the angels cried: ‘Alas! Alas! Alas! Christendom before
stood crowned with righteousness. Now is poison fallen on her, and her
honey turned to gall--sad for the world henceforth!’ To-day the princes
all live in honour; only their highest languishes--so works the priest’s
election. Be that denounced to thee, sweet God! The priests would upset
laymen’s rights: true is the angels’ prophecy.”[21]

On Constantine’s apocryphal gift, symbolized by the emblems of Christ’s
passion, rested the secular authority of the popes, which Walther laments
with the angels. “The Chair of Rome was first set up by Sorcerer Gerbert!
[Queer history this, but we see what he means.] He destroyed his own soul
only; but this one would bring down Christendom with him to perdition.
When will all tongues call Heaven to arms, and ask God how long He will
sleep? They bring to nought His work, distort His Word. His steward steals
His treasure; His judge robs here and murders there; His shepherd has
become a wolf among His sheep.”[22] The clergy point their fingers
heavenward while they travel fast to hell.[23] How laughs the Pope at us,
when at home with his Italians, at the way he empties our German pockets
into his “poor boxes.”[24] Walther’s hatred of the foreign Pope is roused
at every point. And at last, in a _Spruch_ full of implied meaning, he
declares that Christ’s word as to the tribute money meant that the emperor
should receive his royal due.[25]

These utterances, considered in the light of the political and racial
situation, seem to deny, at least implicitly, the secular power of the
papacy. Yet in matters of religion Walther apparently was entirely
orthodox, and a pious Christian. He has left a sweet prayer to Christ,
with ample recognition of the angels and the saints, and a beautiful verse
of penitent contrition, in which he confesses his sins to God very
directly--how that he does the wrong, and leaves the right, and fails in
love of neighbour. “Father, Son, may thy Spirit lighten mine; how may I
love him who does me ill? Ever dear to me is he who treats me well!”[26]
Walther’s questing spirit also pondered over God’s greatness and
incomprehensibility.[27] His open mind is shown by the famous line: “Him
(God) Christians, Jews, and heathen serve,”[28] a breadth of view shared
by his friend Wolfram von Eschenbach, who speaks of the chaste virtue of a
heathen lady as equal to baptism.[29]

The personal lot of this proud heart was not an easy one; homelessness
broke him down, and the bitterness of eating others’ bread. Too well had
he learned of the world and all its changing ways, and how poor becomes
the soul that follows them. Mortality is a trite sorrow; there are worse:
“We all complain that the old die and pass away; rather let us lament
taints of another hue, that troth and seemliness and honour are
dead.”[30] At the last Walther’s grey memory of life and his vainly
yearning hope took form in a great elegy. After long years he seemed, with
heavy steps, and leaning on his wanderer’s staff, to be returning to a
home which was changed forever: “Alas! whither are they vanished, my many
years! Did I dream my life, or is it real? what I once deemed it, was it
that? And now I wake, and all the things and people once familiar,
strange! My playmates, dull and old! And the fields changed; only that the
streams still flow as then they flowed, my heart would break with thinking
on the glad days, vanished in the sea. And the young people! slow and
mirthless! and the knights go clad as peasants! Ah! Rome! thy ban! Our
groans have stilled the song of birds. Fool I, to speak and so
despair,--and the earth looks fair! Up knights again: your swords, your
armour! would to God I might fare with your victor band, and gain my pay
too--not in lands of earth! Oh! might I win the eternal crown from that
sweet voyage beyond the sea, then would I sing O joy! and never more,
alas--never more, alas.”[31]



BOOK V

SYMBOLISM



CHAPTER XXVII

SCRIPTURAL ALLEGORIES IN THE EARLY MIDDLE AGES; HONORIUS OF AUTUN


Words, pictures, and other vehicles of expression are symbols of whatever
they are intended to designate. A certain unavoidable symbolism also
inheres in human mental processes; for the mind in knowing “turns itself
to images,” as Aquinas says following Aristotle; and every statement or
formulation is a casting together of data in some presentable and
representative form. An example is the Apostles’ Creed, called also by
this very name of Symbol, being a casting together, an elementary formula,
of the essentials of the Christian Faith. In the same sense the “law of
gravitation” or a moral precept is a deduction, induction, or gathering
together into a representative symbol, of otherwise unassembled and
uncorrelated experience. In the present and following chapters, however,
the term symbol will be used in its common acceptation to indicate a
thing, an act, or a word invested with an adventitious representative
significance. All statements or expressions (through language or by means
of pictures) which are intended to carry, besides their palpable meaning,
another which is veiled and more spiritual, are symbolical or figurative,
and more specifically are called allegories.[32]

These devices of the mind have a history as old as humanity. From
inscrutable beginnings, in time they become recognized as makeshifts; yet
they remain prone to enter new stages of confusion. The mind seeking to
express the transcendental, avails itself of symbols. All religions have
teemed with them, in their primitive phases scarcely distinguishing
between symbol and fact; then a difference becomes evident to
clearer-minded men, while perhaps at the same time others are elaborately
maintaining that the symbol magically is, or brings to pass, that which it
represents. Such obscuring mysticism existed not merely in confused Egypt
and Brahminical India, but everywhere--in antique Greece and Rome, and
then afterwards through the times of the Christian Church Fathers and the
entire Middle Ages. Fact and symbol are seen constantly closing together
and becoming each other like the serpent-souls in the twenty-fifth canto
of Dante’s _Inferno_.

Allegory properly speaking, which involves a conscious and sustained
effort to invest concrete or material statements with more general or
spiritual meaning, played an interesting rôle in epochs antecedent to the
patristic and mediaeval periods. Even before Plato’s time the personal
myths of the gods shocked the Greek ethical intellect, which thereupon
proceeded to convert them into allegories. Greek allegorical
interpretation of ancient myth was apologetic to both the critical mind
and the moral sense.

With Philo, the Hellenizing Jew of Alexandria, whose philosophy revolted
from the literal text of Genesis, the motive for allegorical
interpretation was similar. But the document before him was most unlike
the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_. Genesis contained no palpably immoral stories
of Jehovah to be explained away. Its account of divine creation and human
beginnings merely needed to be invested with further ethical meaning. So
Philo made cardinal virtues of the four rivers of Eden, and through like
allegorical conceits transformed the Book of Genesis into a system of
Hellenistic ethics. Not cosmogonic myths, but moral meanings, he had
discovered in his document.

Advancing along the path which Philo found, Christian allegorical
interpretation undertook to substantiate the validity of the Gospel. To
this end it fixed special symbolical meanings upon the Old Testament
narratives, so as to make them into prefigurative testimonies to the truth
of Christian teachings.[33] Allegory was also called on to justify, as
against educated pagans, certain acts of that heroic but peccant “type” of
Christ, David, the son of Jesse. Such special apologetic needs hardly
affected the allegorical interpretation of the Gospel itself, which began
at an early day, and from the first was spiritual and anagogic, constantly
straining on to educe further salutary meaning from the text.

The Greek and Latin Church Fathers created the mass of doctrine, including
Scriptural interpretation,[34] upon which mediaeval theologians were to
expend their systematizing and reconstructive labours. Through the Middle
Ages, the course of allegory and symbolism strikingly illustrates the
mediaeval way of using the patristic heritage--first painfully learning
it, then making it their own, and at last creating by means of that which
they had organically appropriated. Allegory and symbolism were to impress
the Middle Ages as perhaps no other element of their inheritance. The
mediaeval man thought and felt in symbols, and the sequence of his thought
moved as frequently from symbol to symbol as from fact to fact.

The allegorical faculty with the Fathers was dogmatic and theological;
ingenious in devising useful interpretations, but oblivious to all
reasonable propriety in the meaning which it twisted into the text:
controversial necessities readily overrode the rational and moral
requirements of the “historical” or “literal” meaning. For the deeply
realized allegorical significance was a law unto itself. These
characteristics of patristic allegory passed over to the Middle Ages,
which in the course of time were to impress human qualities upon the
patristic material.

The Bathsheba and Uriah episode in the life of David was of course taken
allegorically, and affords a curious example of a patristic interpretation
originating in the exigencies of controversy, and then becoming
authoritative for later periods when the echoes of the old controversy had
long been silent. Augustine was called upon to answer the book of the
clever Manichaean, Faustus, the stress of whose attacks was directed
against the Old Testament. Faustus declared that he did not blaspheme “the
law and the prophets,” but rejected merely the special Hebrew customs and
the vile calumnies of the Old Testament writers, imputing shameful acts to
prophets and patriarchs. In his list of shocking narratives to be
rejected, was the story “that David after having had such a number of
wives, defiled the little woman of Uriah his soldier, and caused him to be
slain in battle.”[35]

Augustine responds with a general exclamation at the Manichaean’s failure
to understand the sacramental symbols (_sacramenta_) of the Law and the
deeds of the prophets. He then speaks of certain Old Testament statements
regarding God and His demands, and proceeds to consider the nature of sin
and the questionable deeds of the prophets. Some of the reprehended deeds
he justifies, as, for instance, Abraham’s intercourse with Hagar and his
deceit in telling Abimelech that Sara was his sister when she was his
wife. He also declares that Sara typifies the Church, which is the secret
spouse of Christ. Proceeding further, he does not justify, but palliates,
the conduct of Lot and his daughters, and then introduces its typological
significance. At length he comes to David. First he gives a noble estimate
of David’s character, his righteousness, his liability to sin, and his
quick penitence.[36] Afterwards he considers, briefly as he says, what
David’s sin with Bathsheba signifies prophetically.[37] The passage may be
given to show what a mixture of banality and disregard of moral propriety
in drawing analogies might emanate from the best mind among the Latin
Fathers, and be repeated by later transitional and mediaeval commentators.

    “The names themselves when interpreted indicate what this deed
    prefigured. David is interpreted ‘Strong of hand’ or ‘Desirable.’ And
    what is stronger than that Lion of the tribe of Judah that overcame
    the world? and what is more desirable than him of whom the prophet
    says: ‘The desired of all nations shall come’ (Hag. ii. 7)? Bathsheba
    means ‘well of satiety,’ or ‘seventh well.’ Whichever of these
    interpretations we adopt will suit. For in Canticles the Bride who is
    the Church is called a well of living water (Cant. iv. 15); and to
    this well the name of the seventh number is joined in the sense of
    Holy Spirit; and this because of Pentecost (the fiftieth), the day on
    which the Holy Spirit came. For that same festival is of the weeks
    (_de septimanis constare_) as the Book of Tobit testifies. Then to
    forty-nine, which is seven times seven, one is added, whereby unity is
    commended. By this spiritual, that is ‘Seven-natured’ (_septenario_)
    gift the Church is made a well of satiety; because there is made in
    her a well of living water springing up unto everlasting life, which
    whoso has shall never thirst (John iv. 14). Uriah, indeed, who had
    been her husband, what but devil does his name signify? In whose
    vilest wedlock all those were bound whom the grace of God sets free,
    that the Church without spot or wrinkle may be married to her own
    Saviour. For Uriah is interpreted, ‘My light of God’; and Hittite
    means ‘cut off,’ or he who does not stand in truth, but by the guilt
    of pride is cut off from the supernal light which he had from God; or
    it means, he who in falling away from his true strength which was
    lost, nevertheless fashioneth himself into an angel of light (2 Cor.
    xi. 14), daring to say: ‘My light is of God.’ Therefore this David
    gravely and wickedly sinned; and God rebuked his crime through the
    prophet with a threat; and he himself washed it away by repenting. Yet
    likewise He, the desired of all nations, was enamoured of the Church
    bathing upon the roof, that is cleansing herself from the filth of the
    world, and in spiritual contemplation surmounting and trampling on her
    house of clay; and knowledge of her having been had at their first
    meeting, He afterwards killed the devil, apart from her, and joined
    her to himself in perpetual marriage. Therefore we hate the sin but
    will not quench the prophecy. Let us love that (_illum_) David, who is
    so greatly to be loved, who through mercy freed us from the devil; and
    let us also love that (_istum_) David who by the humility of penitence
    healed in himself so deep a wound of sin.”[38]

Augustine’s interpretation of the story of David and Bathsheba was
embodied verbatim in a work upon the Old Testament by Isidore of
Seville.[39] The voluminous commentator Rabanus Maurus took the same, also
verbatim, either from Isidore or Augustine.[40] His pupil, Walafrid
Strabo, in his famous _Glossa ordinaria_, cited, probably from Rabanus,
the first part of the passage as far as the reference to the well of
living water from John’s Gospel. He abridged the matter somewhat, thus
showing the smoothing compiler’s art which was to bring his _Glossa
ordinaria_ into such general use. Walafrid omitted the lines declaring
that Uriah signified the devil. He did cite, however, again probably from
Rabanus, part of a long passage, taken by Rabanus from Gregory the Great,
where Bathsheba is declared to be the letter of the Law, united to a
carnal people, which David (Christ) joins to himself in a spiritual sense.
Uriah is that carnal people, to wit, the Jews.[41]

Thus far as to the comments on the narrative from the eleventh chapter of
the Second Book of Samuel, otherwise called the Second Book of Kings. When
Rabanus came to explain the sixth verse of the first chapter of
Matthew--“And David begat Solomon from her who was the wife of Uriah”--he
said: “Uriah indeed, that is interpreted ‘My light of God,’ signifies the
devil, who fashions himself into an angel of light, daring to say to God:
‘My light of God,’ and ‘I will be like unto the Most High’ (Isaiah
xiv.).”[42] Here pupil Walafrid follows his master, but adds: “Whose
bewedded Church Christ became enamoured of from the terrace of His
paternal majesty and joined her, made beautiful, to himself in
matrimony.”[43]

With Rabanus and Walafrid, as with Isidore and the Venerable Bede who were
the links between these Carolingians and the Fathers, the interest in
Scripture relates to its allegorical significance. Unmindful of the
obvious and literal meaning of the text, they were unabashed by the
incongruity of their allegorical interpretations.[44] Rabanus, for
instance, had unbounded enthusiasm for Exodus, because of its rich
symbolism:

    “Among the Scriptures embraced in the Pentateuch of the Law, the Book
    of Exodus excels in merit; in it almost all the sacraments by which
    the present Church is founded, nourished, and ruled, are figuratively
    set forth. For there, through the corporeal exit of the children of
    Israel from the terrestrial Egypt, our exit from the spiritual Egypt
    is made clear. There again, through the crossing of the Red Sea and
    the submersion of Pharaoh and the Egyptians, the mystery of Baptism
    and the destruction of spiritual enemies are figured. There the
    immolation of the typifying lamb and the celebration of the Passover
    suggest the passion of the true Lamb and our redemption. There manna
    from heaven and drink from a rock are given in order to teach us to
    desire the heavenly bread and the drink of life. There precepts and
    judgments are delivered to the people of God upon a mountain in order
    that we may learn to be subject to supernal discipline. There the
    construction of the tabernacle and its vessels is ordered to take
    place with worship and sacrifices, that therein the adornment of the
    marvellous Church and the rites of spiritual sacrifices may be
    indicated. There the perfumes of incense and anointment are prepared,
    in order that the sanctification of the Holy Spirit and the mystery of
    sacred prayers may be commended to us.”[45]

The same commentator compiled a dictionary of allegories entitled
_Allegoriae in universam sacram scripturam_,[46] saying in his lumbering
Preface:

    “Whoever desires to arrive at an understanding of Holy Scripture
    should consider when he should take the narrative historically, when
    allegorically, when anagogically, and when tropologically. For these
    four ways of understanding, to wit, history, allegory, tropology,
    anagogy, we call the four daughters of wisdom, who cannot fully be
    searched out without a prior knowledge of these. Through them Mother
    Wisdom feeds her adopted children, giving to tender beginners drink in
    the milk of history; to those advancing in faith, the food of
    allegory; to the strenuous and sweating doers of good works, satiety
    in the savoury refection of tropology; and finally, to those raised
    from the depths through contempt of the earthly and through heavenly
    desire progressing towards the summit, the sober intoxication of
    theoretical contemplation in the wine of anagogy.... History, through
    the ensample which it gives of perfect men, incites the reader to the
    imitation of holiness; allegory, in the revelation of faith, leads to
    a knowledge of truth; tropology, in the instruction of morals, to a
    love of virtue; anagogy, in the display of everlasting joys, to a
    desire of eternal felicity. In the house of our soul, history lays the
    foundation, allegory erects the walls, anagogy puts on the roof, while
    tropology provides ornament, within through the disposition, without
    through the effect of the good work.”[47]

This work, alphabetically arranged, gave the allegorical significations of
words used in the Vulgate, with examples; for instance:

    “_Ager_ (field) is the world, as in the Gospel: ‘To the man who sowed
    good seed in his field,’ that is to Christ, who sows preaching through
    the world.

    “_Amicus_ (friend) is Christ, as in Canticles: ‘He is my friend,
    daughters of Jerusalem,’ for He loved His Church so much that He would
    die for her....

    “_Ancilla_ (handmaid) is the Church, as in the Psalms: ‘Make safe the
    son of thine handmaid,’ that is me, who am a member of the Church.
    _Ancilla_, corruptible flesh, as in Genesis: ‘Cast out the handmaid
    and her son,’ that is, despise the flesh and its carnal fruit.
    _Ancilla_, preachers of the Church, as in Job: ‘He will bind her with
    his handmaids,’[48] because the Lord through His preachers conquered
    the devil. _Ancilla_, the effeminate minds of the Jews, as in Job:
    ‘Thy handmaids hold me as a stranger,’ because the effeminate minds of
    the Jews knew me through faith.[49] _Ancilla_, the lowly, as in
    Genesis, ‘and meal for his handmaids,’ because Holy Church affords
    spiritual refection to the lowly.

    “_Aqua_ is the Holy Spirit, Christ, subtle wisdom, loquacity, temporal
    greed, baptism, the hidden speech of the prophets, the holy preaching
    of Christ, compunction, temporal prosperity, adversity, human
    knowledge, this world’s wealth, the literal meaning carnal pleasure,
    eternal reflection, holy angels, souls of the blessed, saints,
    humility’s lament, the devotions of the saints, sins of the elect
    which God condones, knowledge of the heretics, persecutions, unstable
    thoughts, the blandishments of temptations, the pleasures of the
    wicked, the punishments of hell.

    “_Mons_, mountain (in the singular) the Virgin Mary, _montes_ (in the
    plural) angels, apostles, sublime precepts, the two Testaments, inner
    meditations, proud men, the Gentiles, evil spirits.”[50]

Thus Rabanus dragged into his compilation every meaning that had ever been
ascribed to the words defined. In him and his contemporaries, the
allegorical material, apart from its utility for salvation, seems void of
human interest or poetic quality, as yet unstirred by a breath of life.
That was to enter, as allegory and all manner of symbolism began to form
the temper of mediaeval thought, and became a chosen vessel of the
mediaeval spirit in poetry and art. The vital change had taken place
before the twelfth century had turned its first quarter.[51]

There flourished at this time a worthy monk named Honorius of Autun, also
called “the Solitary.” It has been argued, and vehemently contradicted,
that he was of German birth. At all events, monk he was and teacher at
Autun. Those about him sought his instruction, and also requested him to
put his discourses into writing for their use; their request reads as if
at that time Honorius had retired from among them.[52] This is all that is
known of the man who composed the most popular handbook of sermons in the
Middle Ages. It was called the _Speculum ecclesiae_. Honorius may never
have preached these sermons; but still his book exists with sermons for
Sundays, saints’ days, and other Church festivals; a sermon also to be
preached at Church dedications, and one “sermo generalis,” very useful,
since it touched up all orders of society in succession, and a preacher
might take or omit according to his audience. Before beginning, the
preacher is directed to make the sign of the cross and invoke the Holy
Spirit: he is admonished first to pronounce his text of Scripture in the
Latin tongue, and then expound it in the vernacular;[53] he is instructed
as to what portions of certain sermons should be used under special
circumstances, and what parts he may omit in winter when the church is
cold, or when in summer it is too hot; or this is left quite to his
discretion: “Here make an end if you wish; but if time permits, continue
thus.”

Most of these sermons are short, and contain much excellent moral advice
put simply and directly. They also make constant use of allegory, and
evidently Honorius’s chief care in their composition was to expound his
text allegorically and point the allegory’s application to the needs of
his supposed audience. Neither he nor any man of his time devised many
novel allegorical interpretations; but the old ones had at length become
part of the mediaeval spirit and the regular means of apprehending the
force and meaning of Scripture. Consequently Honorius handles his
allegories more easily, and makes a more natural human application of
them, than Rabanus or Walafrid had done. Sometimes the allegory seems to
ignore the moral lesson of the literal facts; but while a smile may escape
us in reading Honorius, the allegories in his sermons are rarely strained
and shocking, likewise rarely dull. A general point from which he regards
the narratives and institutions of the Old Testament is summed up in his
statement, that for us Christ turned all provisions of the law into
spiritual sacraments.[54] The whole Old Testament has pre-figurative
significance and spiritual meaning; and likewise every narrative in the
Gospels is spiritual.

Two or three examples will illustrate Honorius’s edifying way of using
allegory. His sermon for the eleventh Sunday after Pentecost is typical of
his manner. The text is from the thirty-first[55] Psalm: “Blessed is the
man to whom the Lord will not impute sin.” Opening with an exhortation to
penitence and tears and almsgiving, the preacher turns to the
self-righteous “whose obstinacy the Lord curbs in the Gospel for the day,
telling how two went up into the temple to pray, the one a Pharisee, to
wit, one of the Jewish clergy, the other a Publican.” After proceeding for
a while with sound and obvious comment on the situation, Honorius says:

    “By the two men who went up into the temple to pray, two peoples, the
    Jewish and the Gentile, are meant. The Pharisee who went close to the
    altar is the Jewish people, who possessed the Sanctuary and the Ark.
    He tells aloud his merits in the temple, because in the world he
    boasts of his observance of the law.

    “The Publican who stands afar off is the Gentile people, who were far
    off from the worship of God. He did not lift up his eyes to heaven,
    because the Gentile was agape at the things of earth. He beat his
    breast when he bewailed his error through penitence; and because he
    humbled himself in confession, God exalted him through pardon. Let us
    also, beloved, thus stand afar off, deeming ourselves unworthy of the
    holy sacraments and the companionship of the saints. Let us not lift
    up our eyes to heaven, but deem ourselves unworthy of it. Let us beat
    our breasts and punish our misdeeds with tears. Let us fall prostrate
    before God; and let us weep in the presence of the Lord who made us,
    so that He may turn our lament to joy, rend asunder our garb of
    mourning, and clothe us with happiness.”

Honorius lingers a moment with some further exhortations suggested by his
parable, and then turns to the edification to be found in fables wisely
composed by profane writers. Let not the congregation be scandalized; for
the children of Israel despoiled the Egyptians of gold and gems and
precious vesture, which they afterwards devoted to completing the
tabernacle. Pious Christians spoil the Egyptians when they turn profane
studies to spiritual account. The philosophers tell of a woman bound to a
revolving wheel, her head now up now down. The wheel is this world’s
glory, and the woman is that fortune which depends on it. Again, they tell
of one who tries to roll a stone to the top of a mountain; but, near the
top, it hurls the wretch prostrate with its weight and crashes back to the
bottom; and again, of one whose liver is eaten by a vulture, and, when
consumed, grows again. The man who pushes up the stone is he who
toilsomely amasses dignities, to be plunged by them to hell; and he of the
liver is the man upon whose heart lust feeds. From that pest, they say,
Medusa sprang, with noble form exciting many to lust, but with her look
turning them to stone. She is wantonness, who turns to stone the hearts of
the lewd through their lustful pleasure. Perseus slew her, covering
himself with his crystalline shield; for the strong man, gazing into
virtue’s mirror, averts his heart’s countenance (_i.e._ from wantonness).
The sword with which he kills her is the fear of everlasting fire.

Then, continues Honorius, we read of a boy brought up by one of the
Fathers in a hermitage; but as he grew to youth he was tickled with lust.
The Father commanded him to go alone into the desert and pass forty days
in fasting and prayer. When some twenty days had passed, there appeared a
naked woman foul and stinking, who thrust herself upon him, and he, unable
to endure her stench, began to repel her. At which she asked: “Why do you
shudder at the sight of me for whom you burned? I am the image of lust,
which appears sweet to men’s hearts. If you had not obeyed the Father, you
would have been overthrown by me as others have been.” So he thanked God
for snatching him from the spirit of fornication. Many other examples lead
us to the path of life.

Honorius closes with the story of the “Three Fools,” observed by a certain
Father: the first an Ethiopian who was unable to move a faggot of wood,
which he would continually unbind and make still heavier by adding further
sticks; the second, a man pouring water into a vase which had no bottom;
and, thirdly, the two men who came bearing before them crosswise a beam of
wood; as they neared the city gate neither would let the other precede him
even a little, and so both remained without. The Ethiopian who adds to his
insupportable faggot is he who continually increases his weight of sin,
adding new sins to old ones unrepented of; he who pours water into the
vase with no bottom is he who by his uncleanness loses the merit of his
good acts; and the two who bear the beam crosswise are those bound by the
yoke of Pride.[56]

Such are good examples of the queer stories to which preachers resorted.
One notices that whatever be the source from which Honorius draws, his
interest is always in the allegory found in the narratives. Another very
apt example of his manner is his treatment of the story of the Good
Samaritan, so often depicted on Gothic church windows. For us this parable
carries an exhaustless wealth of direct application in human life; it was
regarded very differently by Honorius and the glass painters, whose
windows are a pictorial transcription of the first half of his
sermon.[57]

“Blessed is the man who walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly”--this
is the text; and Honorius proceeds:

    “Adam was the unhappy man who through the counsel of the wicked
    departed from his native land of Paradise and dragged all his
    descendants into this exile. He thus stood in the way of sinners,
    because he remained stable in sin. He sat ‘in the seat of the
    scornful,’ because by evil example he taught others to sin. But Christ
    arose, the blessed man who walketh in the counsel of the Father from
    the hall of heaven into prison after the lost servant. He did not walk
    in the counsel of the ungodly when the devil showed Him all the
    kingdoms of the world; He did not stand in the way of sinners, because
    He committed no sin; He did not sit in the seat of the scornful, since
    neither by word nor deed did He teach evil. Thus as that unhappy man
    drew all his carnal children into death, this blessed man brought all
    His sons to life. As He himself sets forth in the Gospel: ‘A certain
    man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and robbers attacked and
    wounded him, stripped him and went away. And by chance there came that
    way a certain priest, who seeing him half-dead, crossed to the other
    side. Likewise a Levite passed by when he had seen him. But a
    Samaritan coming that same way, had compassion on the poor wretch,
    bound up his wounds and poured in oil and wine, and setting him on his
    own beast, brought him to an inn. The next day he gave the innkeeper
    two pence and asked that he care for him, and if more was needed He
    promised to repay the innkeeper on His return.’

    “Surely man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho when our first parent
    from the joys of Paradise entered death’s eclipse. For Jericho, which
    means moon, designates the eclipse of our mortality. Whereby man fell
    among thieves, since a swarm of demons at once surrounded the exile.
    Wherefore also they despoiled him, since they stripped him of the
    riches of Paradise and the garment of immortality. They gave him
    wounds, for sins flowed in upon him. They left him half-dead, because
    dead in soul. The priest passed down the same way, as the Order of
    Patriarchs proceeded along the path of mortality. The priest left him
    wounded, having no power to aid the human race while himself sore
    wounded with sins. The Levite went that way, inasmuch as the Order of
    Prophets also had to tread the path of death. He too passed by the
    wounded man, because he could bear no human aid to the lost while
    himself groaning under the wounds of sin. The wretch half-dead was
    healed by the Samaritan, for the man set apart through Christ is made
    whole.

    “Samaria was the chief city of the Israelitish kingdom whose chiefs
    were led away to idolatry in Nineveh, and Gentiles were placed in her.
    The Jews abhorred their fellowship, making them a byword of
    malediction. So when reviling the Lord, they called Him a Samaritan.
    The Lord was the true Samaritan, being called guardian (_custos_)
    since the human race is guarded by Him. He went down this way when
    from heaven He came into this world. He saw the wounded traveller,
    inasmuch as He saw man held in misery and sin. He was moved with
    compassion for him, since for man He undergoes all pains. Approaching,
    He bound his wounds when, proclaiming eternal life, He taught man to
    cease from sin. He bound his wounds together with the two parts of the
    bandage when He quelled sins through two fears--the servile fear which
    forbids through penalties, and the filial fear which exhorts the holy
    to good works. He drew tight the lower part of the bandage when He
    struck men’s hearts with fear of hell. Their worm, He said, does not
    die, and their fire is not quenched. He drew tight the upper part when
    He taught the fear which belongs to the study of good. ‘The children
    of the kingdom,’ said He, ‘shall be cast into outer darkness, where
    there is weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ He poured in wine and oil
    when He taught repentance and pardon. He poured in wine when He said,
    ‘Repent ye’; He added oil when He said, ‘for the kingdom of heaven is
    at hand.’ He set him upon His beast when He bore our sins in His body
    on the Cross. He led him to the inn when He joined him to the supernal
    Church. The inn, in which living beings are assembled at night, is the
    present Church, where the just are harboured amid the darkness of this
    life until the Day of Eternity blows and the shadows of mortality give
    way.

    “The next day He tendered the two pence. The first day was of death,
    the next of life. The day of death began with Adam, when all die. The
    day of life took its beginning from Christ, in whom all shall be made
    alive. Before Christ’s resurrection all men were travelling to death;
    since His resurrection all the faithful have been rising to life. He
    tendered the two pence the next day--when after His resurrection He
    taught that the two Testaments were fulfilled by the two precepts of
    love. He gave the pence to the innkeeper when He committed the
    doctrine of the law of life to the Order of Doctors. He directed him
    to tend the sick man when He commanded that the human race should be
    saved from sin. The stench drove the sick man from the inn, because
    this world’s tribulation drives the righteous to seek the things
    celestial. Two pence are given to the innkeeper when the Doctors are
    raised on high by Scriptural knowledge and temporal honour. If they
    should require more, He repays them on His return; for if they
    exemplify good preaching with good works, when the true Samaritan
    returns to judgment and leads him, aforetime wounded but now healed,
    from the inn to the celestial mansion, He will repay the zealous
    stewards with eternal rewards.”[58]

Here Honorius proceeds to expound the allegory contained in the healing of
the dumb man and the ten lepers, and closes his sermon with two
narratives, one of a poor idiot who sang the _Gloria_ without ceasing, and
was seen in glory after death; the other of a lay nun (_conversa_) around
whose last hours were shed sweet odours and a miraculous light, while
those present heard the chant of heavenly voices.

The parables of Christ present types which we may apply in life according
to circumstances. In the concrete instance of the parable we find the
universal, and we deem Christ meant it so. Thus we also view the parables
as symbols, which they were. Honorius, with the vast company of mediaeval
and patristic expounders, ordinarily directs the symbolism of the parables
in a special mode, whereby--like the stories of the Old Testament--they
become figurative of Christ and the needy soul of man, or figurative of
the Christian dispensation with its historical antecedents and its Day of
Judgment at the end.

The like may be said of Honorius’s allegorical interpretation of Greek
legends. These ancient stories have the perennial youth of human charm and
meaning ever new. They had been good old stories to the Greeks, and then
acquired further intendment as later men discerned a broader symbolism in
them. Even in classic times, Homer’s stories had been turned to
allegories, philosophers and critics sometimes finding in them a spiritual
significance not unlike that which the same tales may bear for us. But
with this difference: the later Greeks usually were trying to explain away
the somewhat untrammelled ways of the Homeric pantheon, and therefore
maintained that Homer’s stories were composed as allegories, the wise and
mystic poet choosing thus to veil his meaning. To-day we find the clarity
of daybreak in Homer’s tales, and if we make symbols of them we know the
symbolism is not his but ours. Honorius chooses to think that allegory had
always lain in the old story; he will not deem it the invention of himself
or other Christian writers. Here his attitude is not unlike that of the
apologetic Greek critics. But his interpretations are apt to differ from
theirs as well as from our own. For his symbolism tends to abandon the
broadly human, and to become, like the mediaeval Biblical interpretations,
figurative of the tenets of the Christian Faith.

There is an interesting example of this in the sermon for Septuagesima
Sunday, which was written on a somewhat blind text from the twenty-eighth
chapter of Job. Honorius proceeds expounding it through a number of
strained allegories, which he doubtless drew from Gregory’s _Moralia_; for
that great pope was the recognized expositor of Job, and the Book of Job
was simply Gregory through all the Middle Ages. Perhaps Honorius felt that
this sermon was rather soporific. At all events he stops in the middle to
give a piece of advice to the supposed preacher: “Often put something of
this kind in your sermon; for so you will relieve the tedium.” And he
continues thus:

    “Brethren, on this holy day there is much to say which I must pass
    over in silence, lest disgusted you should wish to leave the church
    before the end. For some of you have come far and must go a long way
    to reach your houses. Or perhaps, some have guests at home, or crying
    babies; or others are not swift and have to go elsewhere, while to
    some a bodily infirmity brings uneasiness lest they expose themselves.
    So I omit much for everybody’s sake, but still would say a few words.

    “Because to-day, beloved, we have laid aside the song of gladness and
    taken up the song of sadness, I would briefly tell you something from
    the books of the pagans, to show how you should reject the melody of
    this world’s pleasures in order that hereafter with the angels you may
    make sweet harmonies in heaven. For one should pick up a gem found in
    dung and set it as a kingly ornament; thus if we find anything useful
    in pagan books we should turn it to the building up of the Church,
    which is Christ’s spouse. The wise of this world write that there were
    three Syrens in an island of the sea, who used to chant the sweetest
    song in divers tones. One sang, another piped, the third played upon a
    lyre. They had the faces of women, the talons and wings of birds. They
    stopped all passing ships with the sweetness of their song; they rent
    the sailors heavy with sleep; they sank the ships in the brine. When a
    certain duke, Ulysses, had to sail by their island, he ordered his
    comrades to bind him to the mast and stuff their ears with wax. Thus
    he escaped the peril unharmed, and plunged the Syrens in the waves.
    These, beloved, are mysteries, although written by the enemies of
    Christ. By the sea is to be understood this age which rolls beneath
    the unceasing blasts of tribulations. The island is earth’s joy, which
    is intercepted by crowding pains, as the shore is beat upon by
    crowding waves. The three Syrens who with sweet caressing song
    overturn the navigators in sleep, are three delights which soften
    men’s hearts for vice and lead them into the sleep of death. She who
    sings with human voice is Avarice, and to her hearers thus she tunes
    her song: ‘Thou shouldst get together much, so as to be able to spread
    wide thy fame, and also visit the Lord’s sepulchre and other places,
    restore churches, aid the poor and thy relatives as well.’ With such
    baneful song she charms the miser’s heart, until the sleep of death
    oppresses him. Then she tears his flesh, the wave devours the ship,
    and the wretch by fierce pains is waked from his riches and plunged in
    eternal flame. She who plays upon the pipe is Vainglory (_Jactantia_),
    and thus she pipes her lay for hers: ‘Thou art in thy youth, and
    noble; make thyself appear glorious. Spare no enemies, but kill them
    all when able. Then people will call thee a good knight.’ Again will
    she chant: ‘Thou shouldst win Jerusalem, and give great alms. Then
    thou wilt be famous, and wilt be called good by all.’ To the lay
    brethren (_conversis_) she sings: ‘Thou must fast and pray always,
    singing with loud voice. Then wilt thou hear thyself lauded as a saint
    by all.’ Such song with vain heart she makes resound till the
    whirlpool of death devours the wretch emptied of worth.

    “She who sings to a lyre is Wantonness (_Luxuria_), and she chants
    melodies like these to her parasites: ‘Thou art in thy youth; now is
    the time to sport with the girls--old age will do to reform in. Here
    is one with a fine figure; this one is rich; from this one you would
    gain much. There is plenty of time to save your soul.’ In such way she
    melts the hearts of the wanton till Cocytus’s waves engulf them
    suddenly tripped by death.

    “They have the faces of women, because nothing so estranges man from
    God as the love of women. They have wings of birds, because the desire
    of worldlings is always unstable, their appetites now craving one
    thing, and again their lust flying to another object. They have also
    the talons of birds, because they tear their victims as they snatch
    them away to the torments of hell. Ulysses is called Wise. Unharmed he
    steers his course by the island, because the truly wise Christian
    swims over the sea of this world, in the ship of the Church. By the
    fear of God he binds himself to the mast of the ship, that is, to the
    cross of Christ; with wax, that is with the incarnation of Christ, he
    seals the ears of his comrades, that they may turn their hearts from
    lusts and vices and yearn only for heavenly things. The Syrens are
    submerged, because he is protected from their lusts by the strength
    of the Spirit. Unharmed the voyagers avoid the peril, inasmuch as
    through victory they reach the joys of the saints.”[59]



CHAPTER XXVIII

THE RATIONALE OF THE VISIBLE WORLD: HUGO OF ST. VICTOR


Just as the Middle Ages followed the allegorical interpretation of
Scripture elaborated by the Church Fathers, so they also accepted, and
even made more precise, the patristic inculcation of the efficacy of such
most potent symbols as the water of baptism and the bread and wine
transubstantiated in the Eucharist.[60] Passing onward from these mighty
bases of conviction, the mediaeval genius made fertile use of allegory in
the polemics of Church and State, and exalted the symbolical principle
into an ultimate explanation of the visible universe.

Notable was the career of allegory in politics. Throughout the long
struggle of the Papacy with the Empire and other secular monarchies,
arguments drawn from allegory never ceased to carry weight. A very
shibboleth was the witness of the “two swords” (Luke xxii. 38), both of
which, the temporal as well as spiritual, the Church held to have been
entrusted to her keeping for the ordering of earthly affairs, to the end
that men’s souls should be saved. Still more fluid was the argumentative
nostrum of mankind conceived as an Organism, or animate body (_unum
corpus, corpus mysticum_). This metaphor was found in more than one of the
Latin classics; but patristic and mediaeval writers took it from the works
of Paul.[61] The likeness of the human body to the body politic or
ecclesiastic was carried out in every imaginable detail, and used acutely
or absurdly by politicians and schoolmen from the eleventh century
onward.[62]

We turn to the symbolical explanation of the universe. In the first half
of the twelfth century, a profoundly meditative soul, Hugo of St. Victor
by name, attempted a systematic exposition of the symbolical or
sacramental plan inhering in God’s scheme of creation. Of the man, as with
so many monks and schoolmen whose names and works survive, little is known
beyond the presentation of his personality afforded by his writings. He
taught in the monastic school of St. Victor, a community that had a story,
with which may be connected the scanty facts of the short and happy
pilgrimage to God, which made Hugo’s life on earth.[63]

When William of Champeaux, according to Abaelard’s account, was routed
from his logical positions in the cathedral school of Paris,[64] he
withdrew from the school and from the city to the quiet of a secluded spot
on the left bank of the Seine, not far distant from Notre-Dame. Here was
an ancient chapel dedicated to Saint-Victor, and here William, with some
companions, organized themselves into a monastic community according to
the rule of the canons of St. Augustine. This was in 1108. If for a time
William laid aside his studies and lecturing, he soon resumed them at the
solicitations of his scholars, joined to those of his friend Hildebert,
Bishop of Le Mans.[65] And so the famous school of Saint-Victor began.
William remained there only four years, being made Bishop of Chalons in
1112, and thereafter figuring prominently in Church councils, frequent in
France at this epoch.

Under William’s disciple and successor, Gilduin, the community flourished
and increased. King Louis VI., whose confessor was Gilduin himself,
endowed it liberally, and other donors were not lacking. Saint-Victor
became rich, and its fame for learning and holiness spread far and
wide.[66] Abbot Gilduin lived to see more than forty houses of monks or
regular canons[67] flourishing as dependencies of Saint-Victor. He died in
1155, some years after the death of the young man whose scholarship and
genius was the pride of the Victorine community.

Notwithstanding a statement in an old manuscript, that Hugo was born near
Ypres in Flanders, the ancient tradition of Saint-Victor, confirmed by the
records of the cathedral of Halberstadt, shows him to have been a son of
the Count of Blankemberg, and born at Hartingam in Saxony.[68] His uncle
Reinhard was Bishop of Halberstadt, where his great-uncle, named Hugo like
himself, was archdeacon. Reinhard had been a pupil of William of Champeaux
at Saint-Victor, and after becoming bishop continued to cherish a profound
esteem for him. The young Hugo renounced his inheritance and entered a
monastery not far from Halberstadt; but soon, in view of the disturbed
affairs of Saxony, his uncle Reinhard urged him to go and pursue his
studies at Saint-Victor. The young man persuaded his great-uncle Hugo to
accompany him. By circuitous routes, visiting various places of pious
interest on the way, the two reached Saint-Victor, where they were
received with all honour by the abbot Gilduin. This was not far from the
year 1115, and Hugo was about twenty at the time. He was already an
accomplished scholar, and doubtless it is to his previous studies that he
refers when he speaks as follows in his book of elementary instruction,
called the _Didascalicon_:

    “I dare say that I never despised anything pertaining to learning, and
    learned much that might strike others as light and vain. I practised
    memorizing the names of everything I saw or heard of, thinking that I
    could not properly study the nature of things unless I knew their
    names. Daily I examined my notes of topics, that I might hold in my
    memory every proposition, with the questions, objections, and
    solutions. I would inform myself as to controversies and consider the
    proper order of the argument on either side, carefully distinguishing
    what pertained to the office of rhetoric, oratory, and sophistry. I
    set problems of numbers; I drew figures on the pavement with charcoal,
    and with the figure before me I demonstrated the different qualities
    of the obtuse, the acute and the right angle, and also of the square.
    Often I watched out the nocturnal horoscope through winter nights.
    Often I strung my harp (_Saepe ad numerum protensum in ligno magadam
    ducere solebam_) that I might perceive the different sounds and
    likewise delight my mind with the sweet notes. All these were boyish
    occupations (_puerilia_) but not useless. Nor does it burden my
    stomach to know them now.”[69]

Not long after Hugo’s arrival at Saint-Victor he began to teach at the
monastery school, and upon the death of its director, in 1133, succeeded
to the office, which he held until his death in 1141.[70] Colourless and
grey are the outer facts of a monk’s life, counting but little. The soul
of a Hugo of Saint-Victor did not soil itself with any interest in the
pleasures of the world: “He is not solitary with whom is God, nor is the
power of joy extinguished because his appetite is kept from things abject
and vile. He rather does himself an injustice who admits to the society of
his joy what is disgraceful or unworthy of his love.”[71]

Hugo belonged to the aristocracy of contemplative piety, with its scorn of
whatever lies without the pale of the soul’s companionship with God. In
his independent way he followed Augustine, and Augustine’s Platonism,
which was so largely the Neo-Platonism of Plotinus and Porphyry. He also
followed the real Plato speaking in the _Timaeus_, with which he was
acquainted. Plato would have nothing to do with allegorical interpretation
as a defence of Homer’s gods; but he could himself make very pretty
allegories, and his theory of ideas as at once types and creative
intelligences lent itself to Christian systems of symbolism. In this way
he was a spiritual ancestor of Hugo, who found in God the type-ideas of
all things that He created. Moreover, if not Plato, at least his spiritual
children--Clement of Alexandria, Origen, Plotinus--recognized that the
highest truths must be known in modes transcending reason and its
syllogisms, although these were the necessary avenues of approach. Hugo
likewise regarded rational knowledge as but the path by which the soul
ascends to the plateau of contemplation. The general aspects of his
philosophy will be considered in a later chapter. Here he is to be viewed
as a mediaeval symbolist, upon whom pressed a sense of the symbolism of
all visible things. An examination of his great _De sacramentis
Christianae fidei_ will disclose that with Hugo the material creation in
its deepest verity is a symbol; that Scripture, besides its literal
meaning, is allegory from Genesis to Revelation; that the means of
salvation provided by the Church are sacramental, and thus essentially
symbolical, consisting of perfected and potent symbols which have been
shadowed forth in the unperfected sacramental character of all God’s works
from the beginning.[72]

Hugo’s little Preface (_praefatiuncula_) mentions certain requests made to
him to write a book on the Sacraments. In undertaking it, he proposes to
present in better form many things dictated from time to time rather
negligently. Whatever he has taken from his previous writings he has
revised as seemed best. Should there appear any inconsistency between what
he may have said elsewhere and the language of the present work, he begs
the reader to regard the present as the better form of statement. His
method will be to treat his matter in the order of time; and to this end
his work is divided into two Books. The first discusses the subject from
the Beginning of the World until the Incarnation of the Word; the second
continues it from the Incarnation to the final Consummation of all things.
He explains that as he has elsewhere spoken at length upon the primary or
historical meaning of Holy Writ,[73] he will devote himself here rather to
its secondary or allegorical significance.

Hugo further explains the subject of his treatise in a Prologue:

    “The work of man’s restoration is the subject-matter (_materia_) of
    all the Scriptures. There are two works, the work of foundation and
    the work of restoration, which include everything whatsoever. The
    former is the creation of the world with all its elements; the latter
    is the incarnation of the Word with all its sacraments, those which
    went before from the beginning and those which follow even to the end
    of the world. For the incarnate Word is our King, who came into this
    world to fight the devil. And all the saints who were before His
    coming, were as soldiers going before His face; and those who have
    come and will come after, until the end of the world, are as soldiers
    who follow their king. He is the King in the centre of His army,
    advancing girt by His troops. And although in such a multitude divers
    shapes of arms appear in the sacraments and observances of those who
    precede and come after, yet all are soldiers under one king and follow
    one banner; they pursue one enemy and with one victory are crowned. In
    all of this may be observed the work of restoration.

    “Scripture gives first a brief account of the work of creation. For it
    could not aptly show how man was restored unless it had previously
    explained how he had fallen; nor could it show how he had fallen,
    without first showing how God had made him, for which in turn it was
    necessary to set forth the creation of the whole world, because the
    world was made for man. The spirit was created for God’s sake; the
    body for the spirit’s sake, and the world for the body’s sake, so that
    the spirit might be subject to God, the body to the spirit, and the
    world to the body. In this order, therefore, Holy Scripture describes
    first the creation of the world which was made for man; then it tells
    how man was made and set in the way of righteousness and discipline;
    after that, how man fell; and finally how he was restored
    (_reparatus_).”

In these first little chapters of his Prologue, Hugo has grouped his
topics suggestively. The world was made for man, and therefore the account
of its creation is needed in order to understand man. Moreover, that man’s
body exists for his spirit’s sake, at once suggests that a significance
beyond the literal meaning is likely to dwell in that account of the
material creation which enables us to understand man. The soul needs
instruction and guidance; and God in creating the world for man surely had
in view his most important interests, which were not those of his mortal
body, but those of his soul. So the creation of the world subserves man’s
spiritual interests, and the divine account of it carries spiritual
instruction. The allegorical significance of the world’s creation, which
answers to man’s spiritual needs, is as veritable and real as the facts of
the world’s material foundation, which answers to the needs of his body.
Thus symbolism is rooted in the character and purpose of the material
creation; it lies in the God-implanted nature of things; therefore the
allegorical interpretation of the Scriptures corresponds to their deepest
meaning and the revealed plan of God.

These principles underlie Hugo’s exposition of the Christian sacraments,
whose unperfected prototypes existed in the work of the Creation. No fact
of sacred history, no single righteous pre-Christian observance, was
unaffiliated with them. An adequate understanding of their nature involves
a full knowledge not only of Christian doctrine, but of all other
knowledge profitable to men--as Hugo clearly indicates in the remaining
portion of his Prologue:

    “Whence it appears how much divine Scripture in subtle profundity
    surpasses all other writings, not only in its matter but in the way of
    treating it. In other writings the words alone carry meaning: in
    Scripture not only the words, but the things may mean something.
    Wherefore just as a knowledge of the words is needed in order to know
    what things are signified, so a knowledge of the things is needed in
    order to determine _their_ mystical signification of other things
    which have been or ought to be done. The knowledge of words falls
    under two heads: expression, and the substance of their meaning.
    Grammar relates only to expression, dialectic only to meaning, while
    rhetoric relates to both. A knowledge of things requires a knowledge
    of their form and of their nature. Form consists in external
    configuration, nature in internal quality. Form is treated as number,
    to which arithmetic applies; or as proportion, to which music applies;
    or as dimension, to which geometry applies; or as motion, to which
    pertains astronomy. But physics (_physica_) looks to the inner nature
    of things.

    “It follows that all the natural arts serve divine science, and the
    lower knowledge rightly ordered leads to the higher. History, _i.e._
    the historical meaning, is that in which words signify things, and its
    servants, as already said, are the three sciences, grammar, dialectic,
    and rhetoric. When, however, things signify facts mystically, we have
    allegory; and when things mystically signify what ought to be done, we
    have tropology. These two are served by arithmetic, music, geometry,
    astronomy, and physics. Above and beyond all is that divine something
    to which divine Scripture leads, either in allegory or tropology. Of
    this the one part (which is in allegory) is right faith, and the other
    (which is in tropology) is good conduct: in these consist knowledge of
    truth and love of virtue, and this is the true restoration of
    man.”[74]

Hugo has now stated his position. The rationale of the world’s creation
lies in the nature of man. The Seven Liberal Arts, and incidentally all
human knowledge, in handmaidenly manner, promote an understanding of man
as well as of the saving teaching contained in Scripture. This was the
common mediaeval view; but Hugo proves it through application of the
principles of symbolism and allegorical interpretation. By these
instruments he orders the arts and sciences according to their value in
his Christian system, and makes all human knowledge subserve the
intellectual economy of the soul’s progress to God.

An exposition of the Work of the Six Days opens the body of Hugo’s
treatise. God created all things from nothing, and at once. His creation
was at first unformed; not absolutely formless, but in the form of
confusion, out of which in the six days He wrought the form of ordered
disposition. The first creation included the matter of corporeal things
and (in the angelic nature) the essence of things invisible; for the
rational creature may be said to be unformed until it take form through
turning unto its Creator, whereby it gains beauty and blessedness from Him
through the conversion which is of love. Thus the matter of every
corporeal thing which God afterwards made, existed from the time of His
first creation, and likewise the image of everything invisible. For
although new souls are still created every day, their image existed
previously in the angelic spirits.

Then God made light, the unformed material of which He had created in the
beginning.

    “And at the very moment when light was visibly and corporeally
    separated from darkness, the good angels were invisibly set apart from
    the wicked angels who were falling in the darkness of sin. The good
    were illumined and converted to the light of righteousness, that they
    might be light and not darkness. Thus we ought to perceive a
    consonance in the works of God, the visible work conforming to the
    issue of the invisible in such wise that the Wisdom which worked in
    both may in the former instruct by an example and in the latter
    execute judgment.”

The severance of light from darkness is the material example of how God
executes judgment in dividing the good from the evil. In this visible work
of God a “sacrament” is discernible, since every soul, so long as it is in
sin, is in darkness and confusion. All the visible works of God offer
spiritual lessons (_spiritualia praeferunt documenta_). They have
sacramental qualities, and yet are not perfected and completed sacraments,
as will hereafter appear from Hugo’s definition.

Following the order of creation, Hugo now speaks of the firmament which
God set in the midst of the waters to divide them:

    “He who believes that this was made for his sake will not look for the
    reason of it outside of himself. For it all was made in the image of
    the world within him; the earth which is below, is the sensual nature
    of man, and the heaven above is the purity of his intelligence
    quickening to immortal life.”

The rational and unseen are a world as well as the material and visible.
The sacramental quality of the material world lies in its correspondence
to the unseen world. When Hugo speaks of the “sacramenta” in the creation
of light and the waters divided by the firmament, he means that in
addition to their material nature as light and water, they are essentially
symbols. Their symbolism is as veritably part of their nature as the
symbolical character of the Eucharist is part of the nature of the
consecrated bread and wine. The sacraments are among the deepest verities
of the Christian Faith. And the same representative verity that exists in
them, exists, in less perfected mode, throughout God’s entire creation. So
the argument carries out the principles of the sacraments and the
principles of symbolism to a full explanation of the world; and Hugo’s
work upon the Sacraments presents his theory of the universe.

    “Many other mysteries,” says Hugo, closing the first “Part” of his
    first Book, “could be pointed out in the work of the creation. But we
    briefly speak of these matters as a suitable approach to the subject
    set before us. For our purpose is to treat of the sacrament of man’s
    redemption. The work of creation was completed in six days, the work
    of restoration in six ages. The latter work we define as the
    Incarnation of the Word and what in and through the flesh the Word
    performed, with all His sacraments, both those which from the
    beginning prefigured the Incarnation and those which follow to declare
    and preach it till the end.”

It is unnecessary to follow Hugo through the discussion, upon which he now
enters, of the will, knowledge, and power of the Trinity, or through his
consideration of the knowledge which man may have of God. In Part V. of
the first Book, he considers the creation of angels, their qualities and
nature, and the reasons why a part of them fell. With Part VI. the
creation of man is reached, which Hugo shows to have been causally prior,
though later in time, to the creation of the world which God made for man.
From love God created rational creatures, the angels purely spiritual, and
man a spirit clothed with earth.[75] Hugo considers the corporeal as well
as the spiritual nature and qualities of man, and his condition before the
Fall. The seventh Part is devoted to the Fall itself, and discusses its
character and sinfulness.

At length, in the eighth Part, Hugo reaches the true subject of his
treatise, the restoration of man. Man’s first sin of pride was followed by
a triple punishment, consisting in a penalty, and two entailed defects,
the penalty being bodily mortality, the defects carnal concupiscence and
mental ignorance.

    “Regarding his reparation three matters are to be considered, the
    time, the place, the remedy. The time is the present life, from the
    beginning to the end of the world. The place is this world.[76] The
    remedy is threefold, and consists in faith, the sacraments, and good
    works. Long is the time, that man may not be taken unprepared. Hard is
    the place, that the transgressor may be castigated. Efficacious is the
    remedy, that the sick one may be healed.”

Hugo then sets forth the situation, the case in court as it were, to which
God, the devil, and man, are the three parties. In this trial

    “... the devil is convicted of an injury to God in that he seduced
    God’s servant by fraud and holds him by violence. Man also is
    convicted of an injury to God in that he despised His command and
    wickedly gave himself to evil servitude. Likewise the devil is
    convicted of an injury toward man, in first deceiving him and then
    bringing evil upon him. The devil holds man unjustly, though man is
    justly held.”

Since the devil’s case against man was unjust, man might defeat his
lordship; but he needed an advocate (_patronus_), which could be only God.
God, angry at man’s sin, did not wish to undertake man’s cause. He must be
placated; and man had no equivalent to offer for the injury he had done
Him; for he had deserted God when rational and innocent, and could deliver
himself back to God only as an irrational and sinful creature. Therefore,
in order that man might have wherewithal to placate God, God through
mercy gave man a man whom man might give in place of him who had sinned.
God became man for man and as man gave himself for man. Thus He who had
been man’s Creator became also his Redeemer. God might have redeemed man
in some other way, but took the way of human nature as best suited to
man’s weakness.

After our first parent had been exiled from Paradise for his sin, the
devil possessed him violently. But God’s providence tempered justice with
mercy, and from the penalty itself prepared a remedy.

    “He set for man as a sign the sacraments of his salvation, in order
    that whoever would apprehend them with right faith and firm hope,
    might, though under the yoke, have some fellowship with freedom. He
    set His edict informing and instructing man, so that whoever should
    elect to expect a saviour, should prove his vow of election in
    observance of the sacraments. The devil also set his sacraments, that
    he might know and possess his own more surely. The human race was at
    once divided into opposite parties, some accepting the devil’s
    sacraments and some the sacraments of Christ.... Hence it is clear,
    that from the beginning there were Christians in fact, if not in
    name.”

Hugo proceeds to show that the time of the institution of the sacraments
began when our first parent, expelled from Paradise, was subjected to the
exile of this mortal life, with all his posterity until the end.

    “As soon as man had fallen from his first state of incorruption, he
    began to be sick, in body through his mortality, in mind through his
    iniquity. Forthwith God prepared the medicine of his reparation
    through His sacraments. In divers times and places God presented these
    for man’s healing, as reason and the cause demanded, some of them
    before the Law, some under the Law and some under grace. Though
    different in form they had the one effect and accomplished the one
    health. If any one inquires the period of their appointment he may
    know that as long as there is disease so long is the time of the
    medicine. The present life, from the beginning to the end of the
    world, is the time of sickness and the time of the remedy. When a
    sacrament has fulfilled its time it ceases, and others take its place,
    to bring about that same health. These in turn have been succeeded at
    last by others, which are not to be superseded.”

Having followed Hugo’s plan thus far, one sees why it is only at the
commencement of the ninth Part of his first Book that he reaches the
definition and discussion of those final and enduring sacraments which
followed the Incarnation. He has hitherto been developing his theme, and
now takes up its very essence. Laying out the matter scholastically, he
says “there are four things to consider: first, what is a sacrament;
second, why they were instituted; third, what may be the material of each
sacrament, in which it is made and sanctified; and fourth, how many
sacraments there are. This is the definition, cause, material, and
classification.”

Proceeding to the definition, he says that the doctors have briefly
described a sacrament as the token of the sacred substance (_sacrae rei
signum_).

    “For as there is body and soul in man, and in Scripture the letter and
    the sense, so in every sacrament there is the visible external which
    may be handled and the invisible within, which is believed and taught.
    The material external is the sacrament, and the invisible and
    spiritual is the sacrament’s substance (_res_) or _virtus_. The
    external is handled and sanctified; that is the _signum_ of the
    spiritual grace, which is the sacrament’s _res_ and is invisibly
    apprehended.”

Having thus explained the old definition, Hugo objects to it on the ground
that not every _signum rei sacrae_ is a sacrament; the letters of the
sacred text and the pictures of holy things are _signa rei sacrae_, and
yet are not sacraments. He therefore offers the following definition as
adequate:

    “The sacrament is the corporeal or material element set out sensibly,
    representing from its similitude, signifying from its institution, and
    containing from its sanctification, some invisible and spiritual
    grace.”[77]

This, he maintains, is a perfect definition, since all sacraments possess
these three qualities, and whatever lacks them cannot properly be called a
sacrament. As an example he instances the baptismal water:

    “There is the visible element of water, which is the sacrament; and
    these three are found in one: representation from similitude,
    significance from appointment, virtue from sanctification. The
    similitude is from creation, the appointment from dispensation, the
    sanctification from benediction. The first is imparted to it through
    the Creator, the second is added through the Saviour, the third is
    given through the administrator.”[78]

Passing to the second consideration, Hugo finds that the sacraments were
instituted with threefold purpose, for man’s humiliation, instruction, and
discipline or exercise. The man contemning them cannot be saved. Yet God
has saved many without them, as Jeremiah was sanctified in the womb, and
John the Baptist, and those who were righteous under the natural law. “For
those who under the natural law possessed the substance (_res_) of the
sacrament in right faith and charity, did not to their damnation lack the
sacrament.” And Hugo warns whoever might take a narrower view, to beware
lest in honouring God’s sacraments, His power and goodness be made of no
avail. “Dost thou tell me that he who has not the sacraments of God cannot
be saved? I tell thee that he who has the virtue of the sacraments of God
cannot perish. Which is greater, the sacrament or the virtue of the
sacrament--water or faith? If thou wouldst speak truly, answer, ‘faith.’”
One notes that the twelfth century had its broad-mindedness, as well as
the twentieth.

While passing on discursively to consider the classification of the
sacraments, Hugo considers many matters,[79] and then opens his treatment
of the sacraments of the natural law with a recapitulation:

    “The sacraments from the beginning were instituted for the restoration
    and healing of man, some under the natural law, some under the
    written law, and others under grace. Those which are later in time
    will be found more worthy means of spiritual grace. For all those
    sacraments of the former time, under the natural or the written law,
    were signs and figures of those now appointed under grace. The
    spiritual effect of the former in their time was wrought through the
    virtue and sanctification drawn from the latter. If any one therefore
    would deny that those prior sacraments were effectual for
    sanctification, he does not seem to me to judge aright.”[80]

The sacraments of the natural law were as the _umbra veritatis_; those of
the written law as the _imago vel figura veritatis_; but those under grace
are the _corpus veritatis_.[81] The written law, though given fully only
through Moses, began with Abraham, upon whom circumcision was enjoined as
a sacrament and sign of separation from the heathen peoples. In obedience
to its precepts lies the merit, in its promises lies the reward, while its
sacraments aid men to fulfil its precepts and obtain its reward. Hugo
discusses the sacraments of circumcision and burnt-offerings which were
necessary for the remission of sins; then those which exercised the
faithful people in devotion--the peace-offering is an example; and again
those which aided the people to cultivate piety, as the tabernacle and its
utensils.

Hugo’s second Book, which makes the second half of his work, is devoted to
the “time of grace” inaugurated by the Incarnation. It treats in detail
the Christian sacraments and other topics of the Faith, down to the Last
Judgment, when the wicked are cast into hell, and the blessed enter upon
eternal life, where God will be seen eternally, praised without weariness,
and loved without satiety. This blessed lot flows from the grace of the
salvation brought by Christ, and is dependent on the sacraments, the
enduring means of grace. On their part, the sacraments, whatever more they
are, are symbols, in essence and function connected with the symbolical
nature of God’s creation, with the prefigurative significance of the
fortunes of God’s chosen people until the coming of Christ, with the
import and symbolism of Christ’s life and teachings, and with the
symbolism inherent in the organization and building up of Christ’s holy
Church. Symbolism and allegory are made part of the constitution of the
world and man; they connect man’s body and environment with his spirit,
and link the life of this world with the life to come. Hugo has thus
grounded and established symbolism in the purposes of God, in the
universal scheme of things, and in the nature and destinies of man.[82]



CHAPTER XXIX

CATHEDRAL AND MASS; HYMN AND IMAGINATIVE POEM

     I. GUILELMUS DURANDUS AND VINCENT OF BEAUVAIS.

    II. THE HYMNS OF ADAM OF ST. VICTOR AND THE _Anticlaudianus_ of ALANUS
        OF LILLE.


Under sanction of Scriptural interpretation and the sacraments, allegory
and symbolism became accepted principles of spiritual verity, sources of
political argument, and modes of transcendental truth. They penetrated the
Liturgy, charging every sentence and ceremonial act with saving
significance and power; and as plastic influences they imparted form and
matter to religious art and poetry, where they had indeed been potent from
the beginning.


I

In the early Church the office of the Mass, the ordination of priests, and
the dedication of churches were not charged with the elaborate symbolism
carried by these ceremonies in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries,[83]
when the Liturgy, or speaking more specifically, the Mass, had become
symbolical from the _introit_ to the last benediction; and Gothic
sculpture and glass painting, which were its visible illustration, had
been impressed with corresponding allegory. Mediaeval liturgic lore is
summed up by Guilelmus Durandus in his _Rationale divinorum officiorum_,
which was composed in the latter part of the thirteenth century, and
contains much that is mirrored in the art of the French cathedrals. It is
impossible to review the elaborate symbolical significance of the Mass as
set forth in the authoritative work of one who was a bishop, theologian,
jurist, and papal regent.[84] But a little of it may be given.

The office of the Mass, says Durandus, is devised with great forethought,
so as to contain the major part of what was accomplished by and in Christ
from the time when He descended from heaven to the time when He ascended
into heaven. In the sacrifice of the Mass all the sacrifices of the
Ancient Law are represented and superseded. It may be celebrated at the
third hour, because then, according to Mark, Christ ascended the cross,
and at that hour also the Holy Spirit descended upon the Apostles in
tongues of fire; or at the sixth hour, when, according to Matthew, Christ
was crucified; or at the ninth hour, when on the cross He gave up His
spirit.

The first part of the Mass begins with the _introit_. Its antiphonal
chanting signifies the aspirations and deeds, the prayers and praises of
the patriarchs and prophets who were looking for the coming of the Son of
God. The chorus of chanting clergy represents this yearning multitude of
saints of the Ancient Law. The bishop, clad in his sacred vestments,[85]
at the end of the procession, emerging from the sacristy and advancing to
the altar, represents Christ, the expected of the nations, emerging from
the Virgin’s womb and entering the world, even as the Spouse from His
secret chamber. The seven lights borne before him on the chief festivals
are the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit descending upon the head of Christ.
The two acolytes preceding him signify the Law and the Prophets, shown in
Moses and Elias who appeared with Christ on Mount Tabor. The four who bear
the canopy are the four evangelists, declaring the Gospel. The bishop
takes his seat and lays aside his mitre. He is silent, as was Christ
during His early years. The Book of the Gospels lies closed before him.
Around him in the company of clergy are represented the Magi and others.

The services proceed, every word and act filled with symbolic import. The
reading of the Epistle is reached--that is the preaching of John the
Baptist, who preaches only to the Jews; so the reader turns to the north,
the region of the Ancient Law. The reading ended, he bows before the
bishop, as the Baptist humbled himself before Christ.

After the Epistle comes the Gradual or _responsorium_, which relates to
penitence and the works of the active life. The Baptist is still the main
figure, until the solemn moment when the Gospel is read, which signifies
the beginning of Christ’s preaching. The Creed follows the Gospel, as
faith follows the preaching of the truth. Its twelve parts refer to the
calling of the twelve apostles. Then the bishop begins his sermon; that is
to say, after the calling of the Twelve, the Word of God is preached to
the people, and it henceforth behoves the Church to hold fast to the Creed
which has just been recited.[86]

The authoritative allegorizing of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries
extended the symbolism of the Mass to the edifice in which it was
celebrated; as the _Rationale_ sets forth in its opening chapter entitled
“De ecclesia et eius partibus.” There it is shown that the corporeal
church is the edifice, while the Church, spiritually taken, signifies the
faithful people drawn together from all sorts of men as the edifice is
constructed of all sorts of stones. The various names ecclesia, synagogue,
basilica, and tabernacle are explained; and then why the Church is called
the Body of Christ, and also Virgin, also Spouse, Mother, Daughter, Widow,
and indeed Meretrix, as it shuts its bosom against no one seeking it. The
form of the church conforms to that of Solomon’s temple, in the anterior
part of which the people heard and prayed, while the clergy prayed and
preached, gave thanks and ministered, in the sanctuary or sacred place.
Solomon’s temple in turn was modelled on the Tabernacle of the Exodus,
which, because it was constructed on a journey, is the type of the world
which passes away and the lust thereof. It was made with the four colours
of the arch of heaven, as the world consists of the four elements. Since
God is in the world, He is in the tabernacle (which also means the Church
militant) and in the midst of the faithful congregation. The anterior part
of the tabernacle, where the people sacrificed, is also the _Vita activa_,
in which the laity labour in neighbourly love; and the portion where the
Levites ministered is the _Vita contemplativa_.

The church should be erected in the following manner: the place of its
foundation should be made ready--well-founded is the house of the Lord
upon a rock--and the bishop or licensed priest should sprinkle it with
holy water to dispel the demons, and should lay the first stone, on which
should be carved a cross. The head of the church, that is the chancel,
should be set toward the rising sun at the time of the equinox. Now if the
Jews were commanded to build walls for Jerusalem, how much more ought we
to build the walls of our churches? The material church signifies the Holy
Church built of living stones in heaven, with Christ the corner-stone,
upon which are set the foundations of Apostles and Prophets. The walls
above are the Jews and Gentiles, who believing come to Christ from the
four quarters of the world. The faithful people predestined to life are
the stones thereof.

The mortar in which the stones are set is made of lime, sand, and water.
Lime is fervent love, which takes to itself the sand, that is, earthly
toil; then water, which is the Spirit, unites the lime and sand. As the
stones of the wall would have no stability without the mortar, so men
cannot be set in the walls of the heavenly Jerusalem without love, which
the Holy Spirit brings. The stones of the wall are hewn and squared, which
means sanctified and made clean. Some stones are borne, but do not
themselves bear any burden, and these are the feeble in the Church. Other
stones are borne, yet also bear; while still others bear, but are not
borne, save by Christ alone, the one foundation; and the last are the
perfect.

The Jews were subject to hostile attack while building the walls of
Jerusalem,[87] so that with one hand they set stones, while they fought
with the other. Likewise are we surrounded by hostile vices as we build
the walls of the Church; but we oppose them with the shield of faith and
the breastplate of righteousness, and the sword of the Word of God in our
hands.

The church edifice is disposed like the human body. The chancel, where the
altar is, represents the head, and the cross (transept) the arms and
hands. The western portion (nave and aisles) is the rest of the body. But
indeed Richard of St. Victor deems that the three parts of the edifice
represent in order of sanctity, first the virgins, then the continent, and
lastly married people.

Again, the Church is built with four walls; that is, by the teaching of
the four evangelists it rises broad and high into the altitude of the
virtues. Its length is the long-suffering with which it endures adversity;
its breadth is love, with which it embraces its friends in God, and loves
its enemies for His sake; its height is the hope of future reward. Again,
in God’s temple the foundation is faith, which is as to what is not seen;
the roof is charity, which covers a multitude of sins. The door is
obedience--keep the commandments if thou wilt enter into life.[88] The
pavement is humility. The four walls are the four virtues, righteousness,
(_justitia_), fortitude, prudence, and temperance. The windows are glad
hospitality and free-handed pity.

Some churches are cruciform, to teach us that we are crucified to the
world, or should follow the Crucified. Some are circular, which signifies
that the Church is spread through the circle of the world.

The apse signifies the faithful laity; the crypts, the hermits. The nave
signifies Christ, through whom lies the way to the heavenly Jerusalem; the
towers are the preachers and prelates, and the pinnacles represent the
prelates’ minds which soar on high. Also a weather-cock on top of the
church signifies the preachers, who rouse the sleeping from the night of
sin, and turning ever to the wind, resist the rebellious. The iron rod
upholding the cock is the preacher’s sermon; and because this rod is
placed above the cross on the church, it indicates the word of God
finished and confirmed, as Christ said in His passion, “It is finished.”
The lofty dome on which the cross is set, signifies how perfect and
inviolate should be the preaching and observance of the Catholic Faith.

The glass windows of the church are the divine Scriptures, which repel the
wind and rain, but admit the light of the true sun, to wit God, into the
church, that is, into the hearts of the faithful. The windows also signify
the five senses of the body.[89]

The door of the church (again) is Christ--“I am the Door”; the doors are
also the Apostles. The pillars are the bishops and doctors; their bases
are the apostolic bishops; their capitals are the minds of the doctors and
bishops. The pavement is the foundation of faith, and also signifies the
“poor in spirit,” also the common crowd by whose labours the church is
upheld. The rafters are the princes and preachers in the world, who defend
the church by deed and word. The seats in a church are the contemplative
in whom God rests without offence. The panels in the ceiling are also
preachers who adorn and strengthen.

The chancel, the head of the church, by being lower than the rest,
indicates how great should be the humility of the clergy. The screens by
which the altar is separated from the choir signify the separation of
heavenly beings from things of earth. The choir stalls indicate the body’s
need of recreation. The pulpit is the life of the perfect. The horologe
signifies the diligence with which the priests should say the canonical
hours. The tiles of the roof are the knights who protect the church from
pagans. The spiral stairways concealed within the walls are the secret
knowledge had only by those who ascend to the heavenly places. The
sacristy, where the holy utensils are kept and the priest puts on his
vestments, signifies the womb of the most holy Virgin, in which Christ put
on His sacred garb of flesh. From thence the priest emerges before the
public, as Christ went forth from the Virgin’s womb into the world. The
lamp signifies Christ, who is the light of the world; or the lamps
signify the Apostles and other doctors, whose doctrine lights the church.
Moses also made seven lights, which are the seven gifts of the Holy
Spirit.

Durandus next devotes a whole chapter to the symbolism of the altar, and
another to the significance and function of ornaments, pictures, and
sculpture. The latter opens with the words: “The pictures and ornaments in
a church are the texts and scriptures (_lectiones et scripturae_) of the
laity.” This chapter is long; it explains how Christ and the angels, also
saints, Apostles and others, should be represented, and describes the
proper kinds of church ornament and utensils. Much of the detail is
symbolical.

Thus Durandus devised or brought together meanings to fit each bit of the
church edifice, its materials and furnishings. In the work of a
contemporary are stored the allegorical meanings of the subjects of Gothic
sculpture and painted glass. The thirteenth century had a weakness for the
word “Speculum,” and the idea it carried of a mirror or compendium of all
human knowledge. The chief of mediaeval encyclopaedists was Vincent of
Beauvais, a _protégé_ of the saintly King Louis IX. An analysis of his
huge _Speculum majus_ is given elsewhere.[90] It was made up of the Mirror
of Nature, the Mirror of human Knowledge and Ethics, and the Mirror of
History. The compiler and his assistants laboured during the best period
of Gothic art, and from their work, industry may draw an exhaustive
commentary upon the series of topics presented by the sculpture and glass
of a cathedral.[91]

The Mirror of Nature appears carved in the sculpture of Chartres or
Bourges. In rendering the work of the Six Days, the Creator is shown
(under the form of Christ)[92] contemplating His work, or resting from
His toil; here and there a lion, sheep, or goat, suggests the animal
creation, and a few trees the vegetable world. This is the necessary
symbolism of the sculptor’s art. But Gothic animals and plants sometimes
have other definite symbolic meanings, as in the instance of the
well-known signs of the four Evangelists, the man, the lion, the ox, the
eagle. The allegorical interpretations of Scripture were an exhaustless
source of symbolism for Gothic sculptors; another was the _Physiologus_
and its progeny of Bestiaries, with their symbolic explanations of the
legendary attributes of animals. Intentional symbolism, however, did not
inhere in all this carving, much of which is sheer fancy and decoration.
Such was the character of the splendid Gothic flora, of the birds and
beasts that move in it, and of the grotesque monsters. They were not out
of place, since the Gothic cathedral was itself a Speculum or Summa, and
should include the whole of God’s creation, not omitting even the devils
who beset men’s souls.

Vincent may have drawn from Hugo of St Victor the current doctrine that
the arts have part in the work of man’s restoration; a doctrine abundantly
justifying the presence of the sciences and crafts (composing the Mirror
of Knowledge) in the sculpture and painting of the cathedral. There the
Seven Liberal Arts are rendered, through allegorical figures; and the
months of the year are symbolized in the Zodiac and the labours of the
field which make up man’s annual toil. Philosophy is shown and Fortune’s
wheel; the Virtues and Vices are represented in personifications, and even
their conflict, the Psychomachia, may be shown.

At last the Mirror of History is reached. This will teach in concrete
examples what has been learned from the figures of the abstract Virtues
and Vices. Its chief source is the Bible. Those Old Testament incidents
were selected which for centuries had been interpreted as prefigurements
of the life of Christ; and each was presented as a pendant to the Gospel
scene which it typified. These make the chief subjects of the coloured
glass of Chartres and Bourges and other cathedrals where the windows are
preserved. Here may be seen the Passion of Christ, surrounded by scenes
from the Old Testament typifying it; likewise His Resurrection and its
ancient types; and other significant incidents in the life of the Saviour
and His virgin mother.[93] The latter is typified by the burning bush, by
the fleece of Gideon, by the rod of Aaron, even as in the hymns of Adam of
Saint-Victor.[94] Besides these incidents, leading personages of the Old
Testament are presented as prefigurative of Christ, as in the great series
of statues of Melchizedek, Abraham, Moses, Samuel, David, on the north
portal of Chartres; while the four greater and twelve minor prophets are
shown as types of the four Evangelists and the twelve Apostles. Christ
himself is depicted on a window at St. Denis, between the allegorical
figures of the Ancient Law and the Gospel,--figures which are allied to
those of the uncrowned and blinded Synagogue and the triumphant Church, so
frequently seen together upon cathedrals. Everywhere the tendency to
symbolize is strong. Parts of the Crucifixion scene are rendered
symbolically, and many of the parables. That of the Good Samaritan
constantly appears upon the windows, and is always designed so as to
convey the allegorical teaching drawn from it in Honorius’s sermon.[95]

Obviously this Mirror of History was chiefly sacred history. Pagan
antiquity was scantily suggested by the Sibyls, who stand for the dumb
pagan prophecy of Christ. Scenes from the history of Christian nations
were more frequent; but they always told of some victory for Christ, like
the baptism of Clovis, or the crusading deeds of Charlemagne, Roland or
Godfrey of Bouillon. God’s drama closed with the Last Judgment, the
damnation of the damned and the beatitude of the elect. The Last
Judgments, usually over-arching the tympanums above cathedral doors, are
known to all--as at Rheims, at Chartres, at Bourges. They are full of
symbolism, and full of “historic” reality as well. The treatment becomes
entirely allegorical when the sculptor enters Paradise with the redeemed,
and portrays in lovely personifications the beatitudes of the blessed, as
on the north portal of Chartres.

Those bands of nameless men who carved the statues and designed the
coloured glass which were to make Gothic cathedrals speak, faithfully
presented the teachings of the Church. They rendered the sacred drama of
mankind’s creation, fall, redemption, and final judgment unto hell or
heaven: they rendered it in all its dogmatic symbolism, and with a plastic
adequacy showing how completely they thought and felt in the allegorical
medium in which they worked. They also created matchless ideals of
symbolism in art. The statuary of the portals and façades of Rheims and
Chartres are in their way comparable to the sculptures of the pediment of
the Parthenon. But unlike those masterpieces of antique idealism, these
Christian masterpieces do not seek to set forth mortal man in his natural
strength and beauty and completeness. Rather they seek to show the working
of the human spirit held within the power and grace of God. Theirs is not
the strength and beauty of the flesh, or the excellence of the
unconquerable mind of man; but in them man’s mind and spirit are palpably
the devout creatures of God’s omnipotence, obedient to His will, sustained
and redeemed by His power and grace. Attitude, form, feature, alike
designed to express the sacred beauty of the soul, are not invested with
physical excellence for its own sake; but every physical quality of these
statues is a symbol of some holy and beautiful quality of spirit. These
statues attain a symbolic, and not a natural, ideal in art. Yet many of
them possess the physical beauty of form and feature, inasmuch as such may
be the proper envelope for the chaste and eager soul.[96]

On the other hand, in the filling out of the illustrative detail of life
on earth, of handicraft and art, the sculptor showed how he could carve
these actualities, and present earth’s beauty in the cathedral’s wealth of
vine and flower and leaf. The level commonplace of humanity is deftly
rendered, the daily doings of the forge and field and market-place, the
tugging labourer, the merchant with his stuffs, the scholar with his
scrolls. He knew life well, this artist, and had an eye for every catching
scene, also for Nature’s subtle beauties. Sometimes a certain passing show
was represented because a window was given by some drapers’ guild,
desirous of seeing its craft shown in a place of honour; and the artist
loved his scenes from busy life, as he loved his ornament from Nature.
Such scenes (which rarely held specific allegory) were not unconnected
with the rest of the drama of creation and redemption mirrored in the
cathedral, nor was the exquisitely cut leaf and rose without its
suggestion of the grace incarnate in the Virgin and her Son. Daily life
and natural ornament had at least an illustrative pertinency to the whole,
of which they were unobtrusive and lovely elements; and since that whole
was primarily a visible symbol of the unseen and divine power, these
humble elements had part in its unutterable mystery, and were likewise
symbols.

Finally, have not these nameless artists--even as Dante and our English
Bunyan--presented by their art a synthesis of life’s realities? Their feet
were on the earth; with sympathy and knowledge their hands worked in the
media of things seen and handled, and fashioned the little human matters
which are bounded by the cradle and the grave. Such were the materials
from which Dante formed his _Commedia_, and Bunyan drew the Progress of
his Pilgrim soul to God. Yet as with Bunyan and Dante, so with these
artists in stone and coloured light, the mortal and the tangible were but
the elements through which the poem or story, or the carved or painted
picture, was made the realizing symbol of the unseen and eternal Spirit.


II

Beneath the Abbey Church of Saint-Victor there was a crypt consecrated to
the Mother of God. Here a certain monk was wont to retire and compose
hymns in her honour. One day his lips uttered the lines:

  “Salve, mater pietatis,
   Et totius Trinitatis
       Nobile triclinium;
   Verbi tamen incarnati
   Speciale majestati
       Praeparans hospitium!”

Whereupon a flood of light filled the crypt, and the Virgin, appearing to
him, inclined her head.

The monk’s name was Adam,[97] and he is deemed the best of Latin
hymn-writers. Breton born, he entered Saint-Victor in his youth, about the
year 1130. He was favoured with the instruction of Hugo till the master’s
death in 1141. Adam must have been of nearly the same age as Richard of
Saint-Victor, that other pupil of Hugo who makes the third member of the
great Victorine trio. Their works have been the monastery’s fairest fame.
Hugo was a Saxon; Adam a Breton; Richard was Scotch. So Saint-Victor drew
her brilliant sons from many lands. Richard, whose writings worthily
supplemented those of his master Hugo,[98] died in 1173; his friend Adam
outlived him, and died an old man as the twelfth century was closing. He
was buried in the cloister, and over him was placed an elegiac epitaph
upon human vanity and sin, in part his own composition.

Adam’s hymns were Sequences[99] intended for church use. Their author was
learned in Christian doctrine, skilled in the Liturgy, and saturated with
the spirit of devotional symbolism. His symbolism, which his gift of verse
made into imagery, was that of the mediaeval church and its understanding
of the Liturgy; he also shows the special influence of Hugo. Adam’s hymns,
with their powerful Latin rhymes, cannot be reproduced in English; but a
translation may give the contents of their symbolism. The hymn for Easter,
beginning “Zyma vetus expurgetur,”[100] is an epitome of the symbolic
prefiguration of Christ in the Old Testament. Each familiar allegorical
interpretation flashes in a phrase. Literally translated, or rather
maltreated, it is as follows:

    “Let the old leaven be purged away that a new resurrection may be
    celebrated purely. This is the day of our hope; wonderful is the power
    of this day by the testimony of the law.

    “This day despoiled Egypt, and liberated the Hebrews from the fiery
    furnace; for them in wretched straits the work of servitude was mud
    and brick and straw.[101]

    “Now as praise of divine virtue, of triumph, of salvation, let the
    voice break free! This is the day which the Lord made, the day ending
    our grief, the day bringing salvation.

    “The Law is the shadow of things to come, Christ the goal of promises,
    who completes all. Christ’s blood blunts the sword the guardians
    removed.[102]

    “The Boy, type of our laughter, in whose stead the ram was slain,
    seals life’s joy.[103] Joseph issues from the pit;[104] Christ returns
    above after death’s punishment.

    “This serpent devours the serpents of Pharaoh secure from the
    serpent’s spite.[105] Whom the fire wounded, them the brazen serpent’s
    presence freed.[106]

    “The hook and ring of Christ pierce the dragon’s jaw;[107] the sucking
    child puts his hand into the cockatrice’s den, and the old tenant of
    the world flees affrighted.[108]

    “The mockers of Elisha ascending the house of God, feel the
    bald-head’s wrath;[109] David, feigning madness, the goat cast forth,
    and the sparrow escape.[110]

    “With a jaw-bone Samson slays a thousand and spurns the marriage of
    his tribe. Samson bursts the bars of Gaza, and, carrying its gates,
    scales the mountain’s crest.[111]

    “So the strong Lion of Judah, shattering the gates of dreadful death,
    rises the third day; at His father’s roaring voice, He carries aloft
    His spoils to the bosom of the supernal mother.[112]

    “After three days the whale gives back from his belly’s narrow house
    Jonas the fugitive, type of the true Jonas. The grape of Cyprus[113]
    blooms again, opens and grows apace. The synagogue’s flower withers,
    while flourishes the Church.[114]

    “Death and life fought together: truly Christ arose, and with Him many
    witnesses of glory. A new morn, a glad morn shall wipe away the tears
    of evening: life overcame destruction; it is a time of joy.

    “Jesu victor, Jesu life, Jesu life’s beaten way, thou whose death
    quelled death, bid us to the paschal board in trust. O Bread of life,
    O living Wave, O true and fruitful Vine, do thou feed us, do thou
    cleanse us, that thy grace may save us from the second death. Amen.”

From the time of that old third-century hymn ascribed to Clement of
Alexandria,[115] hymns to Christ had been filled with symbolism, the
symbolism of loving personification of His attributes, as well as with the
more formal symbolism of His Old Testament prefigurements. Adam’s
symbolism is of both kinds. It has feeling even when dogmatic,[116] and
throbs with devotion as its theme approaches the Gospel Christ. Prevailing
modes of thought and feeling may prescribe topics for verse which a
succeeding age will find curiously unpoetic. Yet if the later time have a
sympathetic understanding for the past, it will recognize how fervid and
how songful was that bygone verse--the verse of Adam’s hymns, for
instance. In one for Christmas Day, beginning:

  “Potestate, non natura,
   Fit Creator creatura,”[117]

a stanza touches on the reason why the Creator thus became creature. It
would be impossible to render its feeling in English, and much
circumlocution would be needed to express even its literal meaning in any
language but mediaeval Latin. This stanza has twelve lines:

  “Causam quaeris, modum rei:
   Causa prius omnes rei,
   Modus justum velle Dei,
       Sed conditum gratia.”

    “Thou askest cause and _modus_ of the fact: the _causa rei_ was before
    all, the _modus_ was God’s righteous willing, but seasoned with
    grace.”

These lines are scholastic. In the next four, the feeling begins to rise,
yet the phrases repel rather than attract us:

  “O quam dulce condimentum
   Nobis mutans in pigmentum,
   Cum aceto fel cruentum
       Degustante Messya!”

    “Oh! how sweet the condiment changing for us into juice, as the
    Messiah tastes the bloody gall and vinegar.”

The feeling touches its climax with the four concluding lines, in which
the parable of the Good Samaritan is invested with the special allegorical
significance set forth in the sermon of Honorius:[118]

  “O salubre sacramentum,
   Quod nos ponit in jumentum
   Plagis nostris dans unguentum
       Ille de Samaria.”

    “O health-giving sacrament which sets us on a beast, giving ointment
    for our stripes,--he of Samaria.”[119]

Two stanzas from another of Adam’s Christmas hymns will show how
curiously intricate could be his symbolism. Having spoken of the ineffable
wonder of the Incarnation, he proceeds:

  “Frondem, florem, nucem sicca
   Virga profert, et pudica
       Virgo Dei Filium.
   Fert coelestem vellus rorem,
   Creatura creatorem,
       Creaturae pretium.

  “Frondis, floris, nucis, roris
   Pietati Salvatoris
       Congruunt mysteria.
   Frons est Christus protegendo,
   Flos dulcore, nux pascendo,
       Ros coelesti gratia.”[120]

    “A dry rod puts forth leafage, flower, nut,[121] and a chaste Virgin
    brings forth the Son of God. A fleece bears heavenly dew,[122] a
    creature the Creator, the creature’s price.

    “The mysteries of leafage, flower, nut, dew are suited to the
    Saviour’s tender love (_pietas_). The foliage by its protecting is
    Christ, the flower is Christ by its sweetness, the nut as it yields
    food, the dew by its celestial grace.”

One observes that here the symbolism first touches Christ’s birth, the dry
rod and the fleece representing the Virgin. Then the leafage, flower, nut
and dew typify His qualities. The remaining stanzas of this hymn carry out
in further detail the symbolism of the nut.

Besides the hymns devoted to the Saviour, the greater part of Adam’s hymns
are symbolical throughout. Those written for the dedication of churches
are among the most interesting. One beginning “Quam dilecta
tabernacula”[123] sketches the Old Testament facts which prefigure
Christ’s holy Church. The keynote is in the lines:

  “Quam decora fundamenta
   Per concinna sacramenta
       Umbra praecurrentia!”

    “How seemly the foundations through the appropriate sacraments, the
    forerunning shadow.”

The shadow is the Old Testament, and these three lines sum up the teaching
of Hugo as to the sacramental nature of the Old Testament narratives.
Throughout this hymn Adam follows Hugo closely.[124] In another dedicatory
hymn[125] Adam gives the prefigurative meaning of the parts of Solomon’s
temple. There is likewise much symbolism in the grand hymns addressed to
the Virgin. One for the festival of the Assumption[126] gives the figures
of the Virgin in the Old Testament--the throne of Solomon, the fleece of
Gideon, the burning bush. Then with more feeling the metaphorical epithets
pour forth, voicing the heart’s gratitude to the Virgin’s saving aid to
man. A still more splendid example of like symbolism and ardent metaphor
is the great hymn beginning:

  “Salve mater Salvatoris,
   Vas electum, vas honoris,”

which won the Virgin’s greeting for the poet.[127]

The lives of Honorius, of Hugo, of Adam, from whose works we have been
drawing illustrations of mediaeval symbolism, vie with each other in
obscurity; and properly enough since they were monks, for whom
self-effacement is becoming. This personal obscurity culminates with one
last example to be drawn from monastic sources. The man himself was an
impressive figure in his time; a sight of him was not to be forgotten: he
was called _magnus_ and _doctor universalis_. Nevertheless it has been
questioned whether he lived in the twelfth or the thirteenth century, and
whether one man or two bore the name of Alanus de Insulis.

There was in fact but one, and he belongs to the twelfth century, dying
almost a centenarian, in the year 1202. The cognomen _de Insulis_ has also
been an enigma. From it he has been dubbed a Sicilian, and then a Scot,
born on the island of Mona. But the name in reality refers to the chief
town of Flanders, which is called Lisle; and Alanus doubtless was a
Fleming.

He became a learned man, and lectured at Paris. That he was possessed with
no small opinion of his talents would appear from the legend told of him
as well as of St. Augustine. He had announced that on a certain day in a
single lecture he would set forth the complete doctrine of the mystery of
the most Holy Trinity. The afternoon before the day appointed, he walked
by the river, thinking how he should arrange his subject so as to include
it all. He chanced upon a child who was dipping up the river water with a
snail shell and dropping it into a little trench. Smiling, he asked what
should be the object of this; and the child told him that he was putting
the whole river into his trench. As the great scholar was explaining that
this could not be done, he suddenly felt himself chidden and taught--how
much less might he perform what he had set for the next morning. He stood
speechless at his presumption, and burst into tears. The next day
ascending the platform he said to the crowd of auditors, “Let it suffice
you to have seen Alanus”;[128] and with that he left them all astonished,
and himself hastily set out for Citeaux. On arrival he asked to be
admitted as a _conversus_, and was given charge of the monastery’s sheep.
Patient and unknown, he long plied this humble vocation. But at length it
chanced that the abbot took him to a council at Rome, in the capacity of
hostler. And there he beat down the arrogance of a heretic with such
arguments that the latter cried out that he was disputing either with the
devil or Alanus, and would say no more.

Such is one story. By another he is made to seek the monastery of
Clairvaux, and there become a monk under St. Bernard. It is also written
that he became an abbot, and then a bishop, but afterwards resigned his
bishopric. However all this may have been, he died and was buried, and was
subjected to many epitaphs. On what purports to be an old copy of his tomb
at Citeaux, he is shown with St. Bernard, and called Alanus Magnus. The
title _Doctor universalis_ has always clung to his memory, which will not
altogether fade. For if Adam of Saint-Victor was the greatest of Latin
mediaeval hymn-writers, Alanus has good claim to be called the greatest of
mediaeval Latin poets in the field of didactic and narrative poetry.[129]

The many works ascribed to Alanus include an allegorical Commentary on
Canticles, a treatise on the art of preaching, a book of _sententiae_,
another of _theologicae regulae_, sundry sermons, and a lengthy work
“contra haereticos”; also a large dictionary of Biblical allegorical
interpretations, entitled _Liber in distinctionibus dictionum
theologicalium_.[130] All these are prose. He composed besides his _Liber
de planctu naturae_,[131] and his _Anticlaudianus_, a learned and
profound, and likewise highly imaginative allegorical poem upon man.[132]
Its Preface in prose casts a curious light upon the author’s enigmatical
personality, which combined the wonted or conventional humility of a monk
with the towering self-consciousness of a man of genius.

    “The lightning scorns to spend its force on twigs, but breaks the
    proud tops of exalted trees. The wind’s imperious rage passes over the
    reed and drives the assaults of its wild blasts against the highest
    summits. Wherefore let not envy’s flame strike the pinched humility of
    my work, nor detraction’s breath overwhelm the driven poverty of my
    little book, where misery’s wreck demands a port of pity, far more
    than felicity provokes the sting of spite.”

More sentences of turgid deprecation follow, and the author begs the
reader not to approach his book with disgust and irritation, but with
pleasant anticipations of novelty (not all a monk speaks here!).

    “For although the book may not bloom with the purple vestment of
    flowering speech, nor shine with the constellated light of the
    flashing period, still in the tenuity of the fragile reed the honey’s
    sweetness may be found, and parched thirst can be tempered with the
    scant water of a rill. In this book let nothing be made vulgar
    (_plebescat_) with ribaldry, nor let anything be open to biting
    reproof, as if it smacked of the coarseness of the moderns [to whom
    does he refer?]; but let the flower of my talent be presented, and the
    dignity of diligence; for pigmy humility, thus raised upon a height,
    may overtop the giant. Let not those dare to tire of this work, who
    are squalling in the cradles of elementary instruction, sucking milk
    from nurses’ paps; nor let those seek to cry it down, who are pledged
    to the service of the higher learning; nor those presume to discredit
    it, who strike heaven from the top-notch of philosophy. For in this
    work, the sweetness of the literal meaning will tickle the puerile
    ear; moral teaching will instruct the more proficient understanding;
    and the finer subtilty of allegory will sharpen the finished
    intellect. Wherefore let all those be kept from ingress who, abandoned
    to the mirrors of the senses, are not charioteered by reason, and,
    pursuing the sense-image, have no appetite for reason’s truth,--lest
    indeed what is holy be defiled by dogs, and the pearl be trampled by
    the feet of swine. But such as will not suffer the things of reason to
    rest with the base images, and dare to lift their view to forms
    divine, may thread the narrow passes of my book, while they weigh with
    discretion’s scales what is suited to the common ear, and what should
    be buried in silence.”

This Preface of strained sentence and laboured metaphor, of forced
humility and overweening self-consciousness, hardly augurs well for the
poem of which it is the prelude. But prefaces are authors’ pitfalls, and,
moreover, many writers have floundered in one medium of speech while in
another they have moved with ease. From the ungainly prose of the
_Persones Tale_, no one would expect the ease and force of Chaucer’s
verse. And the reader of Alanus’s Preface need not be discouraged from
entering upon his poem. Its subject is man; its philosophic or religious
purpose is to expound the functions of God, of Nature, of Fortune, of
Virtue and Vice, in making man and shaping his career. The poem is an
allegory, original in its general scheme of composition, but in many of
its parts following earlier allegorical writings.

The opening lines tell of Nature’s solicitude to bestow her gifts so that
the finished work may present a fair harmony: as a patient workman she
forges, trims and files, and fashions with reason’s chisel. But when she
seeks to invest her work with qualities beyond her giving, she is obliged
to call on the Celestial Council of her Sisters. Responding, pilgrim-like
the Crown of Heaven’s soldiery comes from on high, brightens the earth
with its light, and clothes the ground with blessed footprints.

Leading this galaxy, Concord advances, foster-child of Peace; then Plenty
comes, and Favour, and Youth with favour anointed, and Laughter, banisher
of mental mists; then Shame and Modesty, and Reason the measure of good,
and Honesty, Reason’s happy comrade; then Dignity (_decus_) and Prudence
balancing her scales, and Piety and true Faith, and Virtue. Last of all
Nobility (_nobilitas_), in grace not quite the others’ equal.[133]

In the midst of a great wood blessed with fountains and multitudinous
bird-song, a cloud-kissing mountain rose with level top. Nature’s palace
was erected here, gemmed and golden; and within was a great hall hung upon
bronze columns. Here the painter’s art had rendered the ways of men, and
inscriptions made plain the pictured story. “O new wonders of painting,”
exclaims the poet; “what cannot be, comes into being; and painting, the
ape of truth, deluding with novel art, turns shadows to realities, and
transforms particular falsehood into (general) truth.”[134] There might be
seen the power of logic pressing its arguments and conquering sophistry.
There Aristotle was preparing his arms, and, more divinely, Plato mused on
heaven’s secrets. There Seneca moralized, and Ptolemy explained the stars
in their times and courses. There spoke the word of Tully, while Virgil’s
muse painted many lies, and put truth’s garb on falsehood. There was also
shown the might of Alcides and Ulysses’ wisdom, Turnus’s valour prodigal
of life, and Hippolytus’s shame, undone by Venus’s reins.[135] Such and
many other tropes of things and dreams of truth, this royal art set
forth.

Here, standing in the midst of her Council, Nature, with bowed head, spoke
her solemn words: “Painfully I remake what my hand’s solicitude has
wrought. But the hand’s penitence does not wipe out the flaws. The
shortcomings of our works must be repaired by some perfect model, some man
divine, not smelling of the earth and earthly, but whose mind shall hold
to heaven while his body walks the earth. Let him be the mirror in which
we may see what our faith, our potency, and virtue ought to be. As it is,
our shame is over all the earth.”

When the Council had approved these words, Prudence arose in all her
beauty.[136] She discoursed upon man’s dual nature, spirit and body.
Nature and her helpers may be the artificers of his mortal body, but the
soul demands its heavenly Artificer, and laughs at our rude arts. God’s
wisdom alone can create the soul, as Prudence shows by an exposition of
its qualities.

Now Reason raised his reverend form, holding his triple glass in which
appear the causes and effects and qualities of things. He humbly
disclaimed the power to instruct Minerva,[137] and applauded the plan by
which a new Lucifer should sojourn in the world. May he unite all the
gifts which they can bestow, and be their champion against the Vices. Now
let their suppliant vows be sped to Him who alone can create the divine
mind. A legate should be despatched above, bearing their request. For this
office none is so fit as Prudence, to whom the secrets of Heaven are
known, and whose energy and wisdom will surmount the difficulties of the
way.

Prudence at first refuses; but Concordia rises, the inspirer of chaste
loves, she who knit the souls of David and Jonathan, Pirithous and
Theseus, Nisus and Euryalus, Orestes and Pylades. Persuasively she speaks,
and points out all the ills the world had suffered by disobedience to her
behests. Prudence is won over to the task, and now wills only as her
sisters will. She thinks upon the means and way. Wisdom orders a chariot
to be made, in which the sea, the stars, the heavens may be traversed. Its
artificers are her seven daughters, wise and fair, who unite the skill and
knowledge of all those wise ancients who had excelled in any Art. First
Grammar (her functions and great writers being told) forms the pole which
goes before the axle-tree (_temo praeambulus axis_). Then Logic makes the
axle-tree; and Rhetoric adorns the pole with gems and the axle with
flowers. Arithmetic constructs one wheel of the chariot, and Music the
second, Geometry the third, and the fourth wheel is made by
Astronomy.[138]

Now Reason, at Nature’s nod, yokes to the chariot the five horses, to wit,
the Senses disciplined and controlled, Sight, Hearing, Smell, Taste, and
Touch. He himself mounts as charioteer, and bids Prudence follow. Amid the
farewells and plaudits of all, the chariot soars aloft. As it speeds
along, Prudence investigates atmospheric phenomena, and then the spirits
of evil who wander through the air. They passed on through the upper
ether, reached the citadel and fount of light, where the Sun holds sway;
next was reached the region where Venus and the star of Mercury sing
together and Lucifer exults, the herald of the day. Then to their rapid
flight appeared Mars’ flaming palace, seething with fire and wrath. Onward
they passed to the glad light and unhurtful flames of Jupiter, and then to
Saturn’s sphere. At length they ascended the stellar region where the Pole
stars contend in brightness, where are seen Hercules and Orion, Leda’s
twins, the fiery Crab, the Lion, and the rest of the Zodiac’s
constellations.[139]

Here at heaven’s entrance the chariot halted. Those five horses of the
Senses, charioteered by Reason, could ascend no farther. But a damsel was
seen, seated upon the summit of the Pole. She scrutinizes the hidden Cause
and End of all things, holding scales in her right hand and in her left a
sceptre. On her vestments a subtile point traces God’s secrets, and the
formless is figured in form. Reverently Phronesis, that is Prudence,
saluted this Queen of the Pole, and set forth the purpose of her journey,
telling of Nature’s desire and her limitations. In reply Theology, for it
is she,[140] offered herself as a companion, and bade Prudence leave her
chariot, but keep the second courser (Hearing) to bear her on. Prudence
now surmounted the starry citadels, and marvelled at heaven’s nodes, where
the four ways begin and the crystalline waters flow, shot with agreeing
fires; for here, in universal harmony transcending Nature’s laws and
Reason’s power, Concord unites those elements which war below. Onward
leads the way among those joys celestial which know no tears, where there
is peace without hate, and light above all brightness. Here dwell the
angel bands, the Thunderer’s princes, regulators of the world; here glow
the seraphim, and cherubim drain draughts from the mind of God; and here
are the Thrones whereon God balances His weighed decrees, and with His
band of Powers conquers the tyrants.[141] Here also rest the saints, freed
from earth’s dross and passion, clothed in virgin white or martyr’s
purple, or wearing the Doctor’s laurel. Joyful alike are they, yet diverse
in merit, shining with unequal splendour.[142] Here finally, in honour
surpassing all, is the Virgin Mother, clad in the garb of our
salvation--Star of the Sea, Way of Life, Port of Salvation, Limit of
Piety, Mother of Pity, Garden closed, Sealed Font, Fruitful Olive, Sweet
Paradise, Rose without Thorn, Guiltless Grace, Way of the Wanderer, Light
of the Blind, Rest of the Tired--untold, unnumbered, and unspeakable are
her praises.[143]

Phronesis cannot bear the sight. Queen Theology calls to her sister Faith
to aid the fainting one. Faith comes and holds her Mirror before the eyes
of Phronesis; and in this glass her eyes can endure the shaded glory of
the overpowering vision. She staggers on, her trembling steps supported
by Faith and Theology. In the glass she sees the eternal and divine, the
enduring, moveless, sure; species unborn, celestial ideas, the forms of
men and principles of things, causes of causes and the course of fate, the
Thunderer’s mind; why God condemns some, predestines others, prepares that
one for life and from this one withdraws His rewards; why poverty presses
upon some and want is filled only with tears; why riches pour on others,
why one is wise, another lacking, and why the worthies of the past have
been endowed each with his several gifts.[144]

Marvelling at all these sights, Prudence, supported by the sisters,
reached at last the palace of the King, and fell prostrate before God
himself. He bade her rise, and speak. Humbly she set forth Nature’s plight
and the evil upon earth, and presented her petition. God accedes
benignantly. He will not destroy the earth again, but will send a human
spirit endowed with heavenly gifts, a pilgrim to the earth, a medicine for
the world. Prudence worships. God summons Mind, and orders him to fashion
the type-form, the idea of the human mind. Mind searches among existing
beings for the traces of this new _idea_ or type.[145] His difficult
search succeeds at last, and in the Mirror which he constructs, every
grace takes its abode: Joseph’s form, the intelligence of Judith, the
patience of righteous Job, the modesty of Moses, Jacob’s simplicity,
Abraham’s faith, Tobias’s piety. He presents this pattern-type to God, who
sets an accordant soul therein, and then entrusts the new-made being to
Phronesis, while Mind anoints it with an unguent against the attacks of
the Vices. Phronesis, with her prize, turned to the way by which she had
ascended, regained her chariot and Reason her charioteer. Together they
sped back to the congratulations of Nature and her Council.

For this perfect soul Nature now forms a beautiful body. Concord unites
the two, and a new man is formed, perfect and free from flaw. Chastity and
guardian Modesty endow him with their gifts; Reason adds his, and Honesty.
These Logic follows, with her gift of skill in argument; Rhetoric brings
her stores, then Arithmetic, next Music, next Geometry, next
Astronomy;[146] while Theology and Piety are not behind with theirs; and
to these Faith joins her gifts of fidelity and truth. Last of all comes
Nobility, Fortune’s daughter. But because she has nothing of her own to
give, and must receive all from her mother, she betakes herself to
Fortune’s house of splendid mutability. What will Fortune give? The two
return to Nature’s palace, and Fortune’s magnificence is proffered by her
daughter; but Reason, standing by, will allow only a measured
acceptance.[147]

The report of this richly endowed creature reached Alecto. Raging she
summoned her pests, the chiefs of Tartarus, doers of ill, masters of every
sin--Injury, Fraud, Perjury, Theft, Rapine, Fury and Anger, Hate, Discord,
Strife, Disease and Melancholy, Lust, Wantonness and Need, Fear and Old
Age. She roused them with a harangue: their rule is threatened by this
upstart Creature, whom Parent Nature has prepared for war; but what can
his untried imbecility do against them in arms?

All clamour assent, and in a tumult of rage make ready for the strife. The
hostile ranks approach. The first attack is made by Folly (_Stultitia_)
and her comrades, Sloth, Gaming, Idle Jesting, Ease and Sleep. But
faithful Virtues protect the constant youth against these foes. Next
Discord leads its mutinous band, but only to defeat. Onslaughts follow
from Poverty, next from Ill-Repute, from Old Age and Disease. Then
Grieving advances, and is overthrown by Laughter. More deadly still are
the attacks of Venus and Lust; then Excess and Wantonness take up the
fray; and at the end Impiety and Fraud and Avarice. But still the man
conquers with the aid of his Virtues ever true.

The fight is over. The Virtues triumph and receive their Kingdoms; Vice
succumbs; Love reigns instead of Discord; the man is blessed; and the
earth, adorned with flowers in a new spring of youth, brings forth
abundance. The Poet sums up his poem’s teaching: From God must everything
begin and in Him end. But our genius may not stand inert; ours is the
strife as well, according to our strength and faculty. Let the mind attach
itself to the things which are and do not pass, even as Plato sings, from
things of sense reaching on ever to the grades Angelic and Olympus’s
steeps. Then it shall behold the universal praise of God and the true
ascription of all good to Him. He in himself is perfect, Part and likewise
Whole, and everywhere uncircumscribed. Nothing has power in itself, but
all would fall to nothing, did He close the flux of hidden power.

Alanus, a good Christian Doctor, is also an eclectic in his thought. A
consistent system is hardly to be drawn from his poem. It suggests Christ.
But its hero is not the God-man of the Incarnation. Its figures are
semi-pagan. The virtue Faith, for example, is the Fides, the Good Faith,
of the antique Roman, though it is the Christian virtue Faith as well. In
language the poem is antique; its verse has vigorous flow; its imagery
lacks neither beauty nor sublimity. It is in fact a poem, a creation,
having a scheme and unity of its own, although the author borrows
continually. Martianus Capella is there and Dionysius the Areopagite;
there also is the _Psychomachia_ of Prudentius and its progeny of symbolic
battles between the Virtues and the Vices.[148] Yet Alanus has achieved;
for he has woven his material into a real poem and has reared his own
lofty allegory. His work is another grand example of mediaeval symbolism.

Thus we see the ceaseless sweep of allegory through men’s minds. They felt
and thought and dreamed in allegories; and also spent their dry ingenuity
on allegorical constructions. It was reserved for one supreme poet to
create, out of this atmosphere, a supreme poem which is as complete an
allegory as the _Anticlaudianus_. But the _Divina Commedia_ has also the
power of its human realities of actually experienced pain and joy, and
hate and love. Compared with it, the _Anticlaudianus_ betrays the
vapourings of monk and doctor, imaginative indeed, but thin. The author’s
feet were not planted on the earth of human life.

But the Middle Ages did not demand that allegory should have its feet
planted on the earth, so long as its head nodded high among the clouds--or
its sentiments wandered sweetly in fancy’s gardens. In one of these dwelt
that lovely Rose, whose _Roman_ once had vogue. In structure the _Roman de
la rose_ is an allegory from the beginning of the first part by De Lorris
to the very end of that encyclopaedic sequel added by De Meun. The story
is well known.[149] One may recall the fact that in De Lorris’s poem and
De Meun’s sequel every quality and circumstance of Love’s sentiment and
fortunes are figured in allegorical personifications--all the lover’s
hopes and fears and the wavering chances of his quest.

In this respect the poem is the courtly and romantic counterpart of such a
philosophical or religious allegory as the _Anticlaudianus_.
Personifications of the arts and sciences, the vices and virtues, current
since the time of Prudentius’s _Psychomachia_ and Capella’s _Nuptials of
Philology_, were all in the _Anticlaudianus_, while in the _Roman de la
rose_ figure their secular and romantic kin: in De Lorris’s part, Love,
Fair-Welcome, Danger, Reason, Franchise, Pity, Courtesy, Shame, Fear,
Idleness, Jealousy, Wicked-Tongue; then, with De Meun, others besides:
Richesse, False-Seeming, Hypocrisy, Nature, and Genius.[150] The figures
of the _Roman de la rose_ have diverse antecedents scattered through the
entire store of knowledge and classic literature possessed by the Middle
Ages; perhaps their immediate source of inspiration was the scheme of
courtly love which the mediaeval imagination elaborated and revelled
in.[151] The poem of De Lorris was a veritable romantic allegory. De Meun,
in his sequel, rather plays with the allegorical form, which he continues;
it has become a frame for his stores of learning, his knowledge of the
world, his views of life, his wit and satire, and his great literary and
poetic gifts. Yet it ends in a regular _Psychomachia_, in which Love’s
barons are hard beset by all the foes of Love’s delight, though Love has
its will at last.



BOOK VI

LATINITY AND LAW



CHAPTER XXX

THE SPELL OF THE CLASSICS

      I. CLASSICAL READING.

     II. GRAMMAR.

    III. THE EFFECT UPON THE MEDIAEVAL MAN; HILDEBERT OF LAVARDIN.


I

During all the mediaeval centuries, men approached the Classics expecting
to learn from them. The usual attitude toward the classical heritage was
that of docile pupils looking for instruction. One may recall the
antecedent reasons of this, which have already been stated at length. In
Italy, letters survived as the most impressive legacy from an
overshadowing past. In the north, save where they lingered on from the
antique time, they came in the train of Latin Christianity, and were
offered to men under the same imposing conditions of a higher civilization
authoritatively instructing ruder peoples. Moreover, between the ancient
times which produced the classic literature and the Carolingian period
there intervened centuries of degeneracy and transition, when the Classics
were used pedagogically to teach grammar and rhetoric. Then grammars were
composed or revised, and other handbooks of elementary instruction. The
Classics still were loved; but how shall men love beyond their own
natures? Gifted Jerome, great Augustine, loved them with an ardour
bringing its own misgivings. Other lovers, like Ausonius and Apollinaris
Sidonius, were pedantic imitators.

Both north and south of the Alps another and obviously enduring cause
fostered the habit of regarding the Classics as storehouses of knowledge:
the fact that they were such for all the mediaeval centuries. They
included not only poetry and eloquence, but also history, philosophy,
natural knowledge, law and polity. The knowledge contained in them
exceeded what the men of western Europe otherwise possessed. As century
after century passed, mediaeval men learned more for themselves, and also
drew more largely on the classic store. Yet it remained unexhausted. The
twelfth and thirteenth centuries constitute the great mediaeval epoch. Men
were then opening their eyes a little to observe the natural world, and
were thinking a little for themselves. Nevertheless the chief increase in
knowledge issued from the gradual discovery and mastering of the works of
Aristotle. These centuries, like their predecessors, make clear that men
who inherit from a greater past a universal literature containing the best
they can conceive and more knowledge than they can otherwise attain, will
be likely to regard every part of this literature as in some way a source
of knowledge, physical or metaphysical, historical or ethical. And the
Classics merited such regard; for where they did not instruct in science,
they imparted knowledge of life, and norms and instances of conduct, from
which men still may draw guidance. We have outlearned the physics, and
perhaps the metaphysics of the Greeks; their knowledge of nature, in
comparison with ours, was but as a genial beginning; their polities and
their formal ethics we have tried and tested; but we have not risen above
the power and inspiration of the story of Greece and Rome, and the
exemplifications of life in the Greek and Latin Classics. It has not
ceased to be true that he who best loves the Classics, and most deeply
feels and glories in their unique excellence as literature, is he who
still draws life from them, and discipline and knowledge. Their true
lovers, like the true lovers of all noble literature, are always in a
state of pupilage to the poems and the histories they love.

Obviously then no final word lies in the statement that through the Middle
Ages men turned to the Classics for instruction. They did indeed turn to
them for all kinds of knowledge, and for discipline. Often they looked for
instruction from Ovid or Virgil in a way to make us smile. Often they
were like schoolboys, dully conning words which they did not feel and so
did not understand. But in the tenth century, and in the twelfth, some men
admired and loved the Latin Classics, and drew from them, as we may,
lessons which are learned only by those who love aright.

It would be hard to say what the men of the Middle Ages did not thus gain.
The pagan classical literature was one of humanity in its full range of
interests. This was true of the Greek; and from the Greek, the universal
human passed to the Latin, which the Middle Ages were to know. In both
literatures, man was a denizen of earth. The laws of mortality and fate
were held before his eyes; and the action of the higher powers bore upon
mortal happiness, rather than upon any life to come. When reflecting upon
the use and influence of the Classics through the Middle Ages, it is
always to be kept in mind that the antique literature was the literature
of this life and of this world; that it was universal in its humanity, and
still in the Middle Ages might touch every human love and human interest
not directly connected with the hopes and terrors of the Judgment Day.

So whenever educated mediaeval men were drawn by the ambitions or moved by
the finer joys of human life, it lay in their path to seek instruction or
satisfaction from some antique source. If a man wished the common
education of a clerk, he drew it from antique text-books and their
commentaries. Grammar and rhetoric meant Latin grammar and Latin rhetoric;
dialectic also was Latin and antique. Likewise the quadrivium of
arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music, could be studied only in
Latin. These ordinary branches of education having been mastered, if then
the man’s tastes or ambitions turned to the interests of earth (and who
except the saintly recluse was not so drawn?) he would still look to the
antique. A civilian or an ecclesiastic would need some knowledge of law,
which for the most part was Roman, even when disguised as Canon law.[152]
Did a man incline toward philosophy, and the scrutiny of life’s deeper
problems, again the source was the antique; and when he lifted his mind to
theology, he would still find himself reasoning in categories of antique
dialectic. Finally, and this was a broad field of humane inclination, if a
clerkly educated man loved poetry, eloquence, and history, for their own
sakes, he also would turn to the antique.

There is scarcely need to revert again to the use of the Classics in the
earlier Middle Ages. We have seen that in Italy they never ceased to form
the conscious background to all intellectual life; and that in the north,
letters came a handmaid in the train of Latin Christianity--a handmaid
that was apt to assert her own value, and also charm the minds of men.
From the first, it was the orthodox view that Latin letters should provide
the education enabling men to understand the Christian religion
adequately. This is the object set forth in Charlemagne’s Capitularies
upon education.[153] Three hundred years later Honorius of Autun says in
his sermonizing way:

    “Not only, beloved, do the sacred writings lead us to eternal life,
    but profane letters also teach us; for edifying matter may be drawn
    from them. In view of sacred examples no one should be scandalized at
    this. For the children of Israel spoiled the Egyptians; they took gold
    and silver, gems and precious vestments, which they afterwards turned
    into God’s treasury to build the tabernacle.”[154]

Honorius used Augustine’s reference to the Egyptians, and followed this
Augustinian view, always recognized as orthodox in the Middle Ages. It was
narrower than the practice among those who followed letters. Gerbert at
the close of the tenth century loved to teach and read the pagan writers,
and drew from them training and discipline.[155] In the next century, the
German monk Froumund of Tegernsee, with Bernward and Godehard, bishops of
Hildesheim, are instances of German love of antique letters.[156] Yet
lofty souls might choose to limit their reading of the Classics, at least
in theory, to the needs of their Latinity. Such a one was Hugo of
St.-Victor, scholar, theologian, man of genius;[157] he professed to care
more for the Christian ardours of the soul than for learning even as a
means of righteousness, and chose to take the side of those who would
read the classic authors only so far as the needs of education demanded:

    “There are two kinds of writings, first those which are termed the
    _artes_ proper, secondly, those which are the supplements
    (_appendentia_) of the _artes_. _Artes_ comprise the works grouped
    under (_supponuntur_) philosophy, those which contain some fixed and
    determined matter of philosophy, as grammar, dialectic and the like.
    _Appendentia artium_ are those [writings] which touch philosophy less
    nearly and are occupied with some subject apart from it; and yet
    sometimes offer flotsam and jetsam from the _artes_, or simply as
    narratives smooth the road to philosophy. All the songs of poets are
    such--tragedies, comedies, satires, heroics, and lyrics too, and
    iambics, besides certain didactic works (_didascalica_); tales
    likewise, and histories; also the writings of those nowadays called
    philosophers, who extend a brief matter with lengthy circumlocution,
    and thus darken a simple meaning.

    “Note then well the distinction I have drawn for thee: distinct and
    different (_duo_) are the _artes_ and their _appenditia_, ... and
    often from the latter the student will gain much labour and little
    fruit. The _artes_, without their _appenditia_, may make the reader
    perfect; but the latter, without the _artes_, can bring no whit of
    perfection. Wherefore one should first of all devote himself to the
    _artes_, which are so fundamental, and to the aforesaid seven above
    all, which are the means and instruments (_instrumenta_) of all
    philosophy. Then let the rest be read, if one has leisure, since
    sometimes the playful mingled with the serious especially delights us,
    and we are apt to remember a moral found in a tale.”[158]

Temperament affected Hugo’s view. He was of the spiritual aristocracy, who
may be somewhat disdainful of the common means by which men get their
education and round out their natures. The mechanical monotony of pedagogy
grated on him and evoked the ironical sketch of a school-room, which he
put in his dialogue on the Vanity of the World. The little Discipulus,
directed by his Magister, is surveying human things.

    “Turn again, and look,” says the latter, “and what do you see?”

    “I see the schools of learners. There is a great crowd, and of all
    ages, boys and youths, men young and old. They study various things.
    Some practise their rude tongue at the alphabet and at words new to
    them. Others listen to the inflection of words, their composition and
    derivation; then by reciting and repeating them they try to commit
    them to memory. Others furrow the waxen tablets with a stylus. Others,
    guiding the calamus with learned hand, draw figures of different
    shapes and colours on parchments. Still others with sharper zeal seem
    to dispute on graver matters and try to trip each other with twistings
    and impossibilities (_gryphis_?). I see some also making calculations,
    and some producing various sounds upon a cord stretched on a frame.
    Others, again, explain and demonstrate geometric figures; and yet
    others with various instruments show the positions and courses of the
    stars and the movement of the heavens. Others, finally, consider the
    nature of plants, the constitution of men, and the properties and
    powers of things.”

The Disciple is captivated with this many-coloured show of learning; but
the Master declares it to be mostly foolishness, distracting the student
from understanding his own nature, his Creator, and his future lot.[159]

These are examples, which might be multiplied indefinitely, of the pious
mediaeval view that the _artes_, with a very little reading of the
_auctores_, were proper for the educated Christian, whose need was to
understand Scripture. Sometimes, stung, at least rhetorically, by fear of
the lust and idolatry of the antique, mediaeval souls cry out against its
lures, even as Jerome’s Christianly protesting nature dreamed that famous
dream of exclusion from heaven as a “Ciceronian.” Alcuin, who led the
educational movement under Charlemagne, gently chides one whose fondness
for Virgil made him forget his friend--“would that the Gospels rather than
the _Aeneid_ filled thy breast.”[160] Three hundred years later, St. Peter
Damiani, himself a virtuoso in letters and a sometime teacher of rhetoric,
arraigns the monks for teaching grammar rather than things spiritual.[161]
Damiani speaks with the harshness of one who fears what he loves. In
France, about the same time, our worthy sermon-writer, Honorius of Autun,
liked the profanities well enough, and drew from them apt moral tales,
which preachers might introduce to rouse drowsy congregations. Yet he
directs his pulpit-thunder at the _cives Babyloniae_, the _superbi_, who
after their several tastes finger profane literature to their peril:
“Those delighting in quibbling learn Aristotle: the lovers of war have
Maro, and the lustful idlers their Naso. Lucan and Statius incite
discords, while Horace and Terence equip the pert and wanton
(_petulantes_)--but since the names of these are blotted from the book of
life, I shall not commemorate them with my lips.”[162]

This with the excellent Honorius was pious rhetoric. Yet the love and fear
of antique letters caused anxiety in many a mediaeval soul, deflected by
them from its narrow path to the heavenly Jerusalem. Indeed the love of
letters and of knowledge was to play its part, and might take one side or
the other, according to the motive of their pursuit, in the great
mediaeval _psychomachia_ between the cravings of mortal life and the
militant insistencies of the soul’s salvation. This conflict, not confined
to mediaeval monks, has its universal aspects. It echoes in the sigh of
Michelangelo over the

                  “affectuosa fantasia,
  Che l’ arte si fece idolo e monarca,”

--which had so long drawn his heart from Eternity.[163]

Commonly, however, this conflict did not greatly disturb scholars who felt
in some degree the classic spell so manifold of delight in themes
delightful, of pleasure somehow drawn from clear statement and convincing
sequence of thought, of even deeper happiness springing from the stirring
of those faculties through which man rejoices in knowledge. To be sure,
readers of the Classics, who drew joy from them or satisfaction, or humane
instruction, were comparatively few in the mediaeval centuries, as they
are to-day. And undoubtedly in the Middle Ages the Classics usually were
read in unenlightened schoolboy fashion. Yet making these reservations, we
may be sure that letters yielded up their joys to the chosen few in every
mediaeval century. “Amor litterarum ab ipso fere initio pueritiae mihi est
innatus,” wrote Lupus in the ninth.[164] Gerbert might have said the
same, and many of the men who taught at Chartres in the generations
following. So likewise might have said John of Salisbury. In studying the
Classics he certainly looked to them for instruction. But he also loved
them, and found companionship and solace in them, as he says, and as
Cicero before him had said of letters.

We may ask ourselves what sort of pleasure do _we_ get from reading the
Classics? not necessarily a light distracting of the mind, but rather a
deeper gratification: thought is aroused and satisfied, and our nature is
appeased by the admirable presentation of things admirable. At the same
time we may be conscious of discipline and benefit. There is good reason
to suppose that a like pleasure, or satisfaction, with discipline and
instruction, came to this exceedingly clever John from reading Terence,
Virgil and Ovid, Horace, Juvenal, Lucan, Persius and Statius, Cicero,
Seneca and Quintilian--for he read them all.[165] John is affected,
impressed, and trained by his classic reading; he has absorbed his
authors; he quotes from them as spontaneously and aptly as he quotes from
Scripture. A quotation from the one or the other may give final point to
an argument, and have its own eloquent suggestions. Sometimes the tone of
one of his own letters--which usually are excellent in form and
language--may agree with that of the pithy antique quotation garnishing
it. A mediaeval writer was not likely to say just what we should when
expressing ourselves on the same matter. Yet John makes quite clear to us
how he cared for antique letters, in the Prologue to his _Polycraticus_,
his chief work on philosophy and life; and we may take his word as to the
satisfaction which he drew from them, since his own writings prove his
assiduity in their cult. This prologue is somewhat _cherché_, and imbued
with a preciosity of sentiment putting one in mind of Cicero’s oration
_Pro Archia poeta_.

    “Most delightful in many ways, but in this especially, is the fruit of
    letters, that banishing the reserve of intervening place and time,
    they bring friends into each other’s presence, and do not suffer
    noteworthy things to be obliterated by dust. For the arts would have
    perished, laws would have vanished, the offices of faith and religion
    would have fallen away, and even the correct use of language would
    have failed, had not the divine pity, as a remedy for human infirmity,
    provided letters for the use of mortals. Ancient examples, which
    incite to virtue, would have corrected and served no one, had not the
    pious solicitude of writers transmitted them to posterity.... Who
    would know the Alexanders and the Caesars, or admire Stoics and
    Peripatetics, had not the monuments of writers signalized them?
    Triumphal arches promote the glory of illustrious men from the carved
    inscription of their deeds. Thereby the observer recognizes the
    Liberator of his Country, the Establisher of Peace. The light of fame
    endures for no one save through his own or another’s writing. How many
    and how great kings thinkest thou there have been, of whom there is
    neither speech nor cogitation? Vainly have men stormed the heights of
    glory, if their fame does not shine in the light of letters. Other
    favour or distinction is as fabled Echo, or the plaudits of the Play,
    ceasing the moment it has begun.

    “Besides all this, solace in grief, recreation in labour, cheerfulness
    in poverty, modesty amid riches and delights, faithfully are bestowed
    by letters. For the soul is redeemed from its vices, and even in
    adversity refreshed with sweet and wondrous cheer, when the mind is
    intended upon reading or writing what is profitable. Thou shalt find
    in human life no more pleasing or more useful employment; unless
    perchance when, with heart dilated through prayer and divine love, the
    mind perceives and arranges within itself, as with the hand of
    meditation, the great things of God. Believe one who has tried it,
    that all the sweets of the world, compared with these exercises, are
    wormwood.”[166]

Hereupon, still addressing himself to his friend and patron, Thomas à
Becket, John suggests that these recreations are peculiarly beneficial to
men in their circumstances, burdened with affairs; and he puts his
principles in practice, by launching forth upon his lengthy work of
learned and philosophic disquisition.

To supplement this outline of John’s appreciation of the Classics, it will
be interesting to look into the literary interpretation of a classical
poem, from the pen of one of his contemporaries. So little is known of the
author, Bernard Silvestris, that he usually has been confused with his
more famous fellow, Bernard of Chartres. We may refer to both of them
again.[167] Here our business is solely with the _Commentum Bernardi
Silvestris super sex libros Aeneidos Virgilii_.[168] The writer draws from
the _Saturnalia_ of the fifth-century grammarian, Macrobius; but his
allegorical interpretation of the _Aeneid_ seems to be his own. He finds
in the _Aeneid_ a twofold consideration, in that its author meant to teach
philosophic truth, and at the same time was not inattentive to the poetic
plot.

    “Since then Virgil in this poem is both philosopher and poet, we shall
    first expound the purpose and method of the poet.... His aim is to
    unfold the calamities of Aeneas and other Trojans, and the labours of
    the exiles. Herein disregarding the truth of history as told by Dares
    the Phrygian,[169] and seeking to win the favour of Augustus, he
    adorns the facts with figments. For Virgil, greatest of Latin poets,
    wrote in imitation of Homer, greatest of Greek poets. As Homer in the
    _Iliad_ narrates the fall of Troy and in the _Odyssey_ the exile of
    Ulysses; so Virgil in the second Book briefly relates the overthrow of
    Troy, and in the rest the labours of Aeneas. Consider the twin order
    of narration, the natural and the artistic (_artificialem_). The
    natural is when the narrative proceeds according to the sequence of
    events, telling first what happened first. Lucan and Statius keep to
    this order. The artistic is when we begin in the middle of the story,
    and thence revert to the commencement. Terence writes thus, and Virgil
    in this work. It would have been the natural order to have described
    first the destruction of Troy, and then brought the Trojans to Crete,
    from Crete to Sicily, and from Sicily to Libya. But he first brings
    them to Dido, and introduces Aeneas relating the overthrow of Troy and
    the other things that he has suffered.[170]

    “Up to this point we show how he proceeds: next let us observe why he
    does it so. With poets there is the reason of usefulness, as with a
    satirist; the reason of pleasure, as with a writer of comedies; and
    again these two combined, as with the historical poet. As Horace says:

      ‘Aut prodesse volunt aut delectare poetae,
       Aut simul et iucunda et idonea dicere vitae.’

    “This kind of a historical poem is shown by its figurative and
    polished diction and in the various mischances and deeds narrated. If
    any one will study to imitate it he will gain skill in writing. The
    narrative also contains instances and arguments for following the
    right and avoiding what is evil. Hence a twofold profit to the reader:
    skill in writing, gained through imitation, and prudence in conduct,
    drawn from example and precept. For instance, in the labours of Aeneas
    we have an example of endurance; and one of piety, in his affection
    for Anchises and Ascanius. From the reverence which he shows the gods,
    from the oracles which he supplicates, from the sacrifices which he
    offers, from the vows and prayers which he pours forth, we feel drawn
    to religion: while through Dido’s unbridled love, we are recalled from
    desire for the forbidden.”

The above is excellent, but not particularly original. It shows, however,
that Bernard could appreciate the _Aeneid_ in this way. His allegorical
interpretation is of a piece with current mediaeval methods. Yet to take a
poem allegorically was not distinctively mediaeval; for Homer and other
poets had been thus expounded from the days of Plato, who did not himself
approve. With Bernard, each Book of the _Aeneid_ represents one of the
ages of man, the first Book betokening infancy, the second boyhood, and so
forth. Allegorical etymologies are applied to the names of the personages;
and in general the whole natural course and setting of the poem is taken
allegorically. “The sea is the human body moved and tossed by drunkenness
and lusts, which are represented by waves.” Aeneas, to wit, the human soul
joined to its body, comes to Carthage, the mundane city where Dido reigns,
which is lust; this allegory is unfolded in detail. So the interpretation
ambles on, not more and not less jejune than such ingenuities usually are.

       *       *       *       *       *

Classical studies reached their zenith in the twelfth century. For in
every way that century surpassed its predecessors; and in classical
studies it excelled the thirteenth, which devoted to them a smaller
portion of its intellectual energies. The twelfth century, to be sure, was
prodigiously interested in dialectic and theology. Yet these had not quite
engulfed the humanities; nor had any newly awakened interest in physical
or experimental science distracted the eyes of men from the charms of the
ancient written page. The change took place in the thirteenth century.
Its best intellectual efforts, north of the Alps at least, were directed
to the study and theological appropriation of the Aristotelian
encyclopaedia of metaphysics and universal knowledge.[171] The effect of
Aristotle was totally unliterary. And the minds of men, absorbed in
mastering this giant mass of knowledge and argument, ceased to regard
literary form and the humane aspects of Latin literature.

Until the thirteenth century, dialectic and theology were not completely
severed from _belles lettres_. The Platonic-Augustinian theology of the
twelfth century had been idealizing and imaginative, not to say poetical.
Such an interesting exponent of it as Hugo of St. Victor appears as a
literary personage, despite his stinted advocacy of classical study. One
notes that for his time the chief single source of physical knowledge was
the Latin version of the _Timaeus_, certainly not a prosaic composition.
Thus, for the twelfth century, an effective cause of the continuance of
the study of letters lay herein: whatever branch of natural knowledge
might allure the student, he could not draw it bodily from a serious but
unliterary repository, like the _Physics_ or _De animalibus_ of Aristotle,
which were not yet available; he must follow his bent through the writings
of various Latin poets as well as prose-writers. In fine, the sources of
profane knowledge open to the twelfth century were literary in their
nature, and might form part of the literature which would be read by a
student of grammar or rhetoric.

One sees this in John of Salisbury. There may have been a few men who knew
more than he did of some particular topic. But his range and readiness of
knowledge were unique. And it is evident from his writings that his
knowledge (except in logic) had no special or scientific source, but was
derived from a promiscuous reading of Latin literature. As a result, he is
himself a literary man. One may say much the same of his younger
contemporary, Alanus de Insulis.[172] He too has gathered knowledge from
literary sources, and he himself is one of the best Latin poets of the
Middle Ages. Another extremely poetic philosopher was Bernard Silvestris,
the interpreter of Virgil. His _De mundi unitate_ is a Pantheistic
exposition of the Universe; it is also a poem; and incidentally it affords
another illustration of the general fact, that before the works of
Aristotle were made known and expounded in the thirteenth century, all
kinds of natural and quasi-philosophic knowledge were drawn from a variety
of writings, some of them poor enough from any point of view, but none of
them distinctly scientific and unliterary, like the works of Aristotle.
Formal logic or dialectic, as cultivated by Abaelard for example, appears
as an exception. It had been specialized and more scientifically treated
than any branch of substantial knowledge; for indeed it was based on the
logical treatises of Aristotle, most of which were in use before
Abaelard’s death, and all of which were known to Thierry of Chartres and
John of Salisbury.[173]

The contrast between the cathedral school of Chartres and the University
of Paris illustrates the change from the twelfth to the thirteenth
century. The former has been spoken of in a previous chapter, where its
story was brought down to the times of its great teachers, Bernard and
Thierry, of whom we shall have to speak in connection with the teaching of
grammar and the reading of classical authors. The school flourished
exceedingly until the middle of the twelfth century.[174] By that time the
schools of Paris had received an enormous impetus from the popularity of
Abaelard, and scholars had begun to push thither from all quarters. But it
was not till the latter part of the century that the University, with its
organization of Masters and Faculties, began visibly to emerge out of the
antecedent cathedral school.[175] Chartres was a home of letters; and
there Latin literature was read enthusiastically. But in Paris Abaelard
was pre-eminently a dialectician; and after he died, through those decades
when the University was coming into existence, the tide of study set
irresistibly toward theology and metaphysics. Students and masters of the
Faculty of Arts outnumbered all the other Faculties; nevertheless,
counting not by tumultuous numbers, but by intellectual strength, the
great matter was Theology, and the majority of the Masters in the Arts
were students in the divine science. The Arts were regarded as a
preparatory discipline. So through its great period, which roughly
coincides with the thirteenth century, the University of Paris was for all
Europe the supreme seat of Dialectic, Metaphysics, and Theology, and yet
no kindly nurse of _belles lettres_.

The tendencies of Oxford were not quite the same as those of Paris, yet
Latin literature as such does not seem to have been cultivated there for
its own fair sake. This apparently was unaffected by the fact that a
movement for “close” or exact scholarship existed at the English
university. Grosseteste, its first great chancellor, teacher and inspirer,
unquestionably introduced, or encouraged, the study of Greek; and his
famous pupil, Roger Bacon, was a serious Greek scholar, and wrote a
grammar of that tongue. But neither Grosseteste nor Bacon appears to have
been moved by any literary interest in Greek literature; both one and the
other urged the importance of Greek, and of Hebrew too and Arabic, in
order to reach a surer knowledge of Scripture and Aristotle. They sought
to open the veritable founts of theology and natural knowledge, an
intelligent aim indeed, but quite unliterary. In spirit both these men
belong to the thirteenth century, not to the twelfth.[176]

In Italy, one does not find that the passage from the twelfth to the
thirteenth century displays the decline in classical studies which is
apparent north of the Alps. The reasons seem obvious. The passion for
metaphysical theology did not invade this land of practical
ecclesiasticism and urban living, where pagan antiquity, dumb, broken, and
defaced, yet everywhere surviving, was the medium of life and thought and
temperamental inclination in the thirteenth as well as in the twelfth
century. Nor was Italy as yet becoming scientific, or greatly interested
in physical hypothesis; although medicine was cultivated in various
centres, Salerno, for example, and Bologna. But for the twelfth, and for
the thirteenth century as well, Italy’s great intellectual achievement was
in the two closely neighbouring sciences of canon and civil law. These
made the University of Bologna as pre-eminent in law as Paris was in
theology. There had been schools of grammar and rhetoric at Bologna and
Ravenna, before the lecturing of Irnerius on the _Pandects_ drew to the
first-named town the concourse of mature and seemly students who were
gradually to organize themselves into a university.[177] Thus at Bologna
law flourished and grew great, springing upward from an antecedent base of
grammatical if not literary studies. The study of the law never cut itself
away from this foundation. For the exigencies of legal business demanded
training in the scrivener’s and notarial arts of inditing epistles and
drawing documents, for which the _ars dictaminis_, to wit, the art of
composition was of primary utility. This _ars_, teaching as it did both
the general rules of composition and the more specific forms of legal or
other formal documents, pertained to law as well as grammar. Of the latter
study it was perhaps in Italy the main element, or, rather, end. But even
without this hybrid link of the _dictamen_, grammar was needed for the
interpretation of the _Pandects_; and indeed some of the glosses of
Irnerius and other early glossators are grammatical rather than legal
explanations of the text. We should bear in mind that this august body of
jurisprudential law existed not in the inflated statutory Latin of
Justinian’s time, but in the sonorous and correct language of the earlier
empire, when the great Jurists lived, as well as Quintilian. Accordingly a
close study of the _Pandects_ required, as well as yielded, a knowledge of
classical Latinity. Thus law tended to foster, rather than repress,
grammar and rhetoric; and had no unfavourable effect on classical studies.
And even as such studies “flourished” in Italy in the eleventh and twelfth
centuries, they did not cease to “flourish,” there in the thirteenth, in
the same general though rather dull and uncreative way. For it will
hereafter appear that the productions of the Latin poets and rhetoricians
of Italy were below the literary level of those composed north of the
Loire in France, or in England.


II

From the days of the Roman Empire, the study of grammar was, and never
ceased to be, the basis of the conscious and rational knowledge of the
Latin tongue. The Roman boys studied it at Rome; the Latin-speaking
provincials studied it, and all people of education who remained in the
lands of western Europe which once had formed part of the Empire; its
study was renewed under Charlemagne; he and Alcuin and all the scholars of
the ninth century were deeply interested in what to them represented
tangible Latinity, and in fact was to be a chief means by which their
mediaeval civilization should maintain its continuity with its source. For
grammar was most instrumental in preserving mediaeval Latin from violent
deflections, which would have left the ancient literature as the
literature of a forgotten tongue. Had mediaeval Latin failed to keep
itself veritable Latin; had it instead suffered transmutation into local
Romance dialects, the Latin classics, and all that hung from them, might
have become as unknown to the Middle Ages as the Greek, and even have been
lost forever. It was the study of Latin grammar, with classic texts to
illustrate its rules, that kept Latin Latin, and preserved standards of
universal usage throughout western Europe, by which one language was read
and spoken everywhere by educated people. From century to century this
language suffered modification, and varied according to the knowledge and
training of those who used it; yet its changes were never such as to
destroy its identity as a language, or prevent the Latin writer of one age
or country from understanding whatever in any land or century had been
written in that perennial tongue.

Therefore fortunately, as the Carolingian scholars studied Latin grammar,
so likewise did those of all succeeding mediaeval generations, thereby
holding themselves to at least a homogeneity, though not an unvarying
uniformity, of usage. Evidently, however, the method of grammatical
instruction had to vary with the needs of the learners and the teachers’
skill. The Romans prattled Latin on their mothers’ knees; and so, with
gradually widening deflections, did the Latinized provincials. Neither
Roman nor Provincial prattled Ciceronian periods, or used quite the
vocabulary of Virgil; yet it was Latin that they talked. Thenceforward
there was to be a difference between the people who lived in countries
where Romance dialects had emerged from the spoken Latin and prevailed,
and those people who spoke a Teuton speech. Although always drawing away,
the natal speech of Romance peoples was so like Latin, that in learning it
they seemed rather to correct their vulgar tongue than to acquire a new
language. So it was in the Christian parts of Spain, in Gaul, and, above
all, in Italy, where the vulgar dialects were tardiest in taking
distinctive form. Nevertheless, as the Romance dialects, for instance in
the country north of the Loire, developed into the various forms of what
is called Old French, young people at school would have to learn Latin as
a quasi-foreign tongue. Across the Rhine in Germany boys ordinarily had to
learn it at school, as a strange language, just as they must to-day; and
every effort was devoted to this end.[178] It was not likely that the
grammars composed for Roman boys, or at least for boys who spoke Latin
from their infancy, would altogether meet the needs of German, or even
French, youth. Yet only gradually and slowly in the Middle Ages were
grammars put together to make good the insufficiencies of Donatus and
Priscian.

The former was the teacher of St. Jerome. He composed a short work, in the
form of questions and answers, explaining the eight parts of speech, but
giving no rules of gender, or forms of declension and conjugation, needed
for the instruction of those who, unlike the Roman youth, could not speak
the language. This little book went by the name of the _Ars minor_. The
same grammarian composed a more extensive work, the third book of which
was called the _Barbarismus_, after its opening chapter. It defined the
figures of speech (_figurae_, _locutiones_), and was much used through the
mediaeval period.

The _Ars minor_ explained in simple fashion the elements of speech. But
the _Institutiones grammaticae_ of Priscian, a contemporary of
Cassiodorus, offered a mine of knowledge. Of its eighteen books the first
sixteen were devoted to the parts of speech and their forms, considered
under the variations of gender, declension, and conjugation. The remaining
two treated of _constructio_ or syntax. As early as the tenth century
Priscian was separated into these two parts, which came to be known as
_Priscianus major_ and _minor_. The Priscian manuscripts, whose name is
legion, usually present the former. Diffuse in language, confused in
arrangement, and overladen perhaps with its thousands of examples, it was
berated for its labyrinthine qualities even in the Middle Ages; yet its
sixteen books remained the chief source of etymological knowledge.
_Priscianus minor_ was less widely used.

The grammarians of the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries followed
Donatus and Priscian, making extracts from their works, or abridgements,
and now and then introducing examples of deviation from the ancient usage.
The last came usually from the Vulgate text of Scripture, which sometimes
departed from the idioms or even word-forms approved by the old
authorities.[179] The _Ars minor_ of Donatus became enveloped in
commentaries; but Priscian was so formidable that in these early centuries
he was merely _glossed_, that is, annotated in brief marginal fashion.

It would be tedious to dwell upon mediaeval grammatical studies. But the
tendencies characterizing them in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries may
be indicated briefly. The substance of the _Priscianus major_ was followed
by mediaeval grammarians. That is to say, while admitting certain
novelties,[180] they adhered to its rules and examples relating to the
forms of words, their declension and conjugation. But the _Priscianus
minor_, although used, was departed from. In the first place its treatment
of its subject (syntax) was confused and inadequate. There was, however, a
broader reason for seeking rules elsewhere. Mediaeval Latin, in its
progress as a living or quasi-living language, departed from the classical
norms far more in syntax and composition than in word-forms. The latter
continued much the same as in antiquity. But the popular and so to speak
Romance tendencies of mediaeval Latin brought radical changes of
word-order and style, which worked back necessarily upon the rules of
syntax. These had been but hazily stated by the old writers, and the task
of constructing an adequate Latin syntax remained undone. It was a task of
vital importance for the preservation of the Latin tongue. Word-forms
alone will not preserve the continuity of a language; it is essential that
their use in speech and writing should be kept congruous through
appropriate principles of syntax. Such were intelligently formulated by
mediaeval grammarians. The result was not exactly what it would have been
had the task been carried out in the fourth century: yet it has endured in
spite of the attacks, pseudo-attacks indeed, of the _cinquecento_; and the
mediaeval treatment of Latin syntax is the basis of the modern treatment.
One may add that syntax or _constructio_ was taken broadly as embracing
not only the agreements of number and gender, and the governing[181] of
cases, but also the order of words in a sentence, which had changed so
utterly between the time of Cicero and Thomas Aquinas.

These general statements find illustration in the famous _Doctrinale_ of
Alexander de Villa-Dei, whose author was born in Normandy in the latter
half of the twelfth century. He studied at Paris, and in course of time
was summoned by the Bishop of Dol to instruct his _nepotes_ in grammar.
While acting as their tutor, he appears to have helped their memory by
setting his rules in rhyme; and the bishop asked him to write a _Summa_ of
grammar in some such fashion. Complying, he composed the _Doctrinale_ in
the year 1199, putting his work into leonine or rhyming hexameter, to make
it easier to memorize. Rarely has a school-book met with such success. It
soon came into use in Paris and elsewhere, and for some three hundred
years was the common manual of grammatical teaching throughout western
Europe. It was then attacked and apparently driven from the field by the
so-called Humanists, who, however, failed to offer anything better in its
place, and plagiarized from the work which they professed to
execrate.[182]

The etymological portions of the _Doctrinale_ follow the teachings of the
_Priscianus major_; the part devoted to syntax, or _constructio_, shows
traces of the influence of the _Priscianus minor_. But Alexander’s
treatment of syntax is more systematic and elaborate than Priscian’s; and
he did not hesitate to defer to the Vulgate and other Christian Latin
writings. Thus he made his work conform to contemporary usage, which its
purpose was to set forth. He did the same in the section on Prosody, in
which he says that the ancient metricians distinguished a number of feet
no longer used, and he will confine himself to six--the dactyl, spondee,
trochee, anapaest, iambus, and tribrach.[183] In contradiction to
classical usage he condemns elision;[184] and in his chapter on accent he
throws over the ancient rules:

  “Accentus normas legitur posuisse vetustas;
   Non tamen has credo servandas tempore nostro.”[185]

Alexander was not really an innovator. He followed previous grammarians
in condemning elision, and in what he says of quantity and accent. In his
syntax he endeavoured to set forth rules conforming to the best Latin
usage of his time, like other mediaeval grammarians before him. He was
indeed vehement in his advocacy of recent and Christian authors as
standards of writing, and he inveighed against the scholars of Orleans,
who read the Classics, and would have us sacrifice to the gods and observe
the indecent festivals of Faunus and Jove.[186] But others defended the
Orleans school, and perhaps still regarded the Classics as the best
arbiters of grammar and eloquence. There exist thirteenth-century grammars
which follow Priscian more closely than Alexander does.[187] Yet his work
represents the dominant tendencies of his time.

Twelfth and thirteenth century grammarians recommended to their pupils a
variety of reading, in which mediaeval and early Christian compositions
held as large a place as Virgil and Ovid. The _Doctrinale_ advocates no
work more emphatically than Petrus Riga’s _Aurora_, a versified paraphrase
of Scripture. Its author was a chorister in Rheims, and died in 1209.[188]
The works of scholastic philosophers were not cited as frequently as the
compositions of verse-writers; yet mediaeval grammarians were influenced
by the language of philosophy, and drew from its training principles which
they applied to their own science. Grammar could not help becoming
dialectical when the intellectual world was turning to logic and
metaphysics. Commencing in the twelfth century, overmasteringly in the
thirteenth, logic penetrated grammar and compelled an application of its
principles. Often grammarians might better have looked to linguistic usage
than to dialectic; yet if grammar was to become a rational science, it had
to systematize itself through principles of logic, and make use of
dialectic in its endeavour to state a reason for its rules. Those who
applied logic to grammar at least endeavoured to distinguish between the
two, not always fruitfully. But a real difference could not fail to
assert itself inasmuch as logic was in truth of universal application,
while mediaeval grammar never ceased to be the grammar of the Latin
language. Nevertheless its terminology was largely drawn from logic.[189]

So dialectic brought both good and ill, proving itself helpful in the
regulation of syntax, but banefully affecting grammarians with the
conviction that language was the creature of reason, and must conform to
principles of logic. One likewise notes with curious interest, that, from
their dialectic training apparently, grammarians first found as many
_species_ of grammar as languages,[190] and then forsook this idea for the
view that, in order to be a science, grammar must be universal, or, as
they phrased it, one, and must possess principles not applicable specially
to Greek or Latin, but to _congruous construction in the abstract_; “de
constructione congrua secundum quod abstrahit ab omni lingua speciali,”
are the words of the English thirteenth-century philosopher and
grammarian, Robert Kilwardby.[191] A like idea affected Roger Bacon, who
composed a Greek grammar,[192] which appears to have been intended as the
first part of a work upon the grammars of the learned languages other than
Latin. It was adapted to afford a grounding in the elements of Greek: yet
it touches matters in a way showing that the writer had thought deeply on
the affinities of languages and the common principles of grammar. Of this
the following passage is evidence:

    “Therefore, because I wish to treat of the properties of Greek
    grammar, it should be known that there are differences in the Greek
    language, to be hereafter noted in giving the names of these dialects
    (_idiomata_). And I call them _idiomata_ and not _linguas_, because
    they are not different languages, but different properties which are
    peculiarities (_idiomata_) of the same language.[193] Wishing to set
    forth Greek grammar, for the use of the Latins, it is necessary to
    compare it with Latin grammar, because I commonly speak Latin myself,
    seeing that the crowd does not know Greek; also because grammar is of
    one and the same substance in all languages, although varying in its
    non-essentials (_accidentaliter_), also because Latin grammar in a
    certain special way is derived from Greek, as Priscian says, and other
    grammarians.”[194]

The dialecticizing of grammar took place in the north, under influences
radiating from Paris, the chief dialectic centre. These did not deeply
affect grammatical studies in Italy, or in the Midi of France, which in
some respects exhibited like intellectual tendencies. Grammar was
zealously studied in Italy, but it did not there become either speculative
or dialectical. To be sure northern manuals were used, especially the
_Doctrinale_; but the study remained practical, an art rather than a
science, and its chief element, or end, was the _ars dictaminis_ or
_dictandi_. The grammatical treatises of Italians were treatises upon this
art of epistolary composition and the proper ways of drawing documents.
These works were studied also in the North, where the _ars dictaminis_ was
by no means neglected.[195]

Latin grammar, although over-dialecticized in the North, and in Italy made
very practical, remained of necessity the foundation of classical studies,
and of mediaeval literary effort, in prose and verse. As the basis of
liberal studies, it had no truer home than the cathedral school of
Chartres.[196] Contemporary writers picture the manner in which this study
was there made to perform its most liberal office, under favourable
mediaeval conditions, in the first half of the twelfth century. The time
antedates the _Doctrinale_, and one notes at once that the Chartrian
masters used the ancient grammatical authorities. This is shown by the
_Eptateuchon_ of Thierry, who was headmaster (_scholasticus_) and then
Chancellor there for a number of years between 1120 and 1150. As its name
implies, the work was a manual, or rather an encyclopaedia, of the Seven
Arts. Thierry compiled it from the writings of the “chief doctors on the
arts.” He transcribed the _Ars minor_ of Donatus and then portions of his
larger work. Having commended this author for his conciseness and
subtilty, Thierry next copied out the whole of Priscian. As text-books for
the second branch of the Trivium, he gives Cicero’s _De inventione
rhetorica libri 2_, _Rhetoricorum ad Herennium libri 4_, _De partitione
oratoria dialogus_, and concludes with the rhetorical writings of
Martianus Capella and J. Severianus.[197]

So much for the books. Now for the method of teaching as described by John
of Salisbury. He gives the practice of Bernard of Chartres, Thierry’s
elder brother, who was scholasticus and Chancellor before him, in the
first quarter of the twelfth century. John has been advocating the study
of grammar as the _fundamentum atque radix_ of those exercises by which
virtue and philosophy are reached; and he is advising a generous reading
of the Classics by the student, and their constant use by the professor,
to illustrate his teaching.

    “This method was followed by Bernard of Chartres, _exundissimus
    modernis temporibus fons litterarum in Gallia_. By citations from the
    authors he showed what was simple and regular; he brought into relief
    the grammatical figures, the rhetorical colours, the artifices of
    sophistry, and pointed out how the text in hand bore upon other
    studies; not that he sought to teach everything in a single session,
    for he kept in mind the capacity of his audience. He inculcated
    correctness and propriety of diction, and a fitting use of congruous
    figures. Realizing that practise strengthens memory and sharpens
    faculty, he urged his pupils to imitate what they had heard, inciting
    some by admonitions, others by whipping and penalties. Each pupil
    recited the next day something from what he had heard on the
    preceding. The evening exercise, called the _declinatio_, was filled
    with such an abundance of grammar that any one, of fair intelligence,
    by attending it for a year, would have at his fingers’ ends the art of
    writing and speaking, and would know the meaning of all words in
    common use. But since no day and no school ought to be vacant of
    religion, Bernard would select for study a subject edifying to faith
    and morals. The closing part of this _declinatio_, or rather
    philosophical recitation, was stamped with piety: the souls of the
    dead were commended, a penitential Psalm was recited, and the Lord’s
    Prayer.

    “For those boys who had to write exercises in prose or verse, he
    selected the poets and orators, and showed how they should be imitated
    in the linking of words and the elegant ending of passages. If any one
    sewed another’s cloth into his garment, he was reproved for the theft,
    but usually was not punished. Yet Bernard gently pointed out to
    awkward borrowers that whoever imitated the ancients (_majores_)
    should himself become worthy of imitation by posterity. He impressed
    upon his pupils the virtue of economy, and the values of things and
    words: he explained where a meagreness and tenuity of diction was
    fitting, and where copiousness or even excess should be allowed, and
    the advantage of due measure everywhere. He admonished them to go
    through the histories and poems with diligence, and daily to fix
    passages in their memory. He advised them, in reading, to avoid the
    superfluous, and confine themselves to the works of distinguished
    authors. For, he said (quoting from Quintilian) that to follow out
    what every contemptible person has said, is irksome and vainglorious,
    and destructive of the capacity which should remain free for better
    things. To the same effect he cited Augustine, and remarked that the
    ancients thought it a virtue in a grammarian to be ignorant of
    something. But since in school exercises nothing is more useful than
    to practise what should be accomplished by the art, his scholars wrote
    daily in prose and verse, and proved themselves in discussions.”[198]

This passage indicates with what generous use of the _auctores_ Bernard
expounded grammar and explained the orators and poets; how he assigned
portions of their works for memorizing, and with what care he corrected
his pupils’ prose and metrical compositions, criticizing their knowledge
and their taste. He was a man mindful of his Christian piety toward the
dead and living, but caring greatly for the Classics, and loving study.
“The old man of Chartres (_senex Carnotensis_),” says John of Salisbury,
meaning Bernard, “named wisdom’s keys in a few lines, and though I am not
taken with the sweetness of the metre, I approve the sense:

  ‘Mens humilis, studium quaerendi, vita quieta,
   Scrutinium tacitum, paupertas, terra aliena....’”[199]

Bernard, Thierry, and other masters and scholars of their school, as the
advocates of classical education, detested the men called by John of
Salisbury _Cornificiani_, who were for shortening the academic course, as
one would say to-day, so that the student might finish it up in two or
three years, and proceed to the business of life. A good many in the
twelfth century adopted this notion, and turned from the pagan classics,
not as impious, but as a waste of time. Some of the good scholars of
Chartres lost heart, among them William of Conches and a certain Richard,
both teachers of John of Salisbury. They had followed Bernard’s methods;
“but when the time came that so many men, to the great prejudice of truth,
preferred to seem, rather than be, philosophers and professors of the
arts, engaging to impart the whole of philosophy in less than three years,
or even two, then my masters vanquished by the clamour of the ignorant
crowd, stopped. Since then, less time has been given to grammar. So it has
come about that those who profess to teach all the arts, both liberal and
mechanical, are ignorant of the first of them, without which vainly will
one try to get the rest.”[200]

Upon these people who seemed charlatans, and yet may have represented
tendencies of the coming time, Thierry, Gilbert de la Porrèe,[201] and
John of Salisbury poured their sarcasms. The controversy may have
clarified Bernard’s consciousness of the value of classical studies and
deepened his sense of obligation to the ancients, until it drew from him
perhaps the finest of mediaeval utterances touching the matter: “Bernard
of Chartres used to say that we were like dwarfs seated on the shoulders
of giants. If we see more and further than they, it is not due to our own
clear eyes or tall bodies, but because we are raised on high and upborne
by their gigantic bigness.”[202]

Echoes of this same controversy--have they ever quite died away?--are
heard in letters of the scholarly Peter of Blois, who was educated at
Paris in the middle of the twelfth century, became a secretary of Henry
Plantagenet and spent the greater part of his life in England, dying about
the year 1200. He writes to a friend:

    “You greatly commend your nephew, saying that never have you found a
    man of subtler vein: because, forsooth, skimming over grammar, and
    skipping the reading of the classical authors, he has flown to the
    trickeries of the logicians, where not in the books themselves but
    from abstracts and note-books, he has learned dialectic. Knowledge of
    letters cannot rest on such, and the subtilty you praise may be
    pernicious. For Seneca says, nothing is more odious than subtilty when
    it is only subtilty. Some people, without the elements of education,
    would discuss point and line and superficies, fate, chance and
    free-will, physics and matter and the void, the causes of things and
    the secrets of nature and the sources of the Nile! Our tender years
    used to be spent in rules of grammar, analogies, barbarisms,
    solecisms, tropes, with Donatus, Priscian, and Bede, who would not
    have devoted pains to these matters had they supposed that a solid
    basis of knowledge could be got without them. Quintilian, Caesar,
    Cicero, urge youths to study grammar. Why condemn the writings of the
    ancients? it is written that _in antiquis est scientia_. You rise from
    the darkness of ignorance to the light of science only by their
    diligent study. Jerome glories in having read Origen; Horace boasts of
    reading Homer over and over. It was much to my profit, when as a
    little chap I was studying how to make verses, that, as my master bade
    me, I took my matter not from fables but from truthful histories. And
    I profited from the letters of Hildebert of Le Mans, with their
    elegance of style and sweet urbanity; for as a boy I was made to learn
    some of them by heart. Besides other books, well known in the schools,
    I gained from keeping company with Trogus Pompeius, Josephus,
    Suetonius, Hegesippus, Quintus Curtius, Tacitus and Livy, all of whom
    throw into their histories much that makes for moral edification and
    the advance of liberal science. And I read other books, which had
    nothing to do with history--very many of them. From all of them we
    may pluck sweet flowers, and cultivate ourselves from their urbane
    suavity of speech.”[203]

In another letter Peter writes to his bishop of Bath, as touching the
accusation of some “hidden detractor,” that he, Peter, is but a useless
compiler, who fills letters and sermons with the plunder of the ancients
and Holy Writ:

    “Let him cease, or he will hear what he does not like; for I am full
    of cracks, and can hold in nothing, as Terence says. Let him try his
    hand at compiling, as he calls it.--But what of it! Though dogs may
    bark and pigs may grunt, I shall always pattern on the writings of the
    ancients; with them shall be my occupation; nor ever, while I am able,
    shall the sun find me idle.”[204]

It is evident how broadly Peter of Blois, or John of Salisbury, or the
Chartrians, were read in the Latin Classics. Peter mentions even Tacitus,
a writer not thought to have been much read in the Middle Ages. We have
been looking at the matter rather in regard to poetry and
eloquence--_belles lettres_. But one may also note the same broad reading
(among the few who read at all) on the part of those who sought for the
ethical wisdom of the ancients. This is apparent (perhaps more apparent
than real) with Abaelard, who is ready with a store of antique ethical
citations.[205] It is also borne witness to by the treatise _Moralis
philosophia de honesto et utili_, placed among the works of Hildebert of
Le Mans,[206] but probably from the pen of William of Conches, grammaticus
post Bernardum Carnotensem opulentissimus, as John of Salisbury calls
him.[207] In some manuscripts it is entitled _Summa moralium
philosophorum_, quite appropriately. One might hardly compare it for
organic inclusiveness with the Christian _Summa_ of Thomas Aquinas; but it
may very well be likened to the more compact Sentences of the Lombard[208]
which were so solidly put together about the same time. The Lombard drew
his Sentences from the writings of the Church Fathers; William’s work
consists of moral extracts, mainly from Cicero, Seneca, Sallust, Terence,
Horace, Lucan, and Boëthius. The first part, _De honesto_, reviews
Prudentia, Justitia, Fortitudo, and under these a number of particular
virtues in correspondence with which the extracts are arranged. The _De
utili_ considers the adventitious goods of circumstance and fortune.

The extracts forming the substance of this work were intelligently
selected and smoothly joined; and the treatise was much used by those who
studied the antique philosophy of life. It was drawn upon, for instance,
by that truculent and well-born Welshman, Giraldus Cambrensis, in his _De
instructione principum_, which the author wrote partly to show how evilly
Henry Plantagenet performed the functions of a king. This irrepressible
claimant of St. David’s See had been long a prickly thorn for Henry’s
side.[209] But he was a scholar, and quotes from the whole range of the
Latin Classics.


III

When a man is not a mere transcriber, but puts something of himself into
the product of his pen, his work will reflect his personality, and may
disclose the various factors of his spiritual constitution. To discover
from the writings of mediaeval scholars the effect of their classical
studies upon their characters is of greater interest than to trace from
their citations the authors read by them. Such a compilation as the _Summa
moralium_ which has just been noticed, while plainly disclosing the latter
information, tells nothing of the personality of him who strung the
extracts together. Yet he had read writings which could hardly have failed
to influence him. Cicero and Seneca do not leave their reader unchanged,
especially if he be seeking ethical instruction. And there was a work
known to this particular compiler which moved men in the Middle Ages. Deep
must have been the effect of that book so widely read and pondered on and
loved, the _De consolatione_ of Boëthius with its intimate consolings, its
ways of reasoning and looking upon life, its setting of the intellectual
above the physical, its insistence that mind rather than body makes the
man. Imagine it brought home to a vigorous struggling personality--imagine
Alfred reading and translating it, and adding to it from the teachings of
his own experience.[210] The study of such a book might form the turning
of a mediaeval life; at least could not fail to temper the convulsions of
a soul storm-driven amid unreconcilable spiritual conflicts.

One may look back even to the time of Alfred or Charlemagne and note
suggestions coming from classical reading. For instance, the antique
civilization being essentially urban, words denoting qualities of
disciplined and polished men had sprung from city life, as contrasted with
rustic rudeness. Thus the word _urbanitas_ passed over into mediaeval use
when the quality itself hardly existed outside of the transmitted Latin
literature. For an Anglo-Saxon or a Frank to use and even partly
comprehend its significance meant his introduction to a new idea. Alcuin
writes to Charlemagne that he knows how it rejoices the latter to meet
with zeal for learning and church discipline, and how pleasing to him is
anything which is seasoned with a touch of wit--_urbanitatis sale
conditum_.[211] And again, in more curious phrase, he compliments a
certain worthy upon his metrical exposition of the creed, “wherein I have
found gold-spouting whirlpools (_aurivomos gurgites_) of spiritual
meanings abounding with gems of scholastic wit (_scholasticae
urbanitatis_).”[212] Though doubtless this “scholastic wit” was flat
enough, it was something for these men to get the notion of what was witty
and entertaining through a word so vocalized with city life as
_urbanitas_, a word that we have seen used quite knowingly by the more
sophisticated scholar, Peter of Blois.

Again, it is matter of common observation that a feeling for nature’s
loveliness depends somewhat on the growth of towns. But mediaeval men
constantly had the idea suggested to them by the classic poetry of
city-dwelling poets. Here are some lines by Alcuin or one of his friends,
expressing sentiments which never came to them from the woods with which
they were disagreeably familiar:

  “O mea cella, mihi habitatio, dulcis, amata,
     Semper in aeternum, o mea cella, vale.
   Undique te cingit ramis resonantibus arbos,
     Silvula florigeris semper onusta comis.”[213]

These are little hints of the effect of the antique literature upon men
who still were somewhat rough-hewn. Advancing a century and a half, the
influence of classic study is seen, as it were, “in the round” in
Gerbert.[214] It is likewise clear and full in John of Salisbury, of whom
we have spoken, and shall speak again.[215] For an admirable example,
however, of the subtle working of the antique literature upon character
and temperament, we may look to that scholar-prelate whose letters the
youthful Peter of Blois studied with profit, Hildebert of Lavardin, Bishop
of Le Mans, and Archbishop of Tours. He shows the effect of the antique
not so strikingly in the knowledge which he possessed or the particular
opinions which he entertained, as in the balance and temperance of his
views, and incidentally in his fine facility of scholarship.

Hildebert was born at Lavardin, a village near the mouth of the Loire,
about the year 1055. He belonged to an unimportant but gentle family.
Dubious tradition has it that one of his teachers was Berengar of Tours,
and that he passed some time in the monastery of Cluny, of whose great
abbot, Hugh, he wrote a life. It is more probable that he studied at Le
Mans. But whatever appears to have been the character of his early
environment, Hildebert belongs essentially to the secular clergy, and
never was a monk. While comparatively young, he was made head of the
cathedral school of Le Mans, and then archdeacon. In the year 1096, the
old bishop of Le Mans died, and Hildebert, then about forty years of age,
was somewhat quickly chosen his successor, by the clergy and people of the
town, in spite of the protests of certain of the canons of the cathedral.
The none too happy scholar-bishop found himself at once a powerless but
not negligible element of a violently complicated feudal situation. There
was the noble Helias, Count of Maine, who was holding his domain against
Robert de Bellesme, the latter slackly supported by William Rufus of
England, who claimed the overlordship of the land. Helias reluctantly
acquiesced in Hildebert’s election. Not so Rufus, who never ceased to hate
and persecute the man that had obtained the see which had been in the gift
of his father, William the Conqueror. It happened soon after that Count
Helias was taken prisoner by his opponent, and was delivered over to Rufus
at Rouen. But Fulk of Anjou now thrust himself into this feudal _mêlée_,
appeared at Le Mans, entered, and was acknowledged as its lord. He left a
garrison, and departed before the Red King reached the town. The latter
began its siege, but soon made terms with Fulk, by which Le Mans was to be
given to Rufus, Helias was to be set free, and many other matters were
left quite unsettled.

Now Rufus entered the town (1098), where Hildebert nervously received him;
Helias, set free by the King, offered to become his feudal retainer; Rufus
would have none of him; so Helias defied the King, and was permitted to go
his way by that strange man, who held his knightly honour sacred, but
otherwise might commit any atrocity prompted by rage or greed. It was well
for Helias that trouble with the French King now drew Rufus to the north.
The next year, 1099, Rufus in England heard that the Count had renewed the
war, and captured Le Mans, except the citadel. He hurried across the
channel, rushed through the land, entered Le Mans, and passed on through
it, chasing Helias. But the war languished, and Rufus returned to Le Mans,
or to what was left of it. Hildebert had cause to tremble. He had met the
King on the latter’s hurried arrival from England for the war. Rufus had
spoken him fair. But now, at Le Mans, he was accused before the monarch of
complicity in the revolt. Quickly flared the King’s anger against the man
whom he never had ceased to detest. He ordered him to pull down the towers
of his cathedral, which rose threatening and massive over the city’s ruins
and the citadel of the King. What could the defenceless bishop do to avert
disgrace and the desolation of his beloved church? Words were left him,
but they did not prove effectual. Rufus commanded him to choose between
immediate compliance and going to England, there to submit himself to the
judgment of the English bishops. He accepted the latter alternative, and
followed the King, leaving his diocese ruined and his people dispersed. In
England, Rufus dangled him along between fear and hope, till at last the
disheartened prelate returned to the Continent, having ambiguously
consented to pull down those towers. But instead, he set to work to repair
the devastation of his diocese. The reiterated mandate of the King was not
long in following him, and this time coupled with an accusation of
treason. Hildebert’s state was desperate. His clergy were forbidden to
obey him, his palace was sacked, his own property destroyed. Such were
William’s methods of persuasion. Then the King proposed that the bishop
should purge himself by the ordeal of hot iron. Hildebert, the bishop, the
theologian, the scholar, was almost on the verge of taking up the
challenge, when a letter from Yves, the saintly Bishop of Chartres,
dissuaded him. At this moment, with ruin for his portion, and no escape,
an arrow ended the Red King’s life in the New Forest. It was the year of
grace 1100.

Now, what a change! Henry Beauclerc was from the first his friend, as
William Rufus to the last had been his enemy. Hitherto Hildebert has
appeared weakly endeavouring to elude destruction, and perhaps with no
unshaken loyalty in his bosom toward any cause except his dire
necessities. Henceforth, sailing a calmer sea, he repays Henry’s favour
with adherence and admiration. He has no support to offer Anselm of
Canterbury, still struggling with the English monarchy over investitures;
nor has he one word of censure for the clever cold-eyed scholar King who
kept his brother, Robert of Normandy, a prisoner for twenty-eight years
till he died.

Hildebert had still thirty years of life before him; nor were they all to
be untroubled. Shortly after the Red King’s death, he made a voyage to
Rome, to obtain the papal benediction. To judge from his poems, he was
deeply impressed with the ruins of the ancient city. Returning he devoted
himself to the affairs of his diocese and to rebuilding the cathedral and
other churches of Le Mans. In 1125, in spite of his unwillingness, for he
was seventy years old, he was enthroned Archbishop of Tours, where he was
to be worried by disputes with Louis le Gros of France over investitures.
But he acquitted himself with vigour, especially through his letters. A
famous one relates to this struggle of his closing years:

    “In adversity it is a comfort to hope for happier times. Long has this
    hope flattered me; and as the harvest in the fields cheers the
    countryman, the expectation of a fair season has comforted my soul.
    But now I no longer hope for the clearing of the cloudy weather, nor
    see where the storm-driven ship, on whose deck I sit, may gain the
    harbour of rest.

    “Friends are silent; silent are the priests of Jesus Christ. And those
    also are silent through whose prayers I thought the king would be
    reconciled with me. I thought indeed, but in their silence the king
    has added to the pain of my wounds. Yet it was theirs to resist the
    injury to the canonical institutes of the Church. Theirs was it, if
    the matter had demanded it, to raise a wall before the house of
    Israel. Yet with the most serene king there is call for exhortation
    rather than threat, for advice rather than command, for instruction
    rather than the rod. By these he should have been drawn to agree, by
    these reverently taught not to sheath his arrows in an aged priest,
    nor make void the canonical laws, nor persecute the ashes of a church
    already buried, ashes in which I eat the bread of grief, in which I
    drink the cup of mourning, from which to be snatched away and escape
    is to pass from death to life.

    “Yet amid these dire straits, anger has never triumphed over me, that
    I should raise a hue and cry against the anointed of the Lord, or
    wrest peace from him with the strong hand and by the arm of the
    Church. Suspect is the peace to which high potentates are brought not
    by love, but by force. Easily is it broken, and sometimes the final
    state is worse than the first. There is another way by which, Christ
    leading, I can better reach it. I will cast my thought upon the Lord,
    and He will give me the desire of my heart. The Lord remembered
    Joseph, forgotten by Pharaoh’s chief butler when prosperity had
    returned to him; He remembered David abandoned by his own son. Perhaps
    He will remember even me, and bring the tossing ship to rest on the
    desired shore. He it is who looks upon the petition of the meek, and
    does not spurn their prayers. He it is in whose hand the hearts of
    kings are wax. If I shall have found grace in His eyes, I shall easily
    obtain the grace of the king or advantageously lose it. For to offend
    man for the sake of God is to win God’s grace.”[216]

Hildebert was a classical scholar, and in his time unmatched as a writer
of Latin prose and verse. Many of his elegiac poems survive, some of them
so antique in sentiment and so correct in metre as to have been taken for
products of the pagan period. One of the best is an elegy on Rome
obviously inspired by his visit to that city of ruins:

  “Par tibi, Roma, nihil, cum sis prope tota ruina.”

Its closing lines are interesting:

  “Hic superûm formas superi mirantur et ipsi,
     Et cupiunt fictis vultibus esse pares.
   Non potuit natura deos hoc ore creare
     Quo miranda deûm signa creavit homo.
   Vultus adest his numinibus, potiusque coluntur
     Artificum studio quam deitate sua.
   Urbs felix, si vel dominis urbs illa careret,
     Vel dominis esset turpe carere fide!”

Such phrases, such frank admiration for the idols of pagan Rome, are
startling from the pen of a contemporary of St. Bernard. The spell of the
antique lay on Hildebert, as on others of his time. “The gods themselves
marvel at their own images, and desire to equal their sculptured forms.
Nature was unable to make gods with such visages as man has created in
these wondrous images of the gods. There is a look (_vultus_) about these
deities, and they are worshipped for the skill of the sculptor rather than
for their divinity.”[217] Hildebert was not only a bishop, he was a
Christian; but the sense and feeling of ancient Rome had entered into him.
Besides the poem just quoted, he wrote another, either in Rome or after
his return, Christian in thought but most antique in sympathy and turn of
phrase.

  “Dum simulacra mihi, dum numina vana placerent,
     Militia, populo, moenibus alta fui;

         *       *       *       *       *

                           ruit alta senatus
   Gloria, procumbunt templa, theatra jacent.”

The antique feeling of these lines is hardly balanced by the expressed
sentiment: “plus Caesare Petrus!”[218] And again we hear the echo of the
antique in

  “Nil artes, nil pura fides, nil gloria linguae,
     Nil fons ingenii, nil probitas sine re.”[219]

Hildebert has also a poem “On his Exile,” perhaps written while in England
with the Red King. Quite in antique style it sings the loss of friends and
fields, gardens and granaries, which the writer possessed while _prospera
fata_ smiled. Then

  “Jurares superos intra mea vota teneri!”

--a very antique sentiment. But the Christian faith of the despoiled and
exiled bishop reasserts itself as the poem closes.[220] Did Hildebert also
write the still more palpably “antique” elegiacs on Hermaphrodite, and
other questionable subjects?[221] That is hard to say. He may or may not
have been the author of a somewhat scurrilous squib against a woman who
seems to have sent him verses:

  “Femina perfida, femina sordida, digna catenis.

  “O miserabilis, insatiabilis, insatiata,
   Desine scribere, desine mittere, carmina blandia,
   Carmina turpia, carmina mollia, vix memoranda,
   Nec tibi mittere, nec tibi scribere, disposui me.

  “Mens tua vitrea, plumbea, saxea, ferrea, nequam,
   Fingere, fallere, prodere, perdere, rem putat aequam.”[222]

With all his classical leanings, the major part of Hildebert was
Christian. His theological writings which survive, his zeal against
certain riotous heretics, and in general his letters, leave no doubt of
this. It is from the Christian point of view that he gives his sincerest
counsels; it is from that that he balances the advantages of an active or
contemplative life, the claims of the Christian _vita activa_ and _vita
contemplativa_. Yet his classic tastes gave temperance to his Christian
views, and often drew him to sheer scholarly pleasures and to an antique
consideration of the incidents of life.

How sweetly the elements were mixed in him appears in a famous letter
written to William of Champeaux, that Goliath of realism whom Abaelard
discomfited in the Paris schools. The unhappy William retreated a little
way across the Seine, and laid the foundations of the abbey of St. Victor
in the years between 1108 and 1113. He sought to abandon his studies and
his lectures, and surrender himself to the austere salvation of his soul,
and yet scarcely with such irrevocable purpose as would rebuff the
temperate advice of Hildebert’s letter proffered with tactful
understanding.

    “Over thy change of life my soul is glad and exults, that at length it
    has come to thee to determine to philosophize. For thou hadst not the
    true odour of a philosopher so long as thou didst not cull beauty of
    conduct from thy philosophic knowledge. Now, as honey from the
    honeycomb, thou hast drawn from that a worthy rule of living. This is
    to gather all of thee within virtue’s boundaries, no longer
    huckstering with nature for thy life, but attending less to what the
    flesh is able for, than to what the spirit wills. This is truly to
    philosophize; to live thus is already to enter the fellowship of those
    above. Easily shalt thou come to them if thou dost advance
    disburdened. The mind is a burden to itself until it ceases to hope
    and fear. Because Diogenes looked for no favour, he feared the power
    of no one. What the cynic infidel abhorred, the Christian doctor far
    more amply must abhor, since his profession is so much more fruitful
    through faith. For such are stumbling-blocks of conduct, impeding
    those who move toward virtue.

    “But the report comes that you have been persuaded to abstain from
    lecturing. Hear me as to this. It is virtue to furnish the material of
    virtue. Thy new way of life calls for no partial sacrifice, but a
    holocaust. Offer thyself altogether to the Lord, since so He
    sacrificed Himself for thee. Gold shines more when scattered than when
    locked up. Knowledge also when distributed takes increase, and unless
    given forth, scorning the miserly possessor, it slips away. Therefore
    do not close the streams of thy learning.”[223]

Eventually William followed this, or other like advice. One sees
Hildebert’s sympathetic point of view; he entirely approves of William’s
renunciation of the world--a good bishop of the twelfth century might also
have wished to renounce its troublous honours! Yes, William has at last
turned to the true and most disburdened way of living. But this
abandonment of worldly ends entails no abandonment of Christian knowledge
or surrender of the cause of Christian learning. Nay, let William resume,
and herein give himself to God’s will without reserve.

So the letter presents a temperate and noble view of the matter, a view as
sound in the twentieth century as in the twelfth. And a like broad
consideration Hildebert brings to a more particular discussion of the two
modes of Christian living, the _vita activa_ and the _vita contemplativa_,
Leah and Rachel, Martha and Mary. He amply distinguishes these two ways of
serving God from any mode of life with selfish aims. It happened that a
devout monk and friend of Hildebert was made abbot of the monastery of St.
Vincent, in the neighbourhood of Le Mans. The administrative duties of an
abbot might be as pressing as a bishop’s, and this good man deplored his
withdrawal from a life of more complete contemplation. So Hildebert wrote
him a long discursive letter, of which our extracts will give the thread
of argument:

    “You bewail the peace of contemplation which is snatched away, and the
    imposed burden of active responsibilities. You were sitting with Mary
    at the feet of the Lord Jesus, when lo, you were ordered to serve with
    Martha. You confess that those dishes which Mary receives, sitting and
    listening, are more savoury than those which zealous Martha prepares.
    In these, indeed, is the bread of men, in those the bread of angels.”

And Hildebert descants upon the raptures of the _vita contemplativa_, of
which his friend is now bereft.

    “The contemplative and the active life, my dearest brother, you
    sometimes find in the same person, and sometimes apart. As the
    examples of Scripture show us. Jacob was joined to both Leah and
    Rachel; Christ teaches in the fields, anon He prays on the mountains;
    Moses is in the tents of the people, and again speaks with God upon
    the heights. So Peter, so Paul. Again, action alone is found, as in
    Leah and Martha, while contemplation gleams in Mary and Rachel.
    Martha, as I think, represents the clergy of our time, with whom the
    press of business closes the shrine of contemplation, and dries up the
    sacrifice of tears.

    “No one can speak with the Lord while he has to prattle with the whole
    world. Such a prattler am I, and such a priest, who when I spend the
    livelong day caring for the herds, have not a moment for the care of
    souls. Affairs, the enemies of my spirit, come upon me; they claim me
    for their own, they thieve the private hour of prayer, they defraud
    the services of the sanctuary, they irritate me with their stings by
    day and infest my sleep; and what I can scarcely speak of without
    tears, the creeping furtive memory of disputes follows me miserable to
    the altar’s sacraments,--all such are even as the vultures which
    Abraham drove away from the carcases (Gen. xv. 11).

    “Nay more, what untold loss of virtue is entailed by these occupations
    of the captive mind! While under their power we do not even serve with
    Martha. She ministered, but to Christ; she bustled about, but for
    Christ. We truly, who like Martha bustle about, and, like Martha,
    minister, neither bustle about for Christ nor minister to Him. For if
    in such bustling ministry thou seekest to win thine own desire, art
    taken with the gossip of the mob, or with pandering to carnal
    pleasures, thou art neither the Martha whom thou dost counterfeit nor
    the Mary for whom thou dost sigh.

    “In that case, dearest brother, you would have just cause for grief
    and tears. But if you do the part of Martha simply, you do well; if,
    like Jacob, you hasten to and fro between Leah and Rachel, you do
    better; if with Mary you sit and listen, you do best. For action is
    good, whose pressing instancy, though it kill contemplation, draws
    back the brother wandering from Christ. Yet it is better, sometimes
    seated, to lay aside administrative cares, and amid the irksome nights
    of Leah, draw fresh life from Rachel’s loved embrace. From this
    intermixture the course to the celestials becomes more inclusive, for
    thereby the same soul now strives for the blessedness of men and anon
    participates in that of the angels. But of the zeal single for Mary,
    why should I speak? Is not the Saviour’s word enough, ‘Mary hath
    chosen the best part, which shall not be taken from her.’”

And in closing, Hildebert shows his friend the abbot that for him the true
course is to follow Jacob interchanging Leah and Rachel; and then in the
watches of his pastoral duties the celestial vision shall be also
his.[224]

Could any one adjust more fairly this contest, so insistent throughout the
annals of mediaeval piety, between active duties and heavenly
contemplation? The only solution for abbot and bishop was to join Leah
with Rachel. And how clearly Hildebert sees the pervasive peril of the
active life, that the prelate be drawn to serve his pleasures and not
Christ. Many souls of prelates had that cast into hell!

In theory Hildebert is clear as day, and altogether Christian, so far as
we have followed the counsels of these letters. But in fact the quiet life
had for him a temptation, to which he yielded himself more generously than
to any of the grosser lures of his high prelacy. This temptation, so
alluring and insidious, so fairly masked under the proffer of learning
leading to fuller Christian knowledge, was of course the all too beloved
pagan literature, and the all too humanly convincing plausibilities of
pagan philosophy. Hildebert’s writings evince that kind of classical
scholarship which springs only from great study and great love. His soul
does not appear to have been riven by a consciousness of sin in this
behoof. Sometimes he passes so gently from Christian to pagan ethics, as
to lead one to suspect that he did not deeply feel the inconsistency
between them. Or again, he seems satisfied with the moral reasonings of
paganism, and sets them forth without a qualm. For there was the antique
pagan side of our good bishop; and how pagan thoughts and views of life
had become a part of Hildebert’s nature, appears in a most interesting
letter written to King Henry, consoling him upon the loss of his son and
the noble company so gaily sailing from Normandy in that ill-starred
_White Ship_ in the year 1120.

Hildebert begins reminding the King how much more it is for a monarch to
rule himself than others. Hitherto he has triumphed over fortune, if
fortune be anything; now she has wounded him with her sharpest dart. Yet
that cannot penetrate the well-guarded mind. It is wisdom not to vaunt
oneself in prosperity, nor be overwhelmed with grief in adversity.
Hildebert then reasons on the excellence of man’s nature and will; he
speaks of the effect of Adam’s sin in loss of grace and entailment of
misery on the human race. He quotes from the Old Testament and from
Virgil. Then he proceeds more specifically with his fortifying arguments.
Their sum is, let the breast of man abound in weapons of defence and
contemn the thrusts of fortune; there is nothing over which the triumphant
soul may not triumph.

    “Unhappy he who lacks this armament; and most unhappy he who besides
    does not know it. Here Democritus found matter for laughter,
    Demosthenes (_sic_) matter for tears. Far be it from thee that the
    chance cast of things should affect thee so, and the loss of wisdom
    follow the loss of offspring. Thou hast suffered on dry land more
    grievous shipwreck than thy son in the brine, if fortune’s storm has
    wrested wisdom from the wise.”

After a while Hildebert passes on to consider what is man, and wherein
consists his welfare:

    “To any one carefully considering what man is, nothing will seem more
    probable than that he is a divine animal, distinguished by a certain
    share of divinity (_numinis_). By bone and flesh he smacks of the
    earth. By reason his affinity to God is shown. Moses, inspired,
    certifies that by this prerogative man was created in the image of
    God. Whence it also follows for man, that he should through reason
    recognize and love his true good. Now reason teaches that what
    pertains to virtue is the true good, and that it is within us. The
    things we temporally possess are good only by opinion (_opinione_,
    _i.e._ not _ratione_), and these are about us. What is about us is not
    within our _jus_ but another’s (_alterius juris sunt_). Chance directs
    them; they neither come nor stand under our arbitrament. For us they
    are at the lender’s will (_precaria_), like a slave belonging to
    another.[225] Through such, true felicity is neither had nor lost.
    Indeed no one is happy, no one is wretched by reason of what is
    another’s. It is his own that makes a man’s good or ill, and whatever
    is not within him is not his own.”

Then Hildebert speaks of dignities, of wife and child, of the fruits of
the earth and riches--_bona vaga_, _bona sunt pennata haec omnia_. Men
quarrel and struggle about all these things--_ecce vides quanta mundus
laboret insania_.[226]

No one need point out how much more natural this reasoning would have been
from the lips of Seneca than from those of an archiepiscopal contemporary
of St. Bernard. One may, however, comment on the patent fact that this
reflection of the antique in Hildebert’s ethical consolation reflects a
manner of reasoning rather than an emotional mood, and in this it is an
instance of the general fact that mediaeval methods of reasoning
consciously or unconsciously followed the antique; while the emotion, the
love and yearning, of mediaeval religion was more largely the gift of
Christianity.



CHAPTER XXXI

EVOLUTION OF MEDIAEVAL LATIN PROSE


Classical antiquity lay far back of the mediaeval period, while in the
nearer background pressed the centuries of transition, the time of the
Church Fathers. The patristic material and a crude knowledge of the
antique passed over to the early Middle Ages. Mediaeval progress was to
consist, very largely, in the mastery and appropriation of the one and the
other.

The varied illustration of these propositions has filled a large portion
of this work. In this and the next chapter we are concerned with
literature, properly speaking; and with the effect of the Classics, the
pure literary antique, upon mediaeval literary productions. The latter are
to be viewed as literature; not considering their substance, but their
form, their composition, style, and temperamental shading, qualities which
show the faculties and temper of their authors. We are to discover, if we
can, wherein the qualities of mediaeval literature reflect the Latin
Classics, or in any way betray their influence.

It is an affair of dull diligence to learn what Classics were read by the
various mediaeval writers; and likewise is it a dull affair to note in
mediaeval writings the direct borrowing from the Classics of fact,
opinion, sentiment, or phrase. Such borrowing was incessant, resorted to
as of course wherever opportunity offered and the knowledge was at hand.
It would not commonly occur to a mediaeval writer to state in his own way
what he could take from an ancient author, save in so far as change of
medium--from prose to verse, or from Latin to the vernacular--compelled
him. So the church builders in Rome never thought of hewing new blocks of
stone, or making new columns, when some ancient palace or temple afforded
a quarry. The details of such spoliations offer little interest in
comparison with the effect of antique architecture upon later styles. So
we should like to discover the effect of the ancient compositions upon the
mediaeval, and observe how far the faculties and mental processes of
classic authors, incorporate in their writings, were transmitted to
mediaeval men, to become incorporate in theirs.

Unless you are Virgil or Cicero, you cannot write like Virgil or Cicero.
Writing, real writing, that is to say, creative self-expressive
composition, is the personal product and closely mirrored reflex of the
writer’s temperament and mentality. It gives forth indirectly the
influences which have blended in him, education and environment, his past
and present. His personality makes his style, his untransmittable style.
Yet a group of men affected by the same past, and living at the same time
and place, or under like spiritual influences, may show a like faculty and
taste. Having more in common with one another than with men of other time,
their mental processes, and therefore their ways of writing, will present
more common qualities. Around and above them, as well as through their
natal and acquired faculties, sweeps the genius of the language, itself
the age-long product of a like-minded race. In harmony with it, not in
opposition and repugnancy, each writer must, if he will write that
language, shape his more personal diction.

Obviously the personal elements in classic writings were no more capable
of transmission than the personal qualities of the writers. Likewise, the
genius of the Latin language, though one might think it fixed in approved
compositions, changed with the spiritual fortune of the Roman people, and
constantly transmitted an altered self and novel tenets of construction to
control the linguistic usages of succeeding men. None but himself could
have written Cicero’s letters. No man of Juvenal’s time could have written
the _Aeneid_, nor any man of the time of Diocletian the histories of
Tacitus. There were, however, common elements in these compositions, all
of them possessing certain qualities which are associated with classical
writing. These may be difficult to formulate, but they become clear enough
in contrast with the qualities of mediaeval Latin literature. The
mediaeval man did not feel and reason like a contemporary of Virgil or
Cicero; he had not the same training in _Greek_ literature; he did not
have the same definitude of conception, did not care so much that a
composition should have limit and the unity springing from adherence to a
single topic; he did not, in fine, stand on the same level of attainment
and faculty and taste with men of the Augustan time. He had his own
heights and depths, his own temperament and predilections, his own
capacities. Reading the Classics had not transformed him into Cicero or
Seneca, or set his feet in the Roman Forum. His feet wandered in the ways
of the Middle Ages, and whatever he wrote in prose or verse, in Latin or
in his own vernacular, was himself and of himself, and but indirectly due
to the antecedent influences which had been transmuted even in entering
his nature and becoming part of his temper and faculty.

Any consideration of the knowledge and appreciation of the Classics in the
Middle Ages would be followed naturally by a consideration of their effect
upon mediaeval composition; which in turn forms part of any discussion of
the literary qualities of mediaeval Latin literature. But inasmuch as
mediaeval form and diction tend to remove further and further from
classical standards, the whole discussion may seem a _lucus a non lucendo_
for all the light it throws upon the effect of the Classics on mediaeval
literature. Our best plan will be to note the beginnings of mediaeval
Latinity in that post-Augustan and largely patristic diction which had
been enriched and reinvigorated with many phrases from daily speech; and
then to follow the living if sluggish river as it moves on, receiving
increment along its course, its currents mottled with the silt of
mediaeval Italy, France, Germany. We shall suppose this flood to divide in
rivers of Latin prose and verse; and we may follow them, and see where
they overflow their channels, carrying antique flotsam into the ample
marshes of vernacular poetry.

There has always been a difference in diction between speech and
literature. At Rome, Cicero and Caesar, and of course the poets, did not,
in writing, use quite the language of the people. All the words of daily
speech were not taken into the literary or classical vocabulary, which had
often quite other words of its own. Moreover the writers, in forming their
prose and verse and constructing their compositions, were affected deeply
by their study of Greek literature.[227] If Caesar, Cicero, Virgil, and
their friends spoke differently from the Roman shopkeepers, there was a
still greater difference between their writings and the parlance of the
town.

No one need be told that it was the spoken, and not the classical Latin,
which in Italy, Spain, Provence, and Northern France developed into
Italian, Spanish, Provençal, and French. On the other hand, the descent of
written mediaeval Latin from the classical diction or the popular speech,
or both, is not so clear, or at least not so simple. It cannot be said
that mediaeval Latin came straight from the classical; and manifestly it
cannot have sprung from the popular spoken Latin, like the Romance
tongues, without other influence or admixture; because then, instead of
remaining Latin, it would have become Romance; which it did not. Evidently
mediaeval Latin, the literary and to some extent the spoken medium of
educated men in the Middle Ages, must have carried classic strains, or
have kept itself Latin by the study of Latin grammar and a conscious
adherence to a veritable, if not classical, Latin diction. The mediaeval
reading of the Classics, and the earnest and constant study of Latin
grammar spoken of in the previous chapter, were the chief means by which
mediaeval Latin maintained its Latinity. Nevertheless, while it kept the
word forms and inflections of classical Latin, with most of the classical
vocabulary, it also took up an indefinite supplement of words from the
spoken Latin of the late imperial or patristic period.

In order to understand the genesis and qualities of mediaeval Latin, one
must bear in mind (as with most things mediaeval) that its immediate
antecedents lie in the transitional fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries,
and not in the classical period.[228] Those centuries went far toward
declassicizing Latin prose, by departing from the balanced structure of
the classic sentences and introducing words from the spoken tongue. The
style became less correct, freer, and better suited to the expression of
the novel thoughts and interests coming with Christianity. The change is
seen in the works of the men to whom it was largely due, Tertullian,
Jerome, and other great patristic writers.[229] Such men knew the Classics
well, and regarded them as literary models, and yet wrote differently. For
a new spirit was upon them and new necessities of expression, and they
lived when, even outside of Christian circles, the classic forms of style
were loosening with the falling away of the strenuous intellectual temper,
the poise, the self-reliance and the self-control distinguishing the
classical epoch.

The stylistic genius of Augustine and Jerome was not the genius of the
formative beginnings of the Romance tongues, with, for instance, its
inability to rely on the close logic of the case ending, and its need to
help the meaning by the more explicit preposition. Yet the spirit of these
two great men was turning that way. They were not classic writers, but
students of the Classics, who assisted their own genius by the study of
what no longer was themselves. So in the following centuries the most
careful Latin writers are students of the Classics, and do not study
Jerome and Augustine for style. Yet their writings carry out the
tendencies beginning (or rather not beginning) with these two.

It was not in diction alone that the Fathers were the forerunners of
mediaeval writers. _Classic_ Latin authors, both from themselves and
through their study of Greek literature, had the sense and faculty of
form. Their works maintain a clear sequence of thought, along with strict
pertinency to the main topic, or adherence to the central current of the
narrative, avoiding digression and refraining from excessive
amplification. The classic writer did not lose himself in his subject, or
wander with it wherever it might lead him. But in patristic writings the
subject is apt to dominate the man, draw him after its own necessities, or
by its casual suggestions cause him to digress. The Fathers in their
polemic or expository works became prolix and circumstantial, intent, like
a lawyer with a brief, on proving every point and leaving no loophole to
the adversary. In their works literary unity and strict sequence of
argument may be cast to the winds. Above all, as it seems to us, and as it
would have seemed to Caesar or Cicero or Tacitus, allegorical
interpretation carries them at its own errant and fantastic will into
footless mazes.

Yet whoever will understand and appreciate the writings of the Fathers and
of the mediaeval generations after them, should beware of inelastic
notions. The question of unity hangs on what the writer deems the
veritable topic of his work, and that may be the universal course of the
providence of God, which was the subject of Augustine’s _Civitas Dei_.
Indeed, the infinite relationship of any Christian topic was like enough
to break through academic limits of literary unity. Likewise, the proper
sequence of thought depends on what constitutes the true connection
between one matter and another; it must follow what with the writer are
the veritable relationships of his topics. If the visible facts of a man’s
environment and the narratives of history are to him primarily neither
actual facts nor literal narratives, but symbols and allegories of
spiritual things, then the true sequence of thought for him is from symbol
to symbol and from allegory to allegory. He is justified in ignoring the
apparent connection of visible facts and the logic of the literal story,
and in surrendering himself to that sequence of thought which follows what
is for him the veritable significance of the matter.

Yet here we must apply another standard besides that of the writer’s
conception of his subject’s significance. He should be wise, and not
foolish. Other men and later ages will judge him according to their own
best wisdom. And with respect to the writings of the Fathers viewed as
literature, the modern critic cannot fail to see them entering upon that
course of prolixity which in mediaeval writings will develop into the
endless; looking forward, he will see their errant habits resolving into
the mediaeval lack of determined topic, and their symbolically driven
sequences of thought turning into the most ridiculous topical transitions,
as the less cogent faculties of later men permit themselves to be
_suggested_ anywhither.

The Fathers developed their distinguishing qualities of style and language
under the demands of the topics absorbing them, and the influence of modes
of feeling coming with Christianity. They were compelling an established
language to express novel matter. In the centuries after them, further
changes were to come through the linguistic tendencies moulding the
evolution of the Romance tongues, through the counter influence of the
study of grammar and rhetoric, and also through the ignorance and
intellectual limitations of the writers. But as with the Latin of the
Fathers, so with the Latin of the Middle Ages, the change of style and
language was intimately and spiritually dependent upon the minds and
temperaments of the writers and the qualities of the subjects for which
they were seeking an expression. A profound influence in the evolution of
mediaeval Latin was the continual endeavour of the mediaeval genius to
express the thoughts and feelings through which it was becoming itself.
With impressive adequacy and power the Christian writers of the Middle
Ages moulded their inherited and acquired Latin tongue to utter the varied
matters which moved their minds and lifted up their hearts. We marvel to
see a language which once had told the stately tale of Rome here lowered
to fantastic incident and dull stupidity, then with almost gospel
simplicity telling the moving story of some saintly life; again sonorously
uttering thoughts to lift men from the earth and denunciations crushing
them to hell; quivering with hope and fear and love, and chanting the last
verities of the human soul.

As to the evolution of various styles of written Latin from the close of
the patristic period on through the following centuries, one may premise
the remark that there would commonly be two opposite influences upon the
writer; that of the genius of his native tongue, and that of his education
in Latinity. If he lived in a land where Teutonic speech had never given
way to the spoken Latin of the Empire, his native tongue would be so
different from the Latin which he learned at school, that while it might
impede, it could hardly draw to its own genius the learned language. But
in Romance countries there was no such absolute difference between the
vernacular and the Latin, and the analytic genius of the growing Romance
dialects did not fail to affect the latter. Accordingly in France, for
example, the spoken Latin dialect, or one may say the genius that was
forming the old French dialects to what they were to be, tends to break up
the ancient periods, to introduce the auxiliary verb in the place of
elaborate inflections, and rely on prepositions instead of case endings,
which were disappearing and whose force was ceasing to be felt. One result
was to simplify the order of words in a sentence; for it was not possible
to move a noun with its accompanying preposition wherever it had been
feasible to place a noun whose relation to the rest of the sentence was
felt from its case ending. Gregory of Tours is the famous example of these
tendencies, with his _Historia francorum_, an ideal forerunner of
Froissart. He became Bishop of Tours in the year 573. In his writings he
followed the instincts of the inchoate Romance tongues. He acknowledges
and perhaps overstates his ignorance of Latin grammar and the rules of
composition. Such ignorance was destined to become still blanker; and
ignorance in itself was a disintegrating influence upon written Latin, and
also gave freer play to the gathering tendencies of Romance speech.

Evidently, had all these influences worked unchecked, they would have
obliterated Latinity from mediaeval Latin. Grammatical and rhetorical
education countered them effectively, and the mighty genius of the ancient
language endured in the extant masterpieces. Nevertheless the spirit of
classical Latinity was never again to be a spontaneous creative power.
The most that men thenceforth could do was to study, and endeavour to
imitate, the forms in which it had embodied its living self.

In brief, some of the chief influences upon the writing of Latin in the
Middle Ages were: the classical genius dead, leaving only its works for
imitation; the school education in Latin grammar and rhetoric; endeavour
to follow classic models and write correctly; inability to do so from lack
of capacity and knowledge; conscious disregard of classicism; the spirit
of the Teutonic tongues clogging Latinity, and that of the Romance tongues
deflecting it from classical constructions; and finally, the plastic
faculties of advancing Christian mediaeval civilization educing power from
confusion, and creating modes of language suited to express the thoughts
and feelings of mediaeval men.

The life, that is to say the living development, of mediaeval Latin prose,
was to lie in the capacity of successive generations of educated men to
maintain a sufficient grammatical correctness, while at the same time
writing Latin, not classically, but in accordance with the necessities and
spirit of their times. There resulted an enormous literature which was not
dead, nor altogether living, and lacked throughout the spontaneity of
writings in a mother tongue; for Latin was not the speech of hearth and
home, nor everywhere the tongue of the market-place and camp. But it was
the language of mediaeval education and acquired culture; it was the
language also of the universal church, and, above all other tongues,
expressed the thoughts by which men were saved or damned. More profoundly
than any vernacular mediaeval literature, the Latin literature of the
Middle Ages expresses the mediaeval mind. It thundered with the authority
that held the keys of heaven; it was resonant with feeling, and through
long centuries gave voice to emotions, shattering, terror-stricken,
convulsively loving. When, say with the close of the eleventh century, the
mediaeval peoples had absorbed with power the teachings of patristic
Christianity, and had undergone some centuries of Latin schooling, and
when under these two chief influences certain distinctive and homogeneous
ways of thinking, feeling, and looking upon life, had been reached; when,
in fine, the Middle Ages had become themselves and had evolved a genius
that could create,--then and from that time appears the adaptability and
power of mediaeval Latin to serve the ends of intellectual effort and the
expression of emotion.

To estimate the literary qualities of classical Latin is a simpler task
than to judge the Latinity and style of the Latin literature of the Middle
Ages. Classic Latin prose has a common likeness. In general one feels that
what Cicero and Caesar would have rejected, Tacitus and Quintilian would
not have admitted. The syntax of these writers shows still greater
uniformity. No such common likeness, or avoidance of stylistic aberration
and grammatical solecism, obtains in mediaeval prose or verse. The one and
the other include many kinds of Latin, and vary from century to century,
diversified in idiom and deflected from linguistic uniformity by
influences of race and native speech, of ignorance and knowledge. He who
would appreciate mediaeval Latin will be diffident of academic standards,
and mistrust his classical predilections lest he see aberration and
barbarism where he might discover the evolution of new constructions and
novel styles; lest he bestow encomium upon clever imitations of classical
models, and withhold it from more living creations of the mediaeval
spirit. He will realize that to appreciate mediaeval Latin literature, he
must shelve his Virgil and his Cicero.[230]

The following pages do not offer themselves even as a slight sketch of
mediaeval Latin literature. Their purpose is to indicate the stages of
development of the prose and the phases of evolution of the verse; and to
illustrate the way in which antique themes and antique knowledge passed
into vernacular poetry. Classical standards will supply us less with a
point of view than with a point of departure. Nothing more need be said
of the Latin of the Church Fathers and Gregory of Tours. But one must
refer to the Carolingian period, in order to appreciate the Latin styles
of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

The revival of education and classical scholarship under the strong rule
and fostering care of the greatest of mediaeval monarchs has not always
been rightly judged. The vision of that prodigious personality ruling,
christianizing, striving to civilize masses of barbarians and barbarized
descendants of Romans and provincials; at the same time with eager
interest endeavouring to revive the culture of the past, and press it into
the service of the Christian faith; the striking success of his
endeavours, men of learning coming from Ireland, England, Spain, and
Italy, creating a peripatetic centre of knowledge at the imperial court,
and establishing schools in many a monastery and episcopal residence--all
this has never failed to arouse enthusiasm for the great achievement, and
has veiled the creative deadness of it all, a deadness which in some
provinces of intellectual endeavour was quite veritably moribund, while in
others it betokened the necessary preparation for creative epochs to
come.[231]

Carolingian scholarship was directed to the mastery of Latin. Grammar was
taught, and the rules of composition. Then the scholars were bidden, or
bade themselves, do likewise. So they wrote verse or prose according to
their school lessons. They might write correctly; but they had no style of
their own. This was hopelessly true as to their metrical verses;[232] it
was only somewhat less tangibly true of their prose. The “classic” of the
period, in the eyes of modern classical scholars and also in the opinion
of the mediaeval centuries, is Einhard’s _Life of Charlemagne_. Numberless
encomiums have been passed on it, and justly too. It was an excellent
imitation of Suetonius’s _Life of Augustus_; and the writer had made a
careful study of Caesar and Livy.[233] There is no need to quote from a
writing so accessible and well known. Yet one remark may be added to what
others have said: if Einhard’s composition was an excellent copy of
classical Latin it was nothing else; it has no stylistic
individuality.[234]

Turning from this famous biography, we will illustrate our point by
quoting from the letters of him who stands as the type of the Carolingian
revival, the Anglo-Saxon Alcuin. All praise to this noble educational
coadjutor of Charlemagne; his learning was conscientious; his work was
important, his character was lovable. His affectionate nature speaks in a
letter to his former brethren at York, where his home had been before he
entered Charlemagne’s service. Here is a sentence:

    “O omnium dilectissimi patres et fratres, memores mei estote; ego
    vester ero, sive in vita, sive in morte. Et forte miserebitur mei
    Deus, ut cujus infantiam aluistis, ejus senectutem sepeliatis.”[235]

It were invidious to find fault with this Latin, in which the homesick man
expresses his hope of sepulture in his old home. Note also the balance of
the following, written to a sick friend:

    “Gratias agamus Deo Jesu, vulneranti et medenti, flagellanti et
    consolanti. Dolor corporis salus est animae, et infirmitas temporalis,
    sanitas perpetua. Libenter accipiamus, patienter feramus voluntatem
    Salvatoris nostri.”[236]

This too is excellent, in language as in sentiment. So is another, and
last, sentence from our author, in a letter congratulating Charlemagne on
his final subjugation of the Huns, through which the survivors were
brought to a knowledge of the truth:

    “Qualis erit tibi gloria, O beatissime rex, in die aeternae
    retributionis, quando hi omnes qui per tuam sollicitudinem ab
    adolatriae cultura ad cognoscendum verum Deum conversi sunt, te ante
    tribunal Domini nostri Jesu Christi in beata sorte stantem
    sequentur!”[237]

Again, the only trouble is stylelessness. In fine, an absence of quality
characterizes Carolingian prose, of which a last example may be taken from
the Spaniard Theodulphus, Bishop of Orleans, “an accomplished Latin poet,”
and an educator yielding in importance to Alcuin alone. The sentence is
from an official admonition to the clergy, warning them to attach more
value to salvation than to lucre:

    “Admonendi sunt qui negotiis ac mercationibus rerum invigilant, ut non
    plus terrenam quam viam cupiant sempiternam. Nam qui plus de rebus
    terrenis quam de animae suae salute cogitat, valde a via veritatis
    aberrat.”[238]

Evidently there was a good knowledge of Latin among these Carolingians,
who laboured for the revival of education and the preservation of the
Classics. The nadir of classical learning falls in the succeeding period
of break-up, confusion, and dawning re-adjustment. In the century or two
following the year 850, the writers were too unskilled in Latin and often
too cumbered by it, to manifest in their writings that unhampered and
distinctive reflex of a personality which we term style. A rare exception
would appear in such a potent scholar as Gerbert, who mastered whatever he
learned, and made it part of his own faculties and temperament. His
letters, consequently, have an individual style, however good or bad we
may be disposed to deem it.[239]

Accordingly, until after the millennial year Latin prose shows little
beyond a clumsy heaviness resulting from the writer’s insufficient mastery
of his medium; and there are many instances of barbarism and corruption of
the tongue without any compensating positive qualities. A dreadful example
is afforded by the _Chronicon_ of Benedictus, a monk of St. Andrews in
Monte Soracte, who lived in the latter part of the tenth century. He
relates, as history, the fable of Charlemagne’s journey to the Holy Land;
and his own eyes may have witnessed the atrocious times of John XII., of
whom he speaks as follows:

    “Inter haec non multum tempus Agapitus papa decessit (an. 956).
    Octabianus in sede sanctissima susceptus est, et vocatus est Johannes
    duodecimi pape. Factus est tam lubricus sui corporis, et tam audaces,
    quantum nunc in gentilis populo solebat fieri. Habebat consuetudinem
    sepius venandi non quasi apostolicus sed quasi homo ferus. Erat enim
    cogitio ejus vanum; diligebat collectio feminarum, odibiles
    aecclesiarum, amabilis juvenis ferocitantes. Tanta denique libidine
    sui corporis exarsit, quanta nunc (non?) possumus enarrare.”[240]

No need to draw further from this writing, which is characterized
throughout by crass ignorance of grammar and all else pertaining to Latin.
It has no individual qualities; it has no style. Leaving this example of
illiteracy, let us turn to a man of more knowledge, Odo, one of the
greatest of the abbots of Cluny, who died in the year 943. He left lengthy
writings, one of them a bulky epitome of the famous _Moralia_ of Gregory
the Great.[241] More original were his three dull books of _Collationes_,
or moral comments upon the Scriptures. They open with a heavy note which
their author might have drawn from the dark temperament of that great pope
whom he so deeply admired; but the language has a leaden quality which is
not Gregory’s, but Odo’s.

    “Auctor igitur et judex hominum Deus, licet ab illa felicitate
    paradisi genus nostrum juste repulerit, suae tamen bonitatis memor, ne
    totus reus homo quod meretur incurrat, hujus peregrinationis molestias
    multis beneficiis demulcet.”

And, again, a little further on:

    “Omnis vero ejusdem Scripturae intentio est, ut nos ab hujus vitae
    pravitatibus compescat. Nam idcirco terribilibus suis sententiis cor
    nostrum, quasi quibusdam stimulis pungit, ut homo terrore pulsatus
    expavescat, et divina judicia quae aut voluptate carnis aut terrena
    sollicitudine discissus oblivisci facile solet, ad memoriam
    reducat.”[242]

One feels the dull heaviness of this. Odo, like many of his
contemporaries, knew enough of Latin grammar, and had read some of the
Classics. But he had not mastered what he knew, and his knowledge was not
converted into power. The tenth century was still painfully learning the
lessons of its Christian and classical heritage. A similar lack of
personal facility may be observed in Ruotger’s biography of Bruno, the
worthy brother of the great emperor Otto I., and Archbishop of Cologne.
Bruno died in 965, and Ruotger, who had been his companion, wrote his Life
without delay. It has not the didactic ponderousness of Odo’s writing, but
its language is clumsy. The following passage is of interest as showing
Bruno’s education and the kind of learned man it made him.

    “Deinde ubi prima grammaticae artis rudimenta percepit, sicut ab ipso
    in Dei omnipotentis gloriam hoc saepius ruminante didicimus,
    Prudentium poetam tradente magistro legere coepit. Qui sicut est et
    fide intentioneque catholicus, et eloquentia veritateque praecipuus,
    et metrorum librorumque varietate elegantissimus, tanta mox dulcedine
    palato cordis ejus complacuit, ut jam non tantum exteriorum verborum
    scientiam, verum intimi medullam sensus, et nectar ut ita dicam
    liquidissimum, majori quam dici possit aviditate hauriret. Postea
    nullum penitus erat studiorum liberalium genus in omni Graeca vel
    Latina eloquentia, quod ingenii sui vivacitatem aufugeret. Nec vero,
    ut solet, aut divitiarum affluentia, aut turbarum circumstrepentium
    assiduitas, aut ullum aliunde subrepens fastidium ab hoc nobili otio
    animum ejus unquam avertit.... Saepe inter Graecorum et Latinorum
    doctissimos de philosophiae sublimitate aut de cujuslibet in illa
    florentis disciplinae subtilitate disputantes doctus interpres medius
    ipse consedit, et disputantibus ad plausum omnium, quo nihil minus
    amaverat, satisfecit.”[243]

The gradual improvement in the writing of Latin in the Middle Ages, and
the evolution of distinctive mediaeval styles, did not result from a
larger acquaintance with the Classics, or a better knowledge of grammar
and school rhetoric. The range of classical reading might extend, or from
time to time contract, and Donatus and Priscian were used in the ninth
century as well as in the twelfth. It is true that the study of grammar
became more intelligent in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, and its
teachers deferred less absolutely to the old rules and illustrations. They
recognized Christian standards of diction: first of all the Vulgate; next,
early Christian poets like Prudentius; and then gradually the mediaeval
versifiers who wrote and won approval in the twelfth century. Thus grammar
sought to follow current usage.[244] This endeavour culminated at the
close of the twelfth century in the _Doctrinale_ of Alexander of Villa
Dei.[245] Before this, much of the best mediaeval Latin prose and verse
had been written, and the period most devoted to the Classics had come and
was already waning. That period was this same twelfth century. During its
earlier half, Latinity gained doubtless from such improvement in the
courses of the Trivium as took place at Chartres, for example, an
improvement connected with the intellectual growth of the time. But the
increase in the knowledge of Latin was mainly such as a mature man may
realize within himself, if he has kept up his Latin reading, however
little he seem to have added to his knowledge since leaving his Alma
Mater.

So the development of mediaeval Latin prose (and also verse) advanced with
the maturing of mediaeval civilization. That which was at the same time a
living factor in this growth and a result of it, was the more organic
appropriation of the classical and Christian heritages of culture and
religion. As intellectual faculties strengthened, and men drew power from
the past, they gained facility in moulding their Latin to their purposes.
Writings begin to reflect the personalities of the writers; the diction
ceases to be that of clumsy or clever school compositions, and presents an
evolution of tangible mediaeval styles. Henceforth, although a man be an
eager student of the Classics, like John of Salisbury for example, and try
to imitate their excellences, he will still write mediaeval Latin, and
with a personal style if he be a strong personality. The classical models
no longer trammel, but assist him to be more effectively himself on a
higher plane.

If mediaeval civilization is to be regarded as that which the peoples of
western Europe attained under the two universal influences of Christianity
and antique culture, then nothing more mediaeval will be seen than
mediaeval Latin. To make it, the antique Latin had been modified and
reinspired and loosed by the Christian energies of the Fathers; and had
then passed on to peoples who never had been, or no longer were, antique.
They barbarized the language down to the rudeness of their faculties. As
they themselves advanced, they brought up Latin with them, as it were,
from the depths of the ninth and tenth centuries, but a Latin which in the
crude natures of these men had been stripped of classical quality; a Latin
barbarous and naked, and ready to be clothed upon with novel qualities
which should make it a new creature. Throughout all this process, while
Latin was sinking and re-emerging, it was worked upon and inspired by the
spirit of the uses to which it was predominantly applied, which were those
of the Roman Catholic Church and of the intimacies of the Christian soul,
pressing to expression in the learned tongue which they were transforming.

In considering the Latin writings of the Middle Ages one should bear in
mind the differences between Italy and the North with respect to the
ancient language. These were important through the earlier Middle Ages,
when modes of diction sufficiently characteristic to be called styles,
were forming. The men of Latin-sodden Italy might have a fluent Latin when
those of the North still had theirs to learn. Thus there were Italians in
the eleventh century who wrote quite a distinctive Latin prose.[246]
Among them were St. Peter Damiani, and St. Anselm of Aosta, Bec, and
Canterbury.

The former died full of virtue in the year 1072. We have elsewhere
observed his character and followed his career.[247] He was, to his great
anxiety, a classical scholar, who had earned large sums as a teacher of
rhetoric before natural inclination and fears for his soul drove him to an
ascetic life. He was a master of the Latin which he used. His style is
intense, eloquent, personal to himself as well as suited to his matter,
and reflects his ardent character and keen perceptions. The following is a
rhetorical yet beautiful description of a “last leaf,” taken from one of
his compositions in praise of the hermit way of salvation.

    “Videamus in arbore folium sub ipsis pruinis hiemalibus lapsabundum,
    et consumpto autumnalis clementiae virore, jamjam pene casurum, ita ut
    vix ramusculo, cui dependet, inhaereat, sed apertissima levis ruinae
    signa praetendat: inhorrescunt flabra, venti furentes hic inde
    concutiunt, brumalis horror crassi aeris rigore densatur: atque, ut
    magis stupeas, defluentibus reliquis undique foliis terra sternitur,
    et depositis comis arbor suo decore nudatur; cum illud solum nullo
    manente permaneat, et velut cohaeredum superstes in fraternae
    possessionis jura succedat. Quid autem intelligendum in hujus rei
    consideratione relinquitur, nisi quia nec arboris folium potest
    cadere, nisi divinum praesumat imperium?”[248]

Anselm’s diction, in spite of its frequent cloister rhetoric, has a simple
and modern word-order. An account has already been given of his life and
of his thoughts, so beautifully sky-blue, unpurpled with the crimson of
human passion, which made the words of Augustine more veritably
incandescent.[249] The great African was the strongest individual
influence upon Anselm’s thought and language. But the latter’s style has
departed further from the classical sentence, and of itself indicates that
the writer belongs neither to the patristic period nor to the Carolingian
time, busied with its rearrangement of patristic thought. The following is
from his _Proslogion_ upon the existence of God. Through this discourse,
Deity and the Soul are addressed in the second person after the manner of
Augustine’s _Confessions_.

    “Excita nunc, anima mea, et erige totum intellectum tuum, et cogita
    quantum potes quale et quantum sit illud bonum (_i.e._ Deus). Si enim
    singula bona delectabilia sunt, cogita intente quam delectabile sit
    illud bonum quod continet jucunditatem omnium bonorum; et non qualem
    in rebus creatis sumus experti, sed tanto differentem quanto differt
    Creator a creatura. Si enim bona est vita creata, quam bona est vita
    creatrix! Si jucunda est salus facta, quam jucunda est salus quae
    fecit omnem salutem! Si amabilis est sapientia in cognitione rerum
    conditarum, quam amabilis est sapientia quae omnia condidit ex nihilo!
    Denique, si multae et magnae delectationes sunt in rebus
    delectabilibus, qualis et quanta delectatio est in illo qui fecit ipsa
    delectabilia!”[250]

In a more emotional passage Anselm arouses in his soul the terror of the
Judgment. It is from a “Meditatio”:

    “Taedet animam meam vitae meae; vivere erubesco, mori pertimesco. Quid
    ergo restat tibi, o peccator, nisi ut in tota vita tua plores totam
    vitam tuam, ut ipsa tota se ploret totam? Sed est in hoc quoque anima
    mea miserabiliter mirabilis et mirabiliter miserabilis, quia non
    tantum dolet quantum se noscit; sed sic secura torpet, velut quid
    patiatur ignoret. O anima sterilis, quid agis? quid torpes, anima
    peccatrix? Dies judicii venit, juxta est dies Domini magnus, juxta et
    velox nimis, _dies irae dies illa_, dies tribulationis et angustiae,
    dies calamitatis et miseriae, dies tenebrarum et caliginis, dies
    nebulae et turbinis, dies tubae et clangoris. O vox diei Domini amara!
    Quid dormitas, anima tepida et digna evomi?”[251]

Damiani wrote in the middle of the eleventh century, Anselm in the latter
part. The northern lands could as yet show no such characteristic
styles,[252] although the classically educated German, Lambert of
Hersfeld, wrote as correctly and perspicuously as either. His _Annals_
have won admiration for their clear and correct Latinity, modelled upon
the styles of Sallust and Livy. He died in 1077, the year of Canossa, his
_Annals_ covering the conflict between Henry IV. and Hildebrand up to that
event. The narrative moves with spirit, as one may see by reading his
description of King Henry and his consort struggling through Alpine ice
and snow to reach that castle never to be forgotten, and gain absolution
from the Pope before the ban should have completed Henry’s ruin.[253]

For the North, the best period of mediaeval Latin, prose as well as
verse, opens with the twelfth century. It was indeed the great literary
period of the Middle Ages. For the vernacular literatures flourished as
well as the Latin. Provençal literature began as the eleventh century
closed, and was stifled in the thirteenth by the Albigensian Crusade. So
the twelfth was its great period. Likewise with the Old French literature:
except the _Roland_ which is earlier, the chief _chansons de geste_ belong
to the twelfth century; also the romances of antiquity, to be spoken of
hereafter; also the romances of the Round Table, and a great mass of
_chansons_ and _fabliaux_. The Old German--or rather, _Mittel
Hochdeutsch_--literature touches its height as the century closes and the
next begins, in the works of Heinrich von Veldeke, Gottfried von
Strassburg, Wolfram von Eschenbach, and Walther von der Vogelweide.

The best Latin writers of the century lived, or sojourned, or were
educated, for the most part in the France north of the Loire. Not that all
of them were natives of that territory; for some were German born, some
saw the light in England, and the birthplace of many is unknown. Yet they
seem to belong to France. Nearly all were ecclesiastics, secular or
regular. Many of them were notables in theology, like Hugo of St. Victor,
Abaelard, Alanus de Insulis (Lille); many were poets as well, like Alanus
and Hildebert and John of Salisbury too; one was a thunderer on the earth,
and a most deft politician, Bernard of Clairvaux. Some again are known
only as poets, sacred or profane, like Adam of St. Victor, and Walter of
Chatillon--but of these hereafter. The best Latin prose writing of this,
or any other, mediaeval period, had its definite purpose, metaphysical,
theological, or pietistic; and the writers have been or will be spoken of
in connection with their specific fields of intellectual achievement or
religious fervour. Here, without discussing the men or their works, some
favourable examples of their writing will be given.

In the last passage quoted from Anselm, the reader must have felt the
working of cloister rhetoric, and have noticed the antitheses and rhymes,
to which mediaeval Latin lent itself so readily. Yet it is a slight affair
compared with the confounding sonorousness, the flaring pictures, and
terrifying climaxes of St. Bernard when preaching upon the same topic--the
Judgment Day. In one of his famous sermons on Canticles, the saint has
been suggesting to his audience, the monks of Clara Vallis, that although
the _Father_ might ignore faults, not so the _Dominus_ and _Creator_: “et
qui parcit filio, non parcet figmento, non parcet servo nequam.” Listen to
the carrying out and pointing of this thought:

    “Pensa cujus sit formidinis et horroris tuum atque omnium contempsisse
    factorem, offendisse Dominum majestatis. Majestatis est timeri, Domini
    est timeri, et maxime hujus majestatis, hujusque Domini. Nam si reum
    regiae majestatis, quamvis humanae, humanis legibus plecti capite
    sancitum sit, quis finis contemnentium divinam omnipotentiam erit?
    Tangit montes, et fumigant; et tam tremendam majestatem audet irritare
    vilis pulvisculus, uno levi flatu mox dispergendus, et minime
    recolligendus? Ille, ille timendus est, qui postquam acciderit corpus,
    potestatem habet mittere et in gehennam. Paveo gehennam, paveo judicis
    vultum, ipsis quoque tremendum angelicis potestatibus. Contremisco ab
    ira potentis, a facie furoris ejus, a fragore ruentis mundi, a
    conflagratione elementorum, a tempestate valida, a voce archangeli, et
    a verbo aspero. [Feel the climax of this sentence, which tells the end
    of the sinner.] Contremisco a dentibus bestiae infernalis, a ventre
    inferi, a rugientibus praeparatis ad escam. Horreo vermem rodentem, et
    ignem torrentem, fumum, et vaporem, et sulphur, et spiritum
    procellarum; horreo tenebras exteriores. Quis dabit capiti meo aquam,
    et oculis meis fontem lacrymarum ut praeveniam fletibus fletum, et
    stridorem dentium, et manuum pedumque dura vincula, et pondus
    catenarum prementium, stringentium, urentium, nec consumentium? Heu
    me, mater mea! utquid me genuisti filium doloris, filium amaritudinis,
    indignationis et plorationis aeternae? Cur exceptus genibus, cur
    lactatus uberibus, natus in combustionem, et cibus ignis?”[254]

As one recovers from the sound and power of this high-wrought passage, he
notices how readily it might be turned into the form of a Latin hymn; and
also how very modern is its sequence of words. Bernard’s Latin could
whisper intimate love, as well as thunder terror. He says, preaching on
the _medicina_, the healing power, of Jesu’s name:

    “Hoc tibi electuarium habes, o anima mea, reconditum in vasculo
    vocabuli hujus quod est Jesus, salutiferum, certe, quodque nulli
    unquam pesti tuae inveniatur inefficax.”[255]

With the music of this prose one may compare the sweet personal plaint of
the following:

    “Felices quos abscondit in tabernaculo suo in umbra alarum suarum
    sperantes, donec transeat iniquitas. Caeterum ego infelix, pauper et
    nudus, homo natus ad laborem, implumis avicula pene omni tempore
    nidulo exsulans, vento exposita et turbini, turbatus sum et motus sum
    sicut ebrius, et omnis conscientia mea devorata est.”[256]

Extracts can give no idea of Bernard’s literary powers, any more than a
small volume could tell the story of that life which, so to speak, was
_magna pars_ of all contemporary history. But since he was one of the best
of Latin letter-writers, one should not omit an example of his varied
epistolary style, which can be known in its compass only from a large
reading of his letters. The following is a short letter, written to win
back to the cloister a delicately nurtured youth whose parents had lured
him out into the world.

    “Doleo super te, fili mi Gaufride, doleo super te. Et merito. Quis
    enim non doleat florem juventutis tuae, quem laetantibus angelis Deo
    illibatum obtuleras in odorem suavitatis, nunc a daemonibus
    conculcari, vitiorum spurcitiis, et saeculi sordibus inquinari?
    Quomodo qui vocatus eras a Deo, revocantem diabolum sequeris, et quem
    Christus trahere coeperat post se, repente pedem ab ipso introitu
    gloriae retraxisti? In te experior nunc veritatem sermonis Domini,
    quem dixit: Inimici hominis, domestici ejus (Matt. x. 36). Amici tui
    et proximi tui adversum te appropinquaverunt, et steterunt.
    Revocaverunt te in fauces leonis, et in portis mortis iterum
    collocaverunt te. Collocaverunt te in obscuris, sicut mortuos saeculi:
    et jam parum est ut descendas in ventrem inferi; jam te deglutire
    festinat, ac rugientibus praeparatis ad escam tradere devorandum.

    “Revertere, quaeso, revertere, priusquam te absorbeat profundum, et
    urgeat super te puteus os suum; priusquam demergaris, unde ulterius
    non emergas; priusquam ligatis manibus et pedibus projiciaris in
    tenebras exteriores, ubi est fletus et stridor dentium; priusquam
    detrudaris in locum tenebrosum, et opertum mortis caligine. Erubescis
    forte redire, quia ad horam cessisti. Erubesce fugam, et non post
    fugam reverti in proelium, et rursum pugnare. Necdum finis pugnae,
    necdum ab invicem dimicantes acies discesserunt: adhuc victoria prae
    manibus est. Si vis, nolumus vincere sine te, nec tuam tibi invidemus
    gloriae portionem. Laeti occuremus tibi, laetis te recipiemus
    amplexibus, dicemusque: Epulari et gaudere oportet, quia hic filius
    noster mortuus fuerat, et revixit; perierat, et inventus est” (Luc.
    xv. 32).[257]

The argument of this letter is, from the standpoint of Bernard’s time, as
resistless as the style. Did it win back the little monk? Many wonderful
examples of loving expression could be drawn from Bernard’s letters;[258]
but instead an instance may be given of his none too subtle way of
uttering his hate: “Arnaldus de Brixia, cujus conversatio mel et doctrina
venenum, cui caput columbae, cauda scorpionis est, quem Brixia evomuit,
Roma exhorruit, Francia repulit, Germania abominatur, Italia non vult
recipere, fertur esse vobiscum.”[259] And then he proceeds to warn his
correspondent of the danger of intercourse with this arch-enemy of the
Church.

Considering that Latin was a tongue which youths learned at school rather
than at their mothers’ knees, such writing as Bernard’s is a triumphant
recasting of an ancient language. One notices in him, as generally with
mediaeval religious writers, the influence of the Vulgate, which was
mainly in the language of St. Jerome--of Jerome when not writing as a
literary virtuoso, but as a scholar occupied with rendering the meaning,
and willing to accept such linguistic innovations as served his
purpose.[260] But beyond this influence, one sees how masterful is
Bernard’s diction, quite freed from observance of classical principles,
quite of the writer and his time, adapting itself with ease and power to
the topic and character of the composition, and always expressive of the
personality of the mighty saint.

Hildebert of Le Mans was a few years older than St. Bernard. As an example
of his prose a letter may be cited, of which the translation has been
given. It was written in 1128, when he was Archbishop of Tours, in protest
against the encroachments of the royal power of the French king, Louis the
Fat, upon the rights of the Archiepiscopacy of Tours in the matter of
ecclesiastical appointments within that diocese:

    “In adversis nonnullum solatium est, tempora sperare laetiora. Diutius
    spes haec mihi blandita est, et velut agricolam messis in herba, sic
    animum meum prosperitatis expectatio confortavit. Caeterum jam nihil
    est quo serenitatem nimbosi temporis exspectem, nihil est quo navis,
    in cujus puppi sedeo, crebris agitata turbinibus, portum quietis
    attingat.

    “Silent amici, silent sacerdotes Jesu Christi. Denique silent et illi
    quorum suffragio credidi regem mecum in gratiam rediturum. Credidi
    quidem, sed super dolorem vulnerum meorum rex, illis silentibus,
    adjecit. Eorum tamen erat gravamini ecclesiae canonicis obviare
    institutis. Eorum erat, si res postulasset, opponere murum pro domo
    Israel. Verum apud serenissimum regem opus est exhortatione potius
    quam increpatione, consilio quam praecepto, doctrina quam virga. His
    ille conveniendus fuit, his reverenter instruendus, ne sagittas suas
    in sene compleret sacerdote, ne sanctiones canonicas evacuaret, ne
    persequeretur cineres Ecclesiae jam sepultae, cineres in quibus ego
    panem doloris manduco, in quibus bibo calicem luctus, de quibus eripi
    et evadere, de morte ad vitam transire est.

    “Inter has tamen angustias, nunquam de me sic ira triumphavit, ut
    aliquem super Christo Domini clamorem deponere vellem, seu pacem
    ipsius in manu forti et brachio Ecclesiae adipisci. Suspecta est pax
    ad quam, non amore sed vi, sublimes veniunt potestates. Ea facile
    rescindetur, et fiunt aliquando novissima pejora prioribus. Alia est
    via qua compendiosius ad eam Christo perducente pertingam. Jactabo
    cogitatum meum in Domino, et ipse dabit mihi petitionem cordis mei.
    Recordatus est Dominus Joseph, cujus pincerna Pharaonis oblitus, dum
    prospera succederent, interveniendi pro eo curam abjecit.... Fortassis
    recordabitur et mei, atque in desiderato littore navem sistet
    fluctuantem. Ipse enim est qui respicit in orationem humilium, et non
    spernit preces eorum. Ipse est in cujus manu corda regum cerea sunt.
    Si invenero gratiam in oculis ejus, gratiam regis vel facile
    consequar, vel utiliter amittam. Siquidem offendere hominem proper
    Deum lucrari est gratiam Dei.”[261]

John of Salisbury (1110-1180), much younger than Hildebert and a little
younger than Bernard, seems to have been the best scholar of his time.
With the Classics he is as one in the company of friends; he cites them as
readily as Scripture; their _sententiae_ have become part of his views of
life. John was an eager humanist, who followed his studies to whatever
town and to the feet of whatsoever teacher they might lead him. So he
listened to Abaelard and many others. His writing is always lively and
often forcible, especially when vituperating the set who despised classic
reading. His most vivacious work, the _Metalogicus_, was directed against
their unnamed prophet, whom he dubs “Cornificus.”[262] Its opening passage
is of interest as John’s exordium, and because a somewhat consciously
intending stylist like our John is likely to exhibit his utmost virtuosity
in the opening sentences of an important work:

    “Adversus insigne donum naturae parentis et gratiae, calumniam veterem
    et majorum nostrorum judicio condemnatam excitat improbus litigator,
    et conquirens undique imperitiae suae solatia, sibi proficere sperat
    ad gloriam, si multos similes sui, id est si eos viderit imperitos;
    habet enim hoc proprium arrogantiae tumor, ut se commetiatur aliis,
    bona sua, si qua sunt, efferens, deprimens aliena; defectumque
    proximi, suum putet esse profectum. Omnibus autem recte sapientibus
    indubium est quod natura, clementissima parens omnium, et
    dispositissima moderatrix, inter caetera quae genuit animantia,
    hominem privilegio rationis extulit, et usu eloquii insignivit: id
    agens sedulitate officiosa, et lege dispositissima, ut homo qui
    gravedine faeculentioris naturae et molis corporeae tarditate
    premebatur et trahebatur ad ima, his quasi subvectus alis, ad alta
    ascendat, et ad obtinendum verae beatitudinis bravium, omnia alia
    felici compendio antecebat. Dum itaque naturam fecundat gratia, ratio
    rebus perspiciendis et examinandis invigilat; naturae sinus excutit,
    metitur fructus et efficaciam singulorum: et innatus omnibus amor
    boni, naturali urgente se appetitu, hoc, aut solum, aut prae caeteris
    sequitur, quod percipiendae beatitudini maxime videtur esse
    accommodum.”[263]

One perceives the effect of classical studies; yet the passage is good
twelfth-century Latin, quite different from the compositions of the
Carolingian epoch, those, for example, from the pen of Alcuin, who had
studied the Classics like John, but unlike him had no personal style. One
gains similar impressions from the diction of the _Polycraticus_, a
lengthy, discursive work in which John surprises us with his classical
equipment. Although containing many quoted passages, it is not made of
extracts strung together; but reflects the sentiments or tells the
opinions of ancient philosophers in the writer’s own way. The following
shows John’s knowledge of early Greek philosophers, and is a fair example
of his ordinary style:

    “Alterum vero philosophorum genus est, quod Ionicum dicitur et a
    Graecis ulterioribus traxit originem. Horum princeps fuit Thales
    Milesius, unus illorum septem, qui dicti sunt sapientes. Iste cum
    rerum naturam scrutatus, inter caeteros emicuisset, maxime admirabilis
    exstitit, quod astrologiae numeris comprehensis, solis et lunae
    defectus praedicebat. Huic successit Anaximander ejus auditor, qui
    Anaximenem discipulum reliquit et successorem. Diogenes quoque ejusdem
    auditor exstitit, et Anaxagoras, qui omnium rerum quas videmus,
    effectorem divinum animum docuit. Ei successit auditor ejus Archelaüs,
    cujus discipulus Socrates fuisse perhibetur, magister Platonis, qui,
    teste Apuleio, prius Aristoteles dictus est, sed deinde a latitudine
    pectoris Plato, et in tantam eminentiam philosophiae, et vigore
    ingenii, et studii exercitio, et omnium morum venustate, eloquii
    quoque suavitate et copia subvectus est, ut quasi in throno sapientiae
    residens, praecepta quadam auctoritate visus est, tam antecessoribus
    quam successoribus philosophis, imperare. Et primus quidem Socrates
    universam philosophiam ad corrigendos componendosque mores flexisse
    memoratur, cum ante illum omnes physicis, id est rebus naturalibus
    perscrutandis, maximam operam dederint.”[264]

These extracts from the writings of saints and scholars may be
supplemented by two extracts from compositions of another class. The
mediaeval chronicle has not a good reputation. Its credulity and
uncritical spirit varied with the time and man. Little can be said in
favour of its general form, which usually is stupidly chronological, or
annalistic. The example of classical historical composition was lost on
mediaeval annalists. Yet their work is not always dull; and, by the
twelfth century, their diction had become as mediaeval as that of the
theologian rhetoricians, although it rarely crystallizes to personal style
by reason of the insignificance of the writers. A well-known work of this
kind is the _Gesta Dei per Francos_, by Guibert of Nogent, who wrote his
account of the First Crusade a few years after its turmoil had passed by.
The following passage tells of proceedings upon the conclusion of Urban’s
great crusading oration at the Council of Clermont in 1099:

    “Peroraverat vir excellentissimus, et omnes qui se ituros voverant,
    beati Petri potestate absolvit, eadem, ipsa apostolica auctoritate
    firmavit, et signum satis conveniens hujus tam honestae professionis
    instituit, et veluti cingulum militiae, vel potius militaturis Deo
    passionis Dominicae stigma tradens, crucis figuram, ex cujuslibet
    materiae panni, tunicis, byrris et palliis iturorum, assui mandavit.
    Quod si quis, post hujus signi acceptionem, aut post evidentis voti
    pollicitationem ab ista benevolentia, prava poenitudine, aut aliquorum
    suorum affectione resileret, ut exlex perpetuo haberetur omnino
    praecepit, nisi resipisceret; idemque quod omiserat foede repeteret.
    Praeterea omnes illos atroci damnavit anathemate, qui eorum uxoribus,
    filiis, aut possessionibus, qui hoc Dei iter aggrederentur, per
    integrum triennii tempus, molestiam auderent inferre. Ad extremum,
    cuidam viro omnimodis laudibus efferendo, Podiensis urbis episcopo,
    cujus nomen doleo quia neque usquam reperi, nec audivi, curam super
    eadem expeditione regenda contulit, et vices suas ipsi, super
    Christiani populi quocunque venirent institutione, commisit. Unde et
    manus ei, more apostolorum, data pariter benedictione, imposuit. Quod
    ille quam sagaciter sit exsecutus, docet mirabilis operis tanti
    exitus.”[265]

This Frenchman Guibert is almost vivacious. A certain younger contemporary
of his, of English birth, could construct his narrative quite as well.
Ordericus Vitalis (d. 1142) is said to have been born at Wroxeter, though
he spent most of his life as monk of St. Evroult in Normandy. There he
wrote his _Historia Ecclesiastica_ of Normandy and England. His account of
the loss of the _White Ship_ in 1120 tells the story:

    “Thomas, filius Stephani, regem adiit, eique marcum auri offerens,
    ait: ‘Stephanus, Airardi filius, genitor meus fuit, et ipse in omni
    vita sua patri tuo in mari servivit. Nam illum, in sua puppe vectum,
    in Angliam conduxit, quando contra Haraldum pugnaturus, in Angliam
    perrexit. Hujusmodi autem officio usque ad mortem famulando ei
    placuit, et ab eo multis honoratus exeniis, inter contribules suos
    magnifice floruit. Hoc feudum, domine rex, a te requiro, et vas quod
    Candida-Navis appellatur, merito ad regalem famulatum optime
    instructum habeo.’ Cui rex ait: ‘Gratum habeo quod petis. Mihi quidem
    aptam navim elegi, quam non mutabo; sed filios meos, Guillelmum et
    Richardum, quos sicut me diligo, cum multa regni mei nobilitate, nunc
    tibi commendo.’

    “His auditis, nautae gavisi sunt, filioque regis adulantes, vinum ab
    eo ad bibendum postulaverunt. At ille tres vini modios ipsis dari
    praecepit. Quibus acceptis, biberunt, sociisque abundanter
    propinaverunt, nimiumque potantes inebriati sunt. Jussu regis multi
    barones cum filiis suis puppim ascenderunt, et fere trecenti, ut
    opinor, in infausta nave fuerunt. Duo siquidem monachi Tironis, et
    Stephanus comes cum duobus militibus, Guillelmus quoque de Rolmara, et
    Rabellus Camerarius, Eduardus de Salesburia, et alii plures inde
    exierunt, quia nimiam multitudinem lascivae et pompaticae juventutis
    inesse conspicati sunt. Periti enim remiges quinquaginta ibi erant, et
    feroces epibatae, qui jam in navi sedes nacti turgebant, et suimet
    prae ebrietate immemores, vix aliquem reverenter agnoscebant. Heu!
    quamplures illorum mentes pia devotione erga Deum habebant vacuas

      ‘Qui maris immodicas moderatur et aeris iras.’

    Unde sacerdotes, qui ad benedicendos illos illuc accesserant, aliosque
    ministros qui aquam benedictam deferebant, cum dedecore et cachinnis
    subsannantes abigerunt; sed paulo post derisionis suae ultionem
    receperunt.

    “Soli homines, cum thesauro regis et vasis merum ferentibus, Thomae
    carinam implebant, ipsumque ut regiam classem, quae jam aequora
    sulcabat, summopere prosequeretur, commonebant. Ipse vero, quia
    ebrietate desipiebat, in virtute sua, satellitumque suorum confidebat,
    et audacter, quia omnes qui jam praecesserant praeiret, spondebat.
    Tandem navigandi signum dedit. Porro schippae remos haud segniter
    arripuerunt, et alia laeti, quia quid eis ante oculos penderet
    nesciebant, armamenta coaptaverunt, navemque cum impetu magno per
    pontum currere fecerunt. Cumque remiges ebrii totis navigarent
    conatibus, et infelix gubernio male intenderet cursui dirigendo per
    pelagus, ingenti saxo quod quotidie fluctu recedente detegitur et
    rursus accessu maris cooperitur, sinistrum latus Candidae-Navis
    vehementer illisum est, confractisque duabus tabulis, ex insperato,
    navis, proh dolor! subversa est. Omnes igitur in tanto discrimine
    simul exclamaverunt; sed aqua mox implente ora, pariter perierunt.
    Duo soli virgae qua velum pendebat manus injecerunt, et magna noctis
    parte pendentes, auxilium quodlibet praestolati sunt. Unus erat
    Rothomagensis carnifex, nomine Beroldus, et alter generosus puer,
    nomine Goisfredus, Gisleberti de Aquila filius.

    “Tunc luna in signo Tauri nona decima fuit, et fere ix horis radiis
    suis mundum illustravit, et navigantibus mare lucidum reddidit. Thomas
    nauclerus post primam submersionem vires resumpsit, suique memor,
    super undas caput extulit, et videns capita eorum qui ligno utcunque
    inhaerebant, interrogavit: ‘Filius regis quid devenit?’ Cumque
    naufragi respondissent illum cum omnibus collegis suis deperisse:
    ‘Miserum,’ inquit, ‘est amodo meum vivere.’ Hoc dicto, male desperans,
    maluit illic occumbere, quam furore irati regis pro pernicie prolis
    oppetere, seu longas in vinculis poenas luere.”[266]

Our examples thus far belong to the twelfth century. As touching its
successor, it will be interesting to observe the qualities of two opposite
kinds of writing, the one springing from the intellectual activities, and
the other from the religious awakening, of the time. In the thirteenth
century, scientific and scholastic writing was of representative
importance, and deeply affected the development of Latin prose. Very
different in style were the Latin stories and _vitae_ of the blessed
Francis of Assisi and other saints, composed in Italy.

Roger Bacon, of whom there will be much to say, composed most of his
extant works about the year 1267.[267] His language is often rough and
involved, from his impetuosity and eagerness to utter what was in him. But
it is always vigorous. He took pains to say just what he meant, and what
was worth saying; and frequently rewrote his sentences. His writings show
little rhetoric; yet they are stamped with a Baconian style, which has a
cumulative force. The word-order is modern with scarcely a trace of the
antique. Perhaps we may say that he wrote Latin like an Englishman of
vehement temper and great intellect. He is powerful in continuous
exposition; yet instances of his general, and very striking statements,
will illustrate his diction at its best. In the following sentence he
recognizes the progressiveness of knowledge, a rare idea in the Middle
Ages:

    “Nam semper posteriores addiderunt ad opera priorum, et multa
    correxerunt, et plura mutaverunt, sicut maxime per Aristotelem patet,
    qui omnes sententias praecedentium discussit.”[268]

Again, he animadverts upon the duty of thirteenth-century Christians to
supply the defects of the old philosophers:

    “Quapropter antiquorum defectus deberemus nos posteriores supplere,
    quia introivimus in labores eorum, per quos, nisi simus asini,
    possumus ad meliora excitari; quia miserrimum est semper uti inventis
    et nunquam inveniendis.”[269]

Speaking of language, he says:

    “Impossibile est quod proprietas unius linguae servetur in alia.”[270]
    (“The idioms of one language cannot be preserved in a translation.”)
    And again: “Omnes philosophi fuerunt post patriarchas et prophetas ...
    et legerunt libros prophetarum et patriarcharum qui sunt in sacro
    textu.”[271] (“The philosophers of Greece came after the prophets of
    the Old Testament and read their works contained in the sacred text.”)

In the first of these sentences Bacon shows his linguistic insight; in the
second he reflects an uncritical view entertained since the time of the
Church Fathers; in both, he writes with an order of words requiring no
change in an English translation.

In his time, Bacon had but a sorry fame, and his works no influence. The
writings of his younger contemporary Thomas Aquinas exerted greater
influence than those of any man after Augustine. They represent the
culmination of scholasticism. He was Italian born, and his language,
however difficult the matter, is lucidity itself. It is never rhetorical;
but measured, temperate, and balanced; properly proceeding from the mind
which weighed every proposition in the scales of universal consideration.
Sometimes it gains a certain fervour from the clarity and import of the
statement which it so lucidly conveys. In article eighth, of the first
Questio, of Pars Prima of the _Summa theologiae_, Thomas thus decides that
Theology is a rational (_argumentativa_) science:

    “Respondeo dicendum quod, sicut aliae scientiae non argumentantur ad
    sua principia probanda, sed ex principiis argumentantur ad ostendendum
    alia in ipsis scientiis; ita haec doctrina non argumentatur ad sua
    principia probanda, quae sunt articuli fidei; sed ex eis procedit ad
    aliquid aliud ostendendum; sicut Apostolus I ad Cor. xv., ex
    resurrectione Christi argumentatur ad resurrectionem communem
    probandam.

    “Sed tamen considerandum est in scientiis philosophicis, quod
    inferiores scientiae nec probant sua principia, nec contra negantem
    principia disputant, sed hoc relinquunt superiori scientiae: suprema
    vero inter eas, scilicet metaphysica, disputat contra negantem sua
    principia, si adversarius aliquid concedit: si autem nihil concedit,
    non potest cum eo disputare, potest tamen solvere rationes ipsius.
    Unde sacra scriptura (_i.e._ Theology), cum non habeat superiorem,
    disputat cum negante sua principia: argumentando quidem, si
    adversarius aliquid concedat eorum quae per divinam revelationem
    habentur; sicut per auctoritates sacrae doctrinae disputamus contra
    hereticos, et per unum articulum contra negantes alium. Si vero
    adversarius nihil credat eorum quae divinitus revelantur, non remanet
    amplius via ad probandum articulos fidei per rationes, sed ad
    solvendum rationes, si quas inducit, contra fidem. Cum enim fides
    infallibili veritati innitatur, impossibile autem sit de vero
    demonstrari contrarium, manifestum est probationes quae contra fidem
    inducuntur, non esse demonstrationes, sed solubilia argumenta.”[272]

Of a different intellectual temperament was John of Fidanza, known as St.
Bonaventura.[273] He also was born and passed his youth in Italy. This
sainted General of the Franciscan Order was a few years older than the
great Dominican, who was his friend. Both doctors died in the year 1274.
Bonaventura’s powers of constructive reasoning were excellent. His diction
is clear and beautiful, and eloquent with a spiritual fervour whenever the
matter is such as to evoke it. His account of how he came to write his
famous little _Itinerarium mentis in Deum_ is full of temperament.

    “Cum igitur exemplo beatissimi patris Francisci hanc pacem anhelo
    spiritu quaererem, ego peccator, qui loco ipsius patris beatissimi
    post eius transitum septimus in generali fratrum ministerio per omnia
    indignus succedo; contigit, ut nutu divino circa Beati ipsius
    transitum, anno trigesimo tertio ad montem Alvernae tanquam ad locum
    quietum amore quaerendi pacem spiritus declinarem, ibique existens,
    dum mente tractarem aliquas mentales ascensiones in Deum, inter alia
    occurrit illud miraculum, quod in praedicto loco contigit ipsi beato
    Francisco, de visione scilicet Seraph alati ad instar Crucifixi. In
    cuius consideratione statim visum est mihi, quod visio illa
    praetenderet ipsius patris suspensionem in contemplando et viam, per
    quam pervenitur ad eam.”[274]

And Bonaventura at the end of his _Itinerarium_ speaks of the perfect
passing of Francis into God through the very mystic climax of
contemplation, concluding thus:

    “Si autem quaeras, quomodo haec fiant, interroga gratiam, non
    doctrinam; desiderium, non intellectum; gemitum orationis, non studium
    lectionis; sponsum, non magistrum; Deum, non hominem; caliginem, non
    claritatem; non lucem, sed ignem totaliter inflammantem et in Deum
    excessivis unctionibus et ardentissimis affectionibus
    transferentem.”[275]

Bonaventura’s fervent diction will serve to carry us over from the more
unmitigated intellectuality of Bacon and Thomas to the simpler matter of
those personal and pious narratives from which may be drawn concluding
illustrations of mediaeval Latin prose. Some of the authors will show the
skill which comes from training; others are quite innocent of grammar, and
their Latin has made a happy surrender to the genius of their vernacular
speech, which was the _lingua vulgaris_ of northern Italy.

One of the earliest biographers of St. Francis of Assisi was Thomas of
Celano, a skilled Latinist, who was enraptured with the loveliness of
Francis’s life. His diction is limpid and rhythmical. A well-known passage
in his _Vita prima_ (for he wrote two Lives) tells of Francis’s joyous
assurance of the great work which God would accomplish through the simple
band who formed the beginnings of the Order. This assurance crystallized
in a vision of multitudes hurrying to join. Francis speaks to the
brethren:

    “Confortamini, charissimi, et gaudete in Domino, nec, quia pauci
    videmini, efficiamini tristes. Ne vos deterreat mea, vel vestra
    simplicitas, quoniam sicut mihi a Domino in veritate ostensum est, in
    maximam multitudinem faciet vos crescere Deus, et usque ad fines orbis
    multipliciter dilatabit. Vidi multitudinem magnam hominum ad nos
    venientium, et in habitu sanctae conversationis beataeque religionis
    regula nobiscum volentium conversari; et ecce adhuc sonitus eorum est
    in auribus meis, euntium, et redeuntium secundum obedientiae sanctae
    mandatum: vidique vias ipsorum multitudine plenas ex omni fere natione
    in his partibus convenire. Veniunt Francigenae, festinant Hispani,
    Teuthonici, et Anglici currunt, et aliarum diversarum linguarum
    accelerat maxima multitudo.

    “Quod cum audissent fratres, repleti sunt gaudio Salvatoris sive
    propter gratiam, quam dominus Deus contulerat sancto suo, sive quia
    proximorum lucrum sitiebant ardenter, quos desiderabant ut salvi
    essent, in idipsum quotidie augmentari.”[276]

We feel the flow and rhythm, and note the agreeable balancing of clauses.
Francis died in 1226. The _Vita prima_ by Celano was approved by Gregory
IX. in 1229. Already other matter touching the saint was gathering in
anecdote and narrative. Much of it was brought together in the so-called
_Speculum perfectionis_, which has been confidently but very questionably
ascribed to Francis’s personal disciple, Brother Leo. Brother Leo, or
whoever may have been the narrator or compiler, was no scholar; his Latin
is naively incorrect, and has also the simplicity of Gospel narrative.
Indeed this Latin is as effectively “vulgarized” as the Greek of Matthew’s
Gospel. An interesting passage tells with what loving wisdom Francis
interpreted a text of Scripture:

    “Manente ipso apud Senas venit ad eum quidam doctor sacrae theologiae
    de ordine Praedicatorum, vir utique humilis et spiritualis valde. Quum
    ipse cum beato Francisco de verbis Domini simul aliquamdiu
    contulissent interrogavit eum magister de illo verbo Ezechielis: _Si
    non annuntiaveris impio impietatem suam animam ejus de manu tua
    requiram_. Dixit enim: ‘Multos, bone pater, ego cognosco in peccato
    mortali quibus non annuntio impietatem eorum, numquid de manu mea
    ipsorum animae requirentur?’

    “Cui beatus Franciscus humiliter dixit se esse idiotam et ideo magis
    expedire sibi doceri ab eo quam super scripturae sententiam
    respondere. Tunc ille humilis magister adjecit: ‘Frater, licet ab
    aliquibus sapientibus hujus verbi expositionem audiverim, tamen
    libenter super hoc vestrum perciperem intellectum.’ Dixit ergo beatus
    Franciscus: ‘Si verbum debeat generaliter intelligi, ego taliter
    accipio ipsum quod servus Dei sic debet vita et sanctitate in seipso
    ardere vel fulgere ut luce exempli et lingua sanctae conversationis
    omnes impios reprehendat. Sic, inquam, splendor ejus et odor famae
    ipsius annuntiabit omnibus iniquitates eorum.’

    “Plurimum itaque doctor ille aedificatus recedens dixit sociis beati
    Francisci: ‘Fratres mei, theologia hujus viri puritate et
    contemplatione subnixa est aquila volans, nostra vero scientia ventre
    graditur super terram.’”[277]

Another passage has Francis breaking out in song from the joy of his love
of Christ:

    “Ebrius amore et compassione Christi beatus Franciscus quandoque talia
    faciebat, nam dulcissima melodia spiritus intra se ipsum ebulliens
    frequenter exterius gallice dabat sonum et vena divini susurrii quam
    auris ejus suscipiebat furtive gallicum erumpebat in jubilum.

    “Lignum quandoque colligebat de terra ipsumque sinistro brachio
    superponens aliud lignum per modum arcus in manu dextera trahebat
    super illud, quasi super viellam vel aliud instrumentum atque gestus
    ad hoc idoneos faciens gallice cantabat de Domino Jesu Christo.
    Terminabatur denique tota haec tripudiatio in lacrymas et in
    compassionem passionis Christi hic jubilus solvebatur.

    “In his trahebat continue suspiria et ingeminatis gemitibus eorum quae
    tenebat in manibus oblitus suspendebatur ad caelum.”[278]

This Latin is as childlike as the Old Italian of the _Fioretti_ of St.
Francis; it has a like word-order, and one might almost add, a like
vocabulary. The simple, ignorant writer seems as if held by a direct and
personal inspiration from the familiar life of the sweet saint. His
language reflects that inspiration, and mirrors his own childlike
character. Hence he has a style, direct, effective, moving to tears and
joy, like his impression of the blessed Francis.

A not dissimilar kind of childlike Latin could attain to a remarkable
symmetry and balance. The _Legenda aurea_ is before us, written by the
Dominican Jacobus à Voragine, by race a Genoese, and living toward the
close of the thirteenth century. This book was the most popular compend of
saints’ lives in use in the later Middle Ages. Its stories are told with
fascinating _naïveté_. We cite the opening sentences from its chapter on
the Annunciation, just to show the harmony and balance of its periods. The
passage is exceptional and almost formal in these qualities:

    “Annunciatio dominica dicitur, quia in tali die ab angelo adventus
    filii Dei in carnem fuit annuntiatus, congruum enim fuit, ut
    incarnationem praecederet angelica annuntiatio, triplici ratione.
    Primo ratione ordinis connotandi, ut scilicet ordo reparationis
    responderet ordini praevaricationis. Unde sicut dyabolus tentavit
    mulierem, ut eam pertraheret ad dubitationem et per dubitationem ad
    consensum et per consensum ad lapsum, sic angelus nuntiavit virgini,
    ut nuntiando excitaret ad fidem et per fidem ad consensum et per
    consensum ad concipiendum Dei filium. Secundo ratione ministerii
    angelici, quia enim angelus est Dei minister et servus et beata virgo
    electa erat, ut esset Dei mater, et congruum est ministrum dominae
    famulari, conveniens fuit, ut beatae virgini annuntiatio per angelum
    fieret. Tertio ratione lapsus angelici reparandi. Quia enim incarnatio
    non tantum faciebat ad reparationem humani lapsus, sed etiam ad
    reparationem ruinae angelicae, ideo angeli non debuerunt excludi. Unde
    sicut sexus mulieris non excluditur a cognitione mysterii
    incarnationis et resurrectionis, sic etiam nec angelicus nuntius. Imo
    Deus utrumque angelo mediante nuntiat mulieri, scilicet incarnationem
    virgini Mariae et resurrectionem Magdelenae.”[279]

These extracts bring us far into the thirteenth century. Two hundred years
later, mediaeval Latin prose, if one may say so, sang its swan song in
that little book which is a last, sweet, and composite echo of all
mellifluous mediaeval piety. Yet perhaps this _De imitatione Christi_ of
Thomas à Kempis can scarcely be classed as prose, so full is it of
assonances and rhythms fit for chanting.



CHAPTER XXXII

EVOLUTION OF MEDIAEVAL LATIN VERSE

      I. METRICAL VERSE.

     II. SUBSTITUTION OF ACCENT FOR QUANTITY.

    III. SEQUENCE-HYMN AND STUDENT-SONG.

     IV. PASSAGE OF THEMES INTO THE VERNACULAR.


In mediaeval Latin poetry the endeavour to preserve a classical style and
the irresistible tendency to evolve new forms are more palpably
distinguishable than in the prose. For there is a visible parting of the
ways between the retention of the antique metres and their fruitful
abandonment in verses built of accentual rhyme. Moreover, this formal
divergence corresponds to a substantial difference, inasmuch as there was
usually a larger survival of antique feeling and allusion in the mediaeval
metrical attempts than in the rhyming poems.

As in the prose, so in the poetry, the lines of development may be
followed from the Carolingian time. But a difference will be found between
Italy and the North; for in Italy the course was quicker, but a less
organic evolution resulted in verse less excellent and less distinctly
mediaeval. By the end of the eleventh century Latin poetry in Italy,
rhyming or metrical, seems to have drawn itself along as far as it was
destined to progress; but in the North a richer growth culminates a
century later. Indeed the most originative line of evolution of mediaeval
Latin verse would seem to have been confined to the North, in the main if
not exclusively.

The following pages offer no history of mediaeval Latin poetry, even as
the previous chapter made no attempt to sketch the history of the prose.
Their object is to point out the general lines along which the
verse-forms were developed, or were perhaps retarded. Three may be
distinguished. The first is marked by the retention of quantity and the
endeavour to preserve the ancient measures. In the second, accent and
rhyme gradually take the place of metre within the old verse-forms. The
third is that of the Sequence, wherein the accentual rhyming hymn springs
from the chanted prose, which had superseded the chanting of the final _a_
of the Alleluia.[280]


I

The lover of classical Greek and Latin poetry knows the beautiful fitness
of the ancient measures for the thought and feeling which they enframed.
If his eyes chance to fall on some twelfth-century Latin hymn, he will be
struck by its different quality. He will quickly perceive that classic
forms would have been unsuited to the Christian and romantic sentiment of
the mediaeval period,[281] and will realize that some vehicle besides
metrical verse would have been needed for this thoroughly declassicized
feeling, even had metrical quantity remained a vital element of language,
instead of passing away some centuries before. Metre was but resuscitation
and convention in the time of Charlemagne. Yet it kept its sway with
scholars, and could not lack votaries so long as classical poetry made
part of the _Ars grammatica_ or was read for delectation. Metrical
composition did not cease throughout the Middle Ages. But it was not the
true mediaeval style, and became obviously academic as accentual verse was
perfected and made fit to carry spiritual emotion. Nevertheless the
simpler metres were cultivated successfully by the best scholars of the
twelfth century.

Most of the Latin poetry of the Carolingian period was metrical, if we are
to judge from the mass that remains. Reminiscence of the antique enveloped
educated men, with whom the mediaeval spirit had not reached distinctness
of thought and feeling. So the poetry resembled the contemporary sculpture
and painting, in which the antique was still unsuperseded by any new
style. Following the antique metres, using antique phrase and commonplace,
often copying antique sentiment, this poetry was as dull as might be
expected from men who were amused by calling each other Homer, Virgil,
Horace, or David. Usually the poets were ecclesiastics, and interested in
theology;[282] but many of the pieces are conventionally profane in topic,
and as humanistic as the Latin poetry of Petrarch.[283] Moreover, just as
Petrarch’s Latin poetry was still-born, while his Italian sonnets live, so
the Carolingian poetry, when it forgets itself and falls away from metre
to accentual verse, gains some degree of life. At this early period the
Romance tongues were not a fit poetic vehicle, and consequently living
thoughts, which with Dante and Petrarch found voice in Italian, in the
ninth century began to stammer in Latin verses that were freed from the
dead rules of quantity, and were already vibrant with a vital feeling for
accent and rhyme.[284]

Through the tenth century metrical composition became rougher, yet
sometimes drew a certain force from its rudeness. A good example is the
famous _Waltarius_, or _Waltharilied_, of Ekkehart of St. Gall, composed
in the year 960 as a school exercise.[285] The theme was a German story
found in vernacular poetry. Ekkehart’s hexameters have a strong Teuton
flavour, and doubtless some of the vigour of his paraphrase was due to the
German original.

The metrical poems of the eleventh century have been spoken of already,
especially the more interesting ones written in Italy.[286] Most of the
Latin poetry emanating from that classic land was metrical, or so
intended. Frequently it tells the story of wars, or gives the _Gesta_ of
notable lives, making a kind of versified biography. One feels as if verse
was employed as a refuge from the dead annalistic form. This poetry was a
semi-barbarizing of the antique, without new formal or substantial
elements. Italy, one may say, never became essentially and creatively
mediaeval: the pressure of antique survival seems to have barred original
development; Italians took little part in the great mediaeval military
religious movements, the Crusades; no strikingly new architecture arose
with them; their first vernacular poetry was an imitation or a borrowing
from Provence and France; and by far the greater part of their Latin
poetry presents an uncreative barbarizing of the antique metres.

These remarks find illustration in the principal Latin poems composed in
Italy in the twelfth century. Among them one observes differences in
skill, knowledge, and tendency. Some of the writers made use of leonine
hexameters, others avoided the rhyme. But they were all akin in lack of
excellence and originality both in composition and verse-form. There was
the monk Donizo of Canossa, who wrote the _Vita_ of the great Countess
Matilda;[287] there was William of Apulia, Norman in spirit if not in
blood, who wrote of the Norman conquests in Apulia and Sicily;[288] also
the anonymous and barbarous _De bello et excidio urbis Comensis_, in
which is told the destruction of Como by Milan between 1118 and 1127;[289]
then the metrically jingling Pisan chronicle narrating the conquest of the
island of Majorca, and beginning (like the _Aeneid_!) with

  “Arma, rates, populum vindictam coelitus octam
   Scribimus, ac duros terrae pelagique labores.”[290]

We also note Peter of Ebulo, with his narrative in laudation of the
emperor Henry VI., written about 1194; Henry of Septimella and his elegies
upon the checkered fortunes of divers great men;[291] and lastly the more
famous Godfrey of Viterbo, of probable German blood, and notary or scribe
to three successive emperors, with his cantafable _Pantheon_ or _Memoria
saecularum_.[292] Godfrey’s poetry is rhymed after a manner of his own.

In the North, or more specifically speaking in the land of France north of
the Loire, the twelfth century brought better metrical poetry than in
Italy. Yet it had something of the deadness of imitation, since the _vis
vivida_ of song had passed over into rhyming verse. Still from the
academic point of view, metre was the proper vehicle of poetry; as one
sees, for instance, in the _Ars versificatoria_ of Matthew of
Vendome,[293] written toward the close of the twelfth century. “Versus est
metrica descriptio,” says he, and then elaborates his, for the most part
borrowed, definition: “Verse is metrical description proceeding concisely
and line by line through the comely marriage of words to flowers of
thought, and containing nothing trivial or irrelevant.” A neat conception
this of poetry; and the same writer denounces leonine rhyming as unseemly,
but praises the favourite metre of the Middle Ages, the elegiac; for he
regards the hexameter and pentameter as together forming the perfect
verse. It was in this metre that Hildebert wrote his almost classic elegy
over the ruins of Rome. A few lines have been quoted from it;[294] but the
whole poem, which is not long, is of interest as one of the very best
examples of a mediaeval Latin elegy:

  “Par tibi, Roma, nihil, cum sis prope tota ruina;
     Quam magni fueris integra fracta doces.
   Longa tuos fastus aetas destruxit, et arces
     Caesaris et superum templa palude jacent.
   Ille labor, labor ille ruit quem dirus Araxes
     Et stantem tremuit et cecidisse dolet;
   Quem gladii regum, quem provida cura senatus,
     Quem superi rerum constituere caput;
   Quem magis optavit cum crimine solus habere
     Caesar, quam socius et pius esse socer,
   Qui, crescens studiis tribus, hostes, crimen, amicos
     Vi domuit, secuit legibus, emit ope;
   In quem, dum fieret, vigilavit cura priorum:
     Juvit opus pietas hospitis, unda, locus.
   Materiem, fabros, expensas axis uterque
     Misit, se muris obtulit ipse locus.
   Expendere duces thesauros, fata favorem,
     Artifices studium, totus et orbis opes.
   Urbs cecidit de qua si quicquam dicere dignum
     Moliar, hoc potero dicere: Roma fuit.
   Non tamen annorum series, non flamma, nec ensis
     Ad plenum potuit hoc abolere decus.
   Cura hominum potuit tantam componere Romam
     Quantam non potuit solvere cura deum.
   Confer opes marmorque novum superumque favorem,
     Artificum vigilent in nova facta manus,
   Non tamen aut fieri par stanti machina muro,
     Aut restaurari sola ruina potest.
   Tantum restat adhuc, tantum ruit, ut neque pars stans
     Aequari possit, diruta nec refici.
   Hic superum formas superi mirantur et ipsi,
     Et cupiunt fictis vultibus esse pares.
   Non potuit natura deos hoc ore creare
     Quo miranda deum signa creavit homo.
   Vultus adest his numinibus, potiusque coluntur
     Artificum studio quam deitate sua.
   Urbs felix, si vel dominis urbs illa careret,
     Vel dominis esset turpe carere fide.”[295]

The elegiac metre was used by Abaelard in his didactic poem to his son
Astralabius,[296] and by John of Salisbury in his _Entheticus_. The
hexameter also was a favourite measure, used, for instance, by Alanus of
Lille in the _Anticlaudianus_, perhaps the noblest of mediaeval narrative
or allegorical poems in Latin.[297] Another excellent composition in
hexameter was the _Alexandreis_ of Walter, born, like Alanus, apparently
at Lille, but commonly called of Chatillon. As poets and as classical
scholars, these two men were worthy contemporaries. Walter’s poem follows,
or rather enlarges upon the _Life of Alexander_ by Quintus Curtius.[298]
He is said to have written it on the challenge of Matthew of Vendome, him
of the _Ars versificatoria_. The _Ligurinus_ of a certain Cistercian
Gunther is still another good example of a long narrative poem in
hexameters. It sets forth the career of Frederick Barbarossa, and was
written shortly after the opening of the thirteenth century. Its author,
like Walter and Alanus, shows himself widely read in the Classics.[299]

The sapphic was a third not infrequently attempted metre, of which the _De
planctu naturae_ of Alanus contains examples. This work was composed in
the form of the _De consolatione philosophiae_ of Boëthius, where lyrics
alternate with prose. The general topic was Nature’s complaint over man’s
disobedience to her laws. The author apostrophizes her in the following
sapphics:

  “O Dei proles, genitrixque rerum,
   Vinculum mundi, stabilisque nexus,
   Gemma terrenis, speculum caducis,
             Lucifer orbis.
   Pax, amor, virtus, regimen, potestas,
   Ordo, lex, finis, via, dux, origo,
   Vita, lux, splendor, species, figura
             Regula mundi.
   Quae tuis mundum moderas habenis,
   Cuncta concordi stabilita nodo
   Nectis et pacis glutino maritas
             Coelica terris.
   Quae noys (νοῦς) plures recolens ideas
   Singulas rerum species monetans,
   Res togas formis, chlamidemque formae
             Pollice formas.
   Cui favet coelum, famulatur aer,
   Quam colit Tellus, veneratur unda,
   Cui velut mundi dominae tributum
             Singula solvunt.
   Quae diem nocti vicibus catenans
   Cereum solis tribuis diei,
   Lucido lunae speculo soporans
             Nubila noctis.
   Quae polum stellis variis inauras,
   Aetheris nostri solium serenans
   Siderum gemmis, varioque coelum
             Milite complens.
   Quae novis coeli faciem figuris
   Protheans mutas aridumque vulgus
   Aeris nostri regione donans,
             Legeque stringis.
   Cujus ad nutum juvenescit orbis,
   Silva crispatur folii capillo,
   Et tua florum tunicata veste,
             Terra superbit.
   Quae minas ponti sepelis, et auges,
   Syncopans cursum pelagi furori
   Ne soli tractum tumulare possit
             Aequoris aestus.”[300]

Practically all of our examples have been taken from works composed in the
twelfth century, and in the land comprised under the name of France. The
pre-excellence of this period will likewise appear in accentual rhyming
Latin poetry, which was more spontaneous and living than its loftily
descended relative.


II

The academic vogue of metre in the early Middle Ages did not prevent the
growth of more natural poetry. The Irish had their Gaelic poems; people
of Teutonic speech had their rough verse based on alliteration and the
count of the strong syllables. The Romance tongues emerging from the
common Latin were as yet poetically untried. But in the proper Latin,
which had become as unquantitative and accentual as any of its vulgar
forms, there was a tonic poetry that was no longer unequipped with rhyme.

Three rhythmic elements made up this natural mode of Latin versification:
the succession of accented and unaccented syllables; the number of
syllables in a line; and that regularly recurring sameness of sound which
is called rhyme. The source of the first of these seems obvious. Accent
having driven quantity from speech, came to supersede it in verse, with
the accented syllable taking the place of the long syllable and the
unaccented the place of the short. In the Carolingian period accentual
verse followed the old metrical forms, with this exception: the metrical
principle that one long is equivalent to two shorts was not adopted.
Consequently the number of syllables in the successive lines of an
accentual strophe would remain the same, where in the metrical antecedent
they might have varied. This is also sufficient to account for the second
element, the observance of regularity in the number of syllables. For this
regularity seems to follow upon the acceptance of the principle that in
rhythmic verse an accented syllable is not equal to two unaccented ones.
The query might perhaps be made why this Latin accentual verse did not
take up the principle of regularity in the number of strong syllables in a
line, like Old High German poetry for example, where the number of
unaccented syllables, within reasonable limits, is indifferent. A ready
answer is that these Latin verses were made by people of Latin speech who
had been acquainted with metrical forms of poetry, in which the number of
syllables might vary, but was never indifferent; for the metrical rule was
rigid that one long was equivalent to two short; and to no more and no
less. Hence the short syllables were as fixed in number as the long.[301]

The origin of the third element, rhyme, is in dispute. In some instances
it may have passed into Greek and Latin verses from Syrian hymns.[302] But
on the other hand it had long been an occasional element in Greek and
Latin rhetorical prose. Probably rhyme in Latin accentual verse had no
specific origin. It gradually became the sharpening, defining element of
such verse. Accentual Latin lent itself so naturally to rhyme, that had
not rhyme become a fixed part of this verse, there indeed would have been
a fact to explain.

These, then, were the elements: accent, number of syllables, and rhyme.
Most interesting is the development of verse-forms. Rhythmic Latin poetry
came through the substitution of accent for quantity, and probably had
many prototypes in the old jingles of Roman soldiers and provincials,
which so far as known were accentual, rather than metrical. Christian
accentual poetry retained those simple forms of iambic and trochaic verse
which most readily submitted to the change from metre to accent, or
perhaps one should say, had for centuries offered themselves as natural
forms of accentual verse. Apparently the change from metre to accent
within the old forms gradually took place between the sixth and the tenth
centuries. During this period there was slight advance in the evolution of
new verses; nor was the period creative in other respects, as we have
seen. But thereafter, as the mediaeval centuries advanced from the basis
of a mastered patristic and antique heritage, and began to create, there
followed an admirable evolution of verse-forms: in some instances
apparently issuing from the old metrico-accentual forms, and in others
developing independently by virtue of the faculty of song meeting the need
of singing.

This factor wrought with power--the human need and cognate faculty of
song, a need and faculty stimulated in the Middle Ages by religious
sentiment and emotion. In the fusing of melody and words into an
utterance of song--at last into a strophe--music worked potently, shaping
the composition of the lines, moulding them to rhythm, insisting upon
sonorousness in the words, promoting their assonance and at last
compelling them to rhyme so as to meet the stress, or mark the ending, of
the musical periods. Thus the exigencies of melody helped to evoke the
finished verse, while the words reciprocating through their vocal
capabilities and through the inspiration of their meaning, aided the
evolution of the melodies. In fine, words and melody, each quickened by
the other, and each moulding the other to itself, attained a perfected
strophic unison; and mediaeval musician-poets achieved at last the
finished verses of hymns or Sequences and student-songs.

There were two distinct lines of evolution of accentual Latin verse in the
Middle Ages; and although the faculty of song was a moving energy in both,
it worked in one of them more visibly than in the other. Along the one
line accentual verse developed pursuant to the ancient forms, displacing
quantity with accent, and evolving rhyme. The other line of evolution had
no connection with the antique. It began with phrases of sonorous prose,
replacing inarticulate chant. These, under the influence of music, through
the creative power of song, were by degrees transformed to verse. The
evolution of the Sequence-hymn will be the chief illustration. With the
finished accentual Latin poetry of the twelfth century it may become
impossible to tell which line of rhythmic evolution holds the antecedent
of a given poem. In truth, this final and perfected verse may often have a
double ancestry, descending from the rhythms which had superseded metre,
and being also the child of mediaeval melody. Yet there is no difficulty
in tracing by examples the two lines of evolution.

To illustrate the strain of verse which took its origin in the
displacement of metre by accent and rhyme, we must look back as far as
Fortunatus. He was born about the year 530 in northern Italy, but he
passed his eventful life among Franks and Thuringians. A scholar and also
a poet, he had a fair mastery of metre; yet some of his poems evince the
spirit of the coming mediaeval time both in sentiment and form. He wrote
two famous hymns, one of them in the popular trochaic tetrameter, the
other in the equally simple iambic dimeter. The first, a hymn to the
Cross, begins with the never-to-be-forgotten

  “Pange, lingua, gloriosi proelium certaminis”;

and has such lines as

  “Crux fidelis, inter omnes arbor una nobilis

         *       *       *       *       *

   Dulce lignum, dulce clavo dulce pondus sustinens!”

In these the mediaeval feeling for the Cross shows itself, and while the
metre is correct, it is so facile that one may read or sing the lines
accentually. In the other hymn, also to the Cross, assonance and rhyme
foretell the coming transformation of metre to accentual verse. Here are
the first two stanzas:

  “Vexilla regis prodeunt,
   Fulget crucis mysterium,
   Quo carne carnis conditor
   Suspensus est patibulo.

   Confixa clavis viscera
   Tendens manus, vestigia
   Redemtionis gratia
   Hic immolata est hostia.”

Passing to the Carolingian epoch, some lines from a poem celebrating the
victory of Charlemagne’s son Pippin over the Avars in 796, will illustrate
the popular trochaic tetrameter which had become accentual, and already
tended to rhyme:

  “Multa mala iam fecerunt ab antico tempore,
   Fana dei destruxerunt atque monasteria,
   Vasa aurea sacrata, argentea, fictilia.”[303]

Next we turn to a piece by the persecuted and interesting Gottschalk,
written in the latter part of the ninth century. A young lad has asked for
a poem. But how can he sing, the exiled and imprisoned monk who might
rather weep as the Jews by the waters of Babylon?[304] yet he will sing a
hymn to the Trinity, and bewail his piteous lot before the highest
pitying Godhead. The verses have a lyric unity of mood, and are touching
with their sad refrain. Their rhyme, if not quite pure, is abundant and
catching, and their nearest metrical affinity would be a trochaic dimeter.

  “1. Ut quid iubes, pusiole,
      quare mandas, filiole,
      carmen dulce me cantare,
      cum sim longe exul valde
          intra mare?
      o cur iubes canere?

   2. Magis mihi, miserule,
      fiere libet, puerule,
      plus plorare quam cantare
      carmen tale, iubes quale,
          amor care,
      o cur iubes canere?

   3. Mallem scias, pusillule,
      ut velles tu, fratercule,
      pio corde condolere
      mihi atque prona mente
          conlugere.
      o cur iubes canere?

   4. Scis, divine tyruncule,
      scis, superne clientule,
      hic diu me exulare,
      multa die sive nocte
          tolerare.
      o cur iubes canere?

   5. Scis captive plebicule
      Israheli cognomine
      praeceptum in Babilone
      decantare extra longe
          fines Iude.
      o cur iubes canere?

   6. Non potuerunt utique,
      nec debuerunt itaque
      carmen dulce coram gente
      aliene nostri terre
         resonare.
      o cur iubes canere?

   7. Sed quia vis omnimode,
      consodalis egregie,
      canam patri filioque
      simul atque procedente
          ex utroque.
      hoc cano ultronee.

   8. Benedictus es, domine,
      pater, nate, paraclite,
      deus trine, deus une,
      deus summe, deus pie,
          deus iuste.
      hoc cano spontanee.

   9. Exul ego diuscule
      hoc in mare sum, domine:
      annos nempe duos fere
      nosti fore, sed iam iamque
          miserere.
      hoc rogo humillime.

  10. Interim cum pusione
      psallam ore, psallam mente,
      psallam voce (psallam corde),
      psallam die, psallam nocte
          carmen dulce
      tibi, rex piissime.”[305]

Gottschalk (and for this it is hard to love him) was one of the initiators
of the leonine hexameter, in which a syllable in the middle of the line
rhymes with the last syllable.

  “Septeno Augustas decimo praeeunte Kalendas”

is the opening hexameter in his Epistle to his friend Ratramnus.[306] To
what horrid jingle such verses could attain may be seen from some leonine
hexameter-pentameters of two or three hundred years later, on the Fall of
Troy, beginning:

  “Viribus, arte, minis, Danaum clara Troja ruinis,
       Annis bis quinis fit rogus atque cinis.”[307]

Hector and Troy, and the dire wiles of the Greeks never left the mediaeval
imagination. A poem of the early tenth century, which bade the watchers on
Modena’s walls be vigilant, draws its inspiration from that unfading
memory, and for us illustrates what iambics might become when accent had
replaced quantity. The lines throughout end in a final rhyming _a_.

  “O tu, qui servas armis ista moenia,
   Noli dormire, moneo, sed vigila.
   Dum Hector vigil extitit in Troia,
   Non eam cepit fraudulenta Graecia.”[308]

And from a scarcely later time, for it also is of the tenth century, rise
those verses to Roma, that old “Roma aurea et eterna,” and forever “caput
mundi,” sung by pilgrim bands as their eyes caught the first gleam of
tower, church, and ruin:

  “O Roma nobilis, orbis et domina,
   Cunctarum urbium excellentissima,
   Roseo martyrum sanguine rubea,
   Albis et virginum liliis candida:
   Salutem dicimus tibi per omnia,
   Te benedicimus: salve per secula.”[309]

This verse, which still lifts the heart of whosoever hears or reads it,
may close our examples of mediaeval verses descended from metrical forms.
It will be noticed that all of them are from the early mediaeval
centuries; a circumstance which may be taken as a suggestion of the fact
that by far the greater part of the earlier accentual Latin poetry was
composed in forms in which accent simply had displaced the antique
quantity.


III

We turn to that other genesis of mediaeval Latin verse, arising not out of
antique forms, but rather from the mediaeval need and faculty of song. In
the chief instance selected for illustration, this line of evolution took
its inception in the exigencies and inspiration of the Alleluia chant or
jubilation. During the celebration of the Mass, as the Gradual ended in
its last Alleluia, the choir continued chanting the final syllable of that
word in cadences of musical exultings. The melody or cadence to which this
final _a_ of the Alleluia was chanted, was called the _sequentia_. The
words which came to be substituted for its cadenced reiteration were
called the _prosa_. By the twelfth century the two terms seem to have been
used interchangeably. Thus arose the prose Sequence, so plastic in its
capability of being moulded by melody to verse. Its songful qualities lay
in the sonorousness of the words and in their syllabic correspondence with
the notes of the melody to which they were sung.[310]

In the year 860, Norsemen sacked the cloister of Jumièges in Normandy, and
a fleeing brother carried his precious Antiphonary far away to the safe
retreat of St. Gall. There a young monk named Notker, poring over its
contents, perceived that words had been written in the place of the
repetitions of the final _a_ of the Alleluia. Taking the cue, he set to
work to compose more fitting words to correspond with the notes to which
this final _a_ was sung. So these lines of euphonious and fitting words
appear to have had their beginning in Notker’s scanning of that fugitive
Antiphonary, and his devising labour. Their primary purpose was a musical
one; for they were a device--mnemotechnic, if one will--to facilitate the
chanting of cadences previously vocalized with difficulty through the
singing of one simple vowel sound. Notker showed his work to his master,
Iso, who rejoiced at what his gifted pupil had accomplished, and spurred
him on by pointing out that in his composition one syllable was still
sometimes repeated or drawn out through several successive notes. One
syllable to each note was the principle which Notker now set himself to
realize; and he succeeded.

He composed some fifty Sequences. In his work, as well as in that of
others after him, the device of words began to modify and develop the
melodies themselves. Sometimes Notker adapted his verbal compositions to
those cadences or melodies to which the Alleluia had long been sung;
sometimes he composed both melody and words; or, again, he took a current
melody, sacred or secular, to which the Alleluia never had been sung, and
composed words for it, to be chanted as a Sequence. In these borrowed
melodies, as well as in those composed by Notker, the musical periods were
more developed than in the Alleluia cadences. Thus the musical growth of
the Sequences was promoted by the use of sonorous words, while the
improved melodies in turn drew the words on to a more perfect rhythmic
ordering.

Notker died in 912. His Sequences were prose, yet with a certain
parallelism in their construction; and, even with Notker in his later
years, the words began to take on assonances, chiefly in the vowel sound
of _a_. Thereafter the melodies, seizing upon the words, as it were, by
the principle of their syllabic correspondence to the notation, moulded
them to rhythm of movement and regularity of line; while conversely with
the better ordering of the words for singing, the melodies in turn made
gain and progress, and then again reacted on the words, until after two
centuries there emerged the finished verses of an Adam of St. Victor.

Thus these Sequences have become verse before our eyes, and we realize
that it is the very central current of the evolution of mediaeval Latin
poetry that we have been following. How free and how spontaneous was this
evolution of the Sequence. It was the child of the Christian Middle Ages,
seeing the light in the closing years of the ninth century, but requiring
a long period of growth before it reached the glory of its climacteric. It
was born of musical chanting, and it grew as song, never unsung or
conceived of as severable from its melody. Only as it attained its
perfected strophic forms, it necessarily made use of trochaic and other
rhythms which long before had changed from quantity to accent and so had
passed on into the verse-making habitudes of the Middle Ages.[311] If
there be any Latin composition in virtue of origin and growth absolutely
un-antique, it is the mediaeval Sequence, which in its final forms is so
glorious a representative of the mediaeval Hymn. And we shall also see
that much popular Latin poetry, “Carmina Burana” and student-songs, were
composed in verses and often sung to tunes taken--or parodied--from the
Sequence-hymns of the Liturgy.

There were many ways of chanting Sequences. The musical phrases of the
melodies usually were repeated once, except at the beginning and the
close; and the Sequence would be rendered by a double choir singing
antiphonally. Ordinarily the words responded to the repetition of the
musical phrases with a parallelism of their own. The lines (after the
first) varied in length by pairs, the second and third lines having the
same number of syllables, the fourth and fifth likewise equal to each
other, but differing in length from the second and third; and so on
through the Sequence, until the last line, which commonly stood alone and
differed in length from the preceding pairs. The Sequence called “Nostra
tuba” is a good example. Probably it was composed by Notker, and in his
later years; for it is filled with assonances, and exhibits a regular
parallelism of structure.

              “Nostra tuba
  Regatur fortissime Dei dextra et preces audiat
  Aura placatissima et serena; ita enim nostra
  Laus erit accepta, voce si quod canimus, canat pariter et pura
        conscientia.
  Et, ut haec possimus, omnes divina nobis semper flagitemus adesse
        auxilia.

         *       *       *       *       *

  O bone Rex, pie, juste, misericors, qui es via et janua,
  Portas regni, quaesumus, nobis reseres, dimittasque facinora
          Ut laudemus nomen nunc tuum atque per cuncta saecula.”[312]

Here, after the opening, the first pair has seventeen syllables, and the
next pair twenty-six. The last pair quoted has twenty; and the final line
of seventeen syllables has no fellow. A further rhythmical advance seems
reached by the following Sequence from the abbey of St. Martial at
Limoges. It may have been written in the eleventh century. It is given
here with the first and second line of the couplets opposite to each
other, as strophe and antistrophe; and the lines themselves are divided to
show the assonances (or rhymes) which appear to have corresponded with
pauses in the melody:

                  “(1) Canat omnis turba

  (2a) Fonte renata               (2b) Laude jucunda
       Spiritusque gratia              et mente perspicua

  (3a) Jam restituta              (3b) Sicque jactura
       pars est decima                 coelestis illa
       fuerat quae culpa               completur in laude
       perdita.                        divina.

  (4a) Ecce praeclara             (4b) Enitet ampla
       dies dominica                   per orbis spatia,

  (5a) Exsultat in qua            (5b) Quia destructa
       plebs omnis redempta,           mors est perpetua.”[313]

A Sequence of the eleventh century will afford a final illustration of
approach to a regular strophic structure, and of the use of the final
one-syllable rhyme in _a_, throughout the Sequence:

  1

          “Alleluia,
  Turma, proclama leta;
      Laude canora,
  Facta prome divina,
      Jam instituta
  Superna disciplina,

  2

      Christi sacra
      Per magnalia
  Es quia de morte liberata
      Ut destructa
      Inferni claustra
  Januaque celi patefacta!

  3

    Jam nunc omnia
      Celestia
      Terrestria
  Virtute gubernat eterna.
    In quibus sua
      Judicia
      Semper equa
  Dat auctoritate paterna.”

    *       *       *       *[314]

As the eleventh century closed and the great twelfth century dawned, the
forces of mediaeval growth quickened to a mightier vitality, and
distinctively mediaeval creations appeared. Our eyes, of course, are fixed
upon the northern lands, where the Sequence grew from prose to verse, and
where derivative or analogous forms of popular poetry developed also. Up
to this time, throughout mediaeval life and thought, progress had been
somewhat uncrowned with palpable achievement. Yet the first brilliant
creations of a master-workman are the fruit of his apprentice years,
during which his progress has been as real as when his works begin to make
it visible. So it was no sudden birth of power, but rather faculties
ripening through apprentice centuries, which illumine the period opening
about the year 1100. This period would carry no human teaching if its
accomplishment in institutions, in philosophy, in art and poetry, had been
a heaven-blown accident, and not the fruit of antecedent discipline.

The poetic advance represented by the Sequences of Adam of St. Victor may
rouse our admiration for the poet’s genius, but should not blind our eyes
to the continuity of development leading to it. Adam is the final artist
and his work a veritable creation; yet his antecedents made part of his
creative faculty. The elements of his verses and the general idea and form
of the sequence were given him;--all honour to the man’s holy genius which
made these into poems. The elements referred to consisted in accentual
measures and in the two-syllabled Latin rhyme which appears to have been
finally achieved by the close of the eleventh century.[315] In using them
Adam was no borrower, but an artist who perforce worked in the medium of
his art. Trochaic and iambic rhythms then constituted the chief measures
for accentual verse, as they had for centuries, and do still. For,
although accentual rhythms admit dactyls and anapaests, these have not
proved generally serviceable. Likewise the inevitable progress of Latin
verse had developed assonances into rhymes; and indeed into rhymes of two
syllables, for Latin words lend themselves as readily to rhymes of two
syllables as English words to rhymes of one.

There existed also the idea and form of the Sequence, consisting of pairs
of lines which had reached assonance and some degree of rhythm, and varied
in length, pair by pair, following the music of the melodies to which they
were sung. For the Sequence-melody did not keep to the same recurring tune
throughout, but varied from couplet to couplet. In consequence, a Sequence
by Adam of St. Victor may contain a variety of verse-forms. Moreover, a
number of the Sequences of which he may have been the author show
survivals of the old rhythmical irregularities, and of assonance as yet
unsuperseded by pure rhyme.

Before giving examples of Adam’s poems, a tribute should be paid to his
great forerunner in the art of Latin verse. Adam doubtless was familiar
with the hymns[316] of the most brilliant intellectual luminary of the
departing generation, one Peter Abaelard, whom he may have seen in the
flesh. Those once famous love-songs, written for Heloïse, perished (so far
as we know) with the love they sang. Another fate--and perhaps Abaelard
wished it so--was in store for the many hymns which he wrote for his
sisters in Christ, the abbess and her nuns. They still exist,[317] and
display a richness of verse-forms scarcely equalled even by the Sequences
of Adam. In the development of Latin verse, Abaelard is Adam’s immediate
predecessor; his verses being, as it were, just one stage inferior to
Adam’s in sonorousness of line, in certainty of rhythm, and in purity of
rhyme.

The “prose” Sequences were not the direct antecedents of Abaelard’s hymns.
Yet both sprang from the freely devising spirit of melody and song; and
therefore those hymns are of this free-born lineage more truly than they
are descendants of antique forms. To be sure, every possible accentual
rhythm, built as it must be of trochees, iambics, anapaests, or dactyls,
has unavoidably some antique quantitative antecedent; because the antique
measures exhausted the possibilities of syllabic combination. Yet
antecedence is not source, and most of Abaelard’s verses by their form and
spirit proclaim their genesis in the creative exigencies of song as loudly
as they disavow any antique parentage.

For example, there may be some far echo of metrical asclepiads in the
following accentual and rhyme-harnessed twelve-syllable verse:

  “Advenit veritas, umbra praeteriit,
   Post noctem claritas diei subiit,
   Ad ortum rutilant superni luminis
   Legis mysteria plena caliginis.”

But the echo if audible is faint, and surely no antique whisper is heard
in

  “Est in Rama
   Vox audita
   Rachel flentis
   Super natos
   Interfectos
   Ejulantis.”

Nor in

  “Golias prostratus est,
   Resurrexit Dominus,
   Ense jugulatus est
       Hostis proprio;
   Cum suis submersus est
       Ille Pharao.”

The variety of Abaelard’s verse seems endless. One or two further examples
may or may not suggest any antecedents in those older forms of accentual
verse which followed the former metres:

  “Ornarunt terram germina,
   Nunc caelum luminaria.
   Sole, luna, stellis depingitur,
   Quorum multus usus cognoscitur.”

In this verse the first two lines are accentual iambic dimeters; while the
last two begin each with two trochees, and close apparently with two
dactyls. The last form of line is kept throughout in the following:

  “Gaude virgo virginum gloria,
   Matrum decus et mater, jubila,
   Quae commune sanctorum omnium
   Meruisti conferre gaudium.”

Next come some simple five-syllable lines, with a catching rhyme:

  “Lignum amaras
   Indulcat aquas
   Eis immissum.
   Omnes agones
   Sunt sanctis dulces
   Per crucifixum.”

In the following lines of ten syllables a dactyl appears to follow a
trochee twice in each line:

  “Tuba Domini, Paule, maxima,
   De caelestibus dans tonitrua,
   Hostes dissipans, cives aggrega.

   Doctor gentium es praecipuus,
   Vas in poculum factus omnibus,
   Sapientiae plenum haustibus.”

These examples of Abaelard’s rhythms may close with the following
curiously complicated verse:

  “Tu quae carnem edomet
       Abstinentiam,
   Tu quae carnem decoret
       Continentiam,
   Tu velle quod bonum est his ingeris
   Ac ipsum perficere tu tribuis.
       Instrumenta
       Sunt his tua
   Per quos mira peragis,
       Et humana
       Moves corda
   Signis et prodigiis.”

In general, one observes in these verses that Abaelard does not use a pure
two-syllable rhyme. The rhyme is always pure in the last syllable, and in
the penult may either exist as a pure rhyme or simply as an assonance, or
not at all.[318]

Probably Abaelard wrote his hymns in 1130, perhaps the very year when Adam
as a youth entered the convent of St. Victor, lying across the Seine from
Paris. The latter appears to have lived until 1192. Many Sequences have
been improperly ascribed to him, and among the doubtful ones are a number
having affinities with the older types. These may be anterior to Adam; for
the greater part of his unquestionable Sequences are perfected throughout
in their versification. Yet, on the other hand, one would expect some
progression in works composed in the course of a long life devoted to
such composition--a life covering a period when progressive changes were
taking place in the world of thought beyond St. Victor’s walls. We take
three examples of these Sequences. The first contains occasional assonance
in place of rhyme, and uses many rhymes of one syllable. It appears to be
an older composition improperly ascribed to Adam. The second is
unquestionably his, in his most perfect form; the third may or may not be
Adam’s; but is given for its own sake as a lovely lyric.[319]

The first example, probably written not much later than the year 1100, was
designed for the Mass at the dedication of a church. The variety in the
succession of couplets and strophes indicates a corresponding variation in
the melody.

  1

  “Clara chorus dulce pangat voce nunc alleluia,
   Ad aeterni regis laudem qui gubernat omnia!

  2

   Cui nos universalis sociat Ecclesia,
   Scala nitens et pertingens ad poli fastigia;

  3

   Ad honorem cujus laeta psallamus melodia,
   Persolventes hodiernas laudes illi debitas.

  4

       O felix aula, quam vicissim
   Confrequentant agmina coelica,
       Divinis verbis alternatim
   Jungentia mellea cantica!

  5

   Domus haec, de qua vetusta sonuit historia
   Et moderna protestatur Christum fari pagina:
   ‘Quoniam elegi eam thronum sine macula,
   ‘Requies haec erit mea per aeterna saecula.

  6

       Turris supra montem sita,
   Indissolubili bitumine fundata
       Vallo perenni munita,
       Atque aurea columna
       Miris ac variis lapidibus distincta,
       Stylo subtili polita!

  7

   Ave, mater praeelecta,
   Ad quam Christus fatur ita
       Prophetae facundia:
       ‘Sponsa mea speciosa,
       ‘Inter filias formosa,
       ‘Supra solem splendida!

  8

       ‘Caput tuum ut Carmelus
   ‘Et ipsius comae tinctae regis uti purpura;
       ‘Oculi ut columbarum,
   ‘Genae tuae punicorum ceu malorum fragmina!

  9

   ‘Mel et lac sub lingua tua, favus stillans labia;
   ‘Collum tuum ut columna, turris et eburnea!’

  10

       Ergo nobis Sponsae tuae
   Famulantibus, o Christe, pietate solita
       Clemens adesse dignare
   Et in tuo salutari nos ubique visita.

  11

   Ipsaque mediatrice, summe rex, perpetue,
       Voce pura
   Flagitamus, da gaudere Paradisi gloria.
       Alleluia!”[320]

The second example is Adam’s famous Sequence for St. Stephen’s Day, which
falls on the day after Christmas. It is throughout sustained and perfect
in versification, and in substance a splendid hymn of praise.

  1

  “Heri mundus exultavit
   Et exultans celebravit
       Christi natalitia;
   Heri chorus angelorum
   Prosecutus est coelorum
       Regem cum laetitia.

  2

   Protomartyr et levita,
   Clarus fide, clarus vita,
       Clarus et miraculis,
   Sub hac luce triumphavit
   Et triumphans insultavit
       Stephanus incredulis.

  3

   Fremunt ergo tanquam ferae
   Quia victi defecere
       Lucis adversarii:
       Falsos testes statuunt,
       Et linguas exacuunt
       Viperarum filii.

  4

   Agonista, nulli cede,
   Certa certus de mercede,
       Persevera, Stephane;
       Insta falsis testibus,
       Confuta sermonibus
       Synagogam Satanae.

  5

   Testis tuus est in coelis,
   Testis verax et fidelis,
       Testis innocentiae.
   Nomen habes coronati:
   Te tormenta decet pati
       Pro corona gloriae.

  6

   Pro corona non marcenti
   Perfer brevis vim tormenti;
       Te manet victoria.
   Tibi fiet mors natalis,
   Tibi poena terminalis
       Dat vitae primordia.

  7

   Plenus Sancto Spiritu,
   Penetrat intuitu
   Stephanus coelestia.
   Videns Dei gloriam,
   Crescit ad victoriam,
   Suspirat ad praemia.

  8

   En a dextris Dei stantem,
   Jesum pro te dimicantem,
       Stephane, considera:
   Tibi coelos reserari,
   Tibi Christum revelari,
       Clama voce libera.

  9

   Se commendat Salvatori,
   Pro quo dulce ducit mori
       Sub ipsis lapidibus.
       Saulus servat omnium
       Vestes lapidantium,
       Lapidans in omnibus.

  10

   Ne peccatum statuatur
   His a quibus lapidatur,
   Genu ponit, et precatur,
       Condolens insaniae.
   In Christo sic obdormivit,
   Qui Christo sic obedivit,
   Et cum Christo semper vivit,
       Martyrum primitiae.”

    *       *       *       *[321]


The last example, in honour of St. Nicholas’s Day, is a lovely poem by
whomsoever written. Its verses are extremely diversified. It begins with
somewhat formal chanting of the saint’s virtues, in dignified couplets.
Suddenly it changes to a joyful lyric, and sings of a certain sweet
sea-miracle wrought by Nicholas. Then it spiritualizes the conception of
his saintly aid to meet the call of the sin-tossed soul. It closes in
stately manner in harmony with its liturgical function.

  1

  “Congaudentes exultemus vocali concordia
   Ad beati Nicolai festiva solemnia!

  2

   Qui in cunis adhuc jacens servando jejunia
   A papilla coepit summa promereri gaudia.

  3

   Adolescens amplexatur litterarum studia,
   Alienus et immunis ab omni lascivia.

  4

   Felix confessor, cujus fuit dignitatis vox de coelo nuntia!
   Per quam provectus, praesulatus sublimatur ad summa fastigia.

  5

   Erat in ejus animo pietas eximia,
   Et oppressis impendebat multa beneficia.

  6

   Auro per eum virginum tollitur infamia,
   Atque patris earumdem levatur inopia.

  7

       Quidam nautae navigantes,
   Et contra fluctuum saevitiam luctantes,
       Navi pene dissoluta,
       Jam de vita desperantes,
   In tanto positi periculo, clamantes
       Voce dicunt omnes una:

  8

   ‘O beate Nicolae,
   Nos ad maris portum trahe
       De mortis angustia.
   Trahe nos ad portum maris,
   Tu qui tot auxiliaris,
       Pietatis gratia.’

  9

   Dum clamarent, nec incassum,
   ‘Ecce’ quidam dicens, ‘assum
     Ad vestra praesidia.’
   Statim aura datur grata
   Et tempestas fit sedata:
     Quieverunt maria.

  10

   Nos, qui sumus in hoc mundo,
   Vitiorum in profundo
     Jam passi naufragia,
   Gloriose Nicolae
   Ad salutis portum trahe,
     Ubi pax et gloria.

  11

   Illam nobis unctionem
     Impetres ad Dominum,
     Prece pia,
   Qua sanavit laesionem
     Multorum peccaminum
       In Maria.

  12

   Hujus festum celebrantes gaudeant per saecula,
   Et coronet eos Christus post vitae curricula!”[322]

The foregoing examples of religious poetry may be supplemented by
illustrations of the parallel evolution of more profane if not more
popular verse. Any priority in time, as between the two, should lie with
the former; though it may be the truer view to find a general synchronism
in the secular and religious phases of lyric growth. But priority of
originality and creativeness certainly belongs to that line of lyric
evolution which sprang from religious sentiments and emotions. For the
vagrant clerkly poet of the Court, the roadside, and the inn, used the
forms of verse fashioned by the religious muse in the cloister and the
school. Thus the development of secular Latin verse presents a derivative
parallel to the essentially primary evolution of the Sequence or the hymn.

It was in Germany that the composition of Sequences was most zealously
cultivated during the century following Notker’s death; and it was in
Germany that the Sequence, in its earlier forms, exerted most palpable
influence upon popular songs.[323] In these so-called Modi (_Modus_ ==
song), as in the Sequence, rhythmical compositions may be seen progressing
in the direction of regular rhythm, rhyme, and strophic form. As in the
Sequences, the tune moulded the words, which in turn influenced the
melody. The following is from the _Modus Ottinc_, a popular song composed
about the year 1000 in honour of a victory of Otto III. over the
Hungarians:

  “His incensi bella fremunt, arma poscunt, hostes vocant, signa secuntur,
        tubis canunt.
   Clamor passim oritur et milibus centum Theutones inmiscentur.

   Pauci cedunt, plures cadunt, Francus instat, Parthus fugit; vulgus
        exangue undis obstat;
   Licus rubens sanguine Danubio cladem Parthicam ostendebat.”

Another example is the _Modus florum_ of approximately the same period, a
song about a king who promised his daughter to whoever could tell such a
lie as to force the king to call him a liar. It opens as follows:

  “Mendosam quam cantilenam ago,
   puerulis commendatam dabo,
   quo modulos per mendaces risum
   auditoribus ingentem ferant.

   Liberalis et decora
   cuidam regi erat nata
   quam sub lege hujusmodi
   procis opponit quaerendam.”

    *       *       *       *[324]


Here the rhyme still is rude and the rhythm irregular. The following
dirge, written thirty or forty years later on the death of the German
emperor, Henry II., shows improvement:

      “Lamentemur nostra, Socii, peccata,
  amentemur et ploremus! Quare tacemus?
      Pro iniquitate corruimus late;
  scimus coeli hinc offensum regem immensum.
  Heinrico requiem, rex Christe, dona perennem.”[325]

We may pass on into the twelfth century, still following the traces of
that development of popular verse which paralleled the evolution of the
Sequence. We first note some catchy rhymes of a German student setting
out for Paris in quest of learning and intellectual novelty:

    “Hospita in Gallia nunc me vocant studia.
  Vadam ergo; flens a tergo socios relinquo.
  Plangite discipuli, lugubris discidii tempore propinquo.
        Vale, dulcis patria, suavis Suevorum Suevia!
    Salve dilecta Francia, philosophorum curia!
    Suscipe discipulum in te peregrinum,
    Quem post dierum circulum remittes Socratinum.”[326]

This Suabian, singing his uncouth Latin rhymes, and footing his way to
Paris, suggests the common, delocalized influences which were developing a
mass of student-songs, “Carmina Burana,” or “Goliardic” poetry. The
authors belonged to that large and broad class of _clerks_ made up of any
and all persons who knew Latin. The songs circulated through western
Europe, and their home was everywhere, if not their origin. Some of them
betray, as more of them do not, the author’s land and race. Frequently of
diabolic cleverness, gibing, amorous, convivial, they show the virtuosity
in rhyme of their many makers. Like the hymns and later Sequences, they
employed of necessity those accentual measures which once had their
quantitative prototypes in antique metres. But, again like the hymns and
Sequences, they neither imitate nor borrow, but make use of trochaic,
iambic, or other rhythms as the natural and unavoidable material of verse.
Their strophes are new strophes, and not imitations of anything in
quantitative poetry. So these songs were free-born, and their development
was as independent of antique influence as the melodies which ever moulded
them to more perfect music. Many and divers were their measures. But as
that great strophe of Adam’s _Heri mundus exultavit_ (the strophe of the
_Stabat Mater_) was of mightiest dominance among the hymns, so for these
student-songs there was also one measure that was chief. This was the
thirteen-syllable trochaic line, with its lilting change of stress after
the seventh syllable, and its pure two-syllable rhyme. It is the line of
the _Confessio poetae_, or _Confessio Goliae_, where nests that one
mediaeval Latin verse which everybody still knows by heart:

  “Meum est propositum in taberna mori,
   Vinum sit appositum morientis ori,
   Tunc cantabunt laetius angelorum chori,
   ‘Sit Deus propitius huic potatori.’”

It is also the line of the quite charming Phyllis and Flora of the
_Carmina Burana_:

  “Erant ambae virgines et ambae reginae,
   Phyllis coma libera, Flora compto crine:
   Non sunt formae virginum, sed formae divinae,
   Et respondent facie luci matutinae.”[327]

Another common measure is the twelve-syllable dactylic line of the famous
_Apocalypsis Goliae Episcopi_:

  “Ipsam Pythagorae formam aspicio,
   Inscriptam artium schemate vario.
   An extra corpus sit haec revelatio,
   Utrum in corpore, Deus scit, nescio.
   In fronte micuit ars astrologica;
   Dentium seriem regit grammatica;
   In lingua pulcrius vernat rhetorica,
   Concussis aestuat in labiis logica.”

An example of the not infrequent eight-syllable line is afforded by that
tremendous satire against papal Rome, beginning:

  “Propter Sion non tacebo,
   Sed ruinam Romae flebo,
   Quousque justitia
   Rursus nobis oriatur,
   Et ut lampas accendatur
   Justus in ecclesia.”

Here the last line of the verse has but seven syllables, as is the case in
the following verse of four lines:

  “Vinum bonum et suave,
   Bonis bonum, pravis prave,
   Cunctis dulcis sapor, ave,
             Mundana laetitia!”

But the eight-syllable lines may be kept throughout, as in the following
lament over life’s lovely, pernicious charm, so touching in its expression
of the mortal heartbreak of mediaeval monasticism:

  “Heu! Heu! mundi vita,
   Quare me delectas ita?
   Cum non possis mecum stare,
   Quid me cogis te amare?

    *       *       *       *

   Vita mundi, res morbosa,
   Magis fragilis quam rosa,
   Cum sis tota lacrymosa,
   Cur es mihi graciosa?”[328]


IV

Our consideration of the different styles of mediaeval Latin prose and the
many novel forms of mediaeval Latin verse has shown how radical was the
departure of the one and the other from Cicero and Virgil. Through such
changes Latin continued to prove itself a living language. Yet its
vitality was doomed to wane before the rivalry of the vernacular tongues.
The _vivida vis_, the capability of growth, had well-nigh passed from
Latin when Petrarch was born. In endeavouring to maintain its supremacy as
a literary vehicle he was to hold a losing brief, nor did he strengthen
his cause by attempting to resuscitate a classic style of prose and metre.
The victory of the vernacular was announced in Dante’s _De vulgari
eloquentia_ and demonstrated beyond dispute in his _Divina Commedia_.

A long and for the most part peaceful and unconscious conflict had led up
to the victory of what might have been deemed the baser side. For Latin
was the sole mediaeval literature that was born in the purple, with its
stately lineage of the patristic and the classical back of it. Latin was
the language of the Roman world and the vehicle of Latin Christianity. It
was the language of the Church and its clergy, and the language of all
educated people. Naturally the entire contents of existing and
progressive Christian and antique culture were contained in the mediaeval
Latin literature, the literature of religion and of law and government, of
education and of all serious knowledge. It was to be the primary
literature of mediaeval thought; from which passed over the chief part of
whatever thought and knowledge the vernacular literatures were to receive.
For scholars who follow, as we have tried to, the intellectual and the
deeper emotional life of the Middle Ages, the Latin literature yields the
incomparably greater part of the material of our study. It has been our
home country, from which we have made casual excursions into the
vernacular literatures.

These existed, however, from the earliest mediaeval periods, beginning, if
one may say so, in oral rather than written documents. We read that
Charlemagne caused a book to be made of Germanic poems, which till then
presumably had been carried in men’s memories. The _Hildebrandslied_ is
supposed to have been one of them.[329] In the Norse lands, the Eddas and
the matter of the Sagas were repeated from generation to generation, long
before they were written down. The habit, if not the art, of writing came
with Christianity and the Latin education accompanying it. Gradually a
written literature in the Teutonic languages was accumulated. Of this
there was the heathen side, well represented in Anglo-Saxon and the Norse;
while in Old High German the _Hildebrandslied_ remains, heathen and
savage. Thereafter, a popular and even national or rather racial poetry
continued, developed, and grew large, notwithstanding the spread of Latin
Christianity through Teutonic lands. Of this the _Niebelungenlied_ and the
_Gudrun_ are great examples. But individual still famous poets, who felt
and thought as Germans, were also composing sturdily in their
vernacular--a lack of education possibly causing them to dictate
(_dictieren_, _dichten_) rather than to write. Of these the greatest were
Wolfram von Eschenbach and Walther von der Vogelweide. With them and after
them, or following upon the _Niebelungenlied_, came a mass of secular
poetry, some of which was popular and national, reflecting Germanic
story, while some of it was courtly, transcribing the courtly poetry which
by the twelfth century flourished in Old French.

Thus bourgeoned the secular branches of German literature. On the other
hand, from the time of Christianity’s introduction, the Germans felt the
need to have the new religion presented to them in their own tongues. The
labour of translation begins with Ulfilas, and is continued with
conscientious renderings of Scripture and Latin educational treatises, and
also with such epic paraphrase as the _Heliand_ and the more elegiac poems
of the Anglo-Saxon Cynewulf.[330] Also, at least in Germany, there comes
into existence a full religious literature, not stoled or mitred, but
popular, non-academic, and non-liturgical; of which quantities remain in
the Middle High German of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.[331]

Obviously the Romance vernacular literatures had a different commencement.
The languages were Latin, simply Latin, in their inception, and never
ceased to be legitimate continuations and developments of the popular or
Vulgar Latin of the Roman Empire. But as the speech of children, women,
and unlettered people, they were not thought of as literary media. All who
could write understood perfectly the better Latin from which these popular
dialects were slowly differentiating themselves. And as they progressed to
languages, still their life and progress lay among peoples whose ancestral
tongue was the proper Latin, which all educated men and women still
understood and used in the serious business of life.

But sooner or later men will talk and sing and think and compose in the
speech which is closest to them. The Romance tongues became literary
through this human need of natural expression. There always had been songs
in the old Vulgar Latin; and such did not cease as it gradually became
what one may call Romance. Moreover, the clergy might be impelled to use
the popular speech in preaching to the laity, or some unlearned person
might compose religious verses. Almost the oldest monument of Old French
is the hymn in honour of Ste. Eulalie. Then as civilization advanced from
the tenth to the twelfth century, in southern and northern France for
example, and the _langue d’oc_ and the _langue d’oil_ became independent
and developed languages, unlearned men, or men with unlearned audiences,
would unavoidably set themselves to composing poetry in these tongues. In
the North the _chansons de geste_ came into existence; in the South the
knightly Troubadours made love-lyrics. Somehow, these poems were written
down, and there was literature for men’s eyes as well as for men’s ears.

In the twelfth century and the thirteenth, the audiences for Romance
poetry, especially through the regions of southern and northern France,
increased and became diversified. They were made up of all classes, save
the brute serf, and of both sexes. The _chansons de geste_ met the taste
of the feudal barons; the Arthurian Cycle charmed the feudal dames; the
coarse _fabliaux_ pleased the bourgeoisie; and _chansons_ of all kinds
might be found diverting by various people. If the religious side was less
strongly represented, it was because the closeness of the language to the
clerkly and liturgical Latin left no such need of translations as was felt
from the beginning among peoples of Germanic speech. Still the Gospels,
especially the apocryphal, were put into Old French, and _miracles de
Notre Dame_ without number; also legends of the saints, and devout tales
of many kinds.

The accentual verses of the Romance tongues had their source in the
popular accentual Latin verse of the later Roman period. Their development
was not unrelated to the Latin accentual verse which was superseding
metrical composition in the centuries extending, one may say, from the
fifth to the eleventh. Divergences between the Latin and Romance verse
would be caused by the linguistic evolution through which the Romance
tongues were becoming independent languages. Nor was this divergence
uninfluenced by the fact that Romance poetry was popular and usually
concerned with topics of this life, while Latin poetry in the most
striking lines of its evolution was liturgical; and even when secular in
topic tended to become learned, since it was the product of the
academically educated classes. Much of the vernacular (Romance as well as
Germanic) poetry in the Middle Ages was composed by unlearned men who had
at most but a speaking acquaintance with Latin, and knew little of the
antique literature. This was true, generally, of the Troubadours of
Provence, of the authors of the Old French _chansons de geste_, and of
such a courtly poet as Chrétien de Troies; true likewise of the great
German Minnesingers, epic poets rather, Gottfried von Strassburg, Wolfram
von Eschenbach, and Walther von der Vogelweide.

On the other hand, vernacular poetry might be written by highly learned
men, of whom the towering though late example would be Dante Alighieri. An
instance somewhat nearer to us at present is Jean Clopinel or de Meun, the
author of the second part of the _Roman de la rose_. His extraordinary
Voltairean production embodies all the learning of the time; and its
scholar-author was a man of genius, who incorporated his learning and the
fruit thereof very organically in his poem.

But here, at the close of our consideration of the mediaeval appreciation
of the Classics, and the relations between the Classics and mediaeval
Latin literature, we are not occupied with the very loose and general
question of the amount of classical learning to be found in the vernacular
literatures of western Europe. That was a casual matter depending on the
education and learning, or lack thereof, of the author of the given piece.
But it may be profitable to glance at the passing over of antique themes
of story into mediaeval vernacular literature, and the manner of their
refashioning. This is a huge subject, but we shall not go into it deeply,
or pursue the various antique themes through their endless propagations.

Antique stories aroused and pointed the mediaeval imagination; they made
part of the never-absent antique influence which helped to bring the
mediaeval peoples on and evoke in them an articulate power to fashion and
create all kinds of mediaeval things. But with antique story as with other
antique material, the Middle Ages had to turn it over and absorb it, and
also had to become themselves with power, before they could refashion the
antique theme or create along its lines. All this had taken place by the
middle of the twelfth century. As to choice of matter, twelfth-century
refashioners would either select an antique theme suited to their
handling, or extract what appealed to them from some classic story. In the
one case as in the other they might recast, enlarge, or invent as their
faculties permitted.

Mediaeval taste took naturally to the degenerate productions of the late
antique or transition centuries. The Greek novels seem to have been
unknown, except the _Apollonius of Tyre_.[332] But the congenially
preposterous story of Alexander by the Pseudo-Callisthenes was available
in a sixth-century Latin version, and was made much of. Equally popular
was the debasement and intentional distortion of the Tale of Troy in the
work of “Dares” and “Dictys”; other tales were aptly presented in Ovid’s
_Metamorphoses_; and the stories of Hero and Leander, of Pyramus and
Thisbe, of Narcissus, Orpheus, Cadmus, Daedalus, were widely known and
often told in the Middle Ages.

The mediaeval writers made as if they believed these tales. At least they
accepted them as they would have their own audiences accept their
recasting, with little reflection as to whether truth or fable. But was
the work of the refashioners conscious fiction? Scarcely, when it simply
recast the old story in mediaevalizing paraphrase; but when the poet went
on and wove out of ten lines a thousand, he must have known himself
devising.

The mediaeval treatment of classic themes of history and epic poetry shows
how the Middle Ages refashioned and reinspired after their own image
whatever they took from the antique. If it was partly their fault, it was
also their unavoidable misfortune that they received these great themes in
the literary distortions of the transition centuries. Doubtless they
preferred encyclopaedic dulness to epic unity; they loved fantasy rather
than history, and of course delighted in the preposterous, as they found
it in the Latin version of the _Life and Deeds of Alexander_. As for the
Tale of Troy, the real Homer never reached them: and perhaps mediaeval
peoples who were pleased, like Virgil’s Romans, to draw their origins from
Trojan heroes, would have rejected Homer’s story just as “Dares” and
“Dictys,” whoever they were, did.[333] The true mediaeval _rifacimenti_,
to wit, the retellings of these tales in the vernacular, mirror the
mediaeval mind, the mediaeval character, and the whole panorama of
mediaeval life and fantasy.

The chief epic themes drawn from the antique were the Tales of Troy and
Thebes and the story of Aeneas. In verse and prose they were retold in the
vernacular literatures and also in mediaeval Latin.[334] We shall,
however, limit our view to the primary Old French versions, which formed
the basis of compositions in German, Italian, English, as well as French.
They were composed between 1150 and 1170 by Norman-French _trouvères_. The
names of the authors of the _Roman de Thebes_ and the _Eneas_ are unknown;
the _Roman de Troie_ was written by Benoit de St. More.

These poems present a universal substitution of mediaeval manners and
sentiment. For instance, one observes that the epic participation of the
pagan gods is minimized, and in the _Roman de Troie_ even discarded;
necromancy, on the other hand, abounds. A more interesting change is the
transformation of the love episode. That had become an epic adjunct in
Alexandrian Greek literature as early as the third century before Christ.
It existed in the antique sources of all these mediaeval poems.
Nevertheless the romantic narratives of courtly love in the latter are
mediaeval creations.

The _Eneas_ relates the love of Lavinia for the hero, most correctly
reciprocated by him. The account of it fills fourteen hundred lines, and
has no precedent in Virgil’s poem, which in other respects is followed
closely. Lavinia sees Aeneas from her tower, and at once understands a
previous discourse of her mother on the subject of love. She utters love’s
plaints, and then faints because Aeneas does not seem to notice her. After
which she passes a sleepless night. The next morning she tells her mother,
who is furious, since she favours Turnus as a suitor. The girl falls
senseless, but coming to herself when alone, she recalls love’s
stratagems, and attaches a letter to an arrow which is shot so as to fall
at Aeneas’s feet. Aeneas reads the letter, and turns and salutes the fair
one furtively, that his followers may not see. Then he enters his tent and
falls so sick with love that he takes to his bed. The next day Lavinia
watches for him, and thinks him false, till at last, pale and feeble, he
appears, and her heart acquits him; amorous glances now fly back and forth
between them.[335]

To have this jaded jilt grow sick with love is a little too much for us,
and Aeneas is absurd; but the universal human touches us quite otherwise
in the sweet changing heart of Briseida in the _Roman de Troie_. There is
no ground for denying to Benoit of St. More his meed of fame for creating
this charming person and starting her upon her career. Following “Dares,”
Benoit calls her Briseida; but she becomes the Griseis of Boccaccio’s
_Filostrato_; and what good man does not sigh and love her under the name
of Cressid in Chaucer’s poem, though he may deplore her somewhat brazen
heartlessness in Shakespeare’s play.

It is not given to all men, or women, in presence or absence, in life and
death, to love once and forever. One has the stable heart, another’s
fancy is quickly turned. Sometimes, of course, our moral sledge-hammers
should be brought to bear; but a little hopeless smile may be juster, as
we sigh “she (it is more often “he”) couldn’t help it.” Such was Briseida,
the sweet, loving, helpless--coquette? jilt? flirt? these words are all
too belittling to tell her truly. Benoit knew better. He took her
dry-as-dust characterization from “Dares”; he gave it life, and then let
his fair creature do just the things she might, without ceasing to be she.

The abject “Dares” (Benoit may have had a better story under that name) in
his catalogue of characters has this: “Briseidam formosam, alta statura,
candidam, capillo flavo et molli, superciliis junctis, oculis venustis,
corpore aequali, blandam, affabilem, verecundam, animo simplici [O ye
gods!], piam.” He makes no other mention of this tall, graceful girl, with
her lovely eyes and eyebrows meeting above, her modest, pleasant mien, and
simple soul; for simple she was, and therein lies the direst bit of truth
about her. For it is simple and uncomplex to take the colour of new scenes
and faces, and of new proffered love when the old is far away.

Now see what Benoit does with this dust: Briseida is the daughter of
Calchas, a Trojan seer who had passed over to the Greeks, warned by
Apollo. He is in the Grecian host, but his daughter is in Troy. Benoit
says, she was engaging, lovelier and fairer than the _fleur de
lis_--though her eyebrows grew rather too close together. “Beaux yeux” she
had, “de grande manière,” and charming was her talk, and faultless her
breeding as her dress. Much was she loved and much she loved, although her
heart changed; and she was very loving, simple, and kind:

  “Molt fu amée et molt ameit,
   Mes sis corages li changeit;
   Et si esteit molt amorose,
   Simple et almosniere et pitose.”[336]

Calchas wants his daughter, and Priam decides to send her. There is truce
between the armies. Troilus, Troy’s glorious young knight, matchless in
beauty, in arms second only to his brother Hector, is beside himself. He
loves Briseida, and she him. What tears and protestations, and what vows!
But the girl must go to her father.

On the morrow the young dame has other cares--to see to the packing of her
lovely dresses and put on the loveliest of them; over all she threw a
mantle inwoven with the flowers of Paradise. The Trojan ladies add their
tears to the damsel’s; for she is ready to die of grief at leaving her
lover. Benoit assures us that she will not weep long; it is not woman’s
way, he continues somewhat mediaevally.

The brilliant cortège is met by one still more distinguished from the
Grecian host. Troilus must turn back, and the lady passes to the escort of
Diomede. She was young; he was impetuous; he looks once, and then greets
her with a torrential declaration of love. He never loved before!! He is
hers, body and soul and high emprize. Briseida speaks him fair:

    “At this time it would be wrong for me to say a word of love. You
    would deem me light indeed! Why, I hardly know you! and girls so often
    are deceived by men. What you have said cannot move a heart grieving,
    like mine, to lose my--friend, and others whom I may never see again.
    For one of my station to speak to you of love! I have no mind for
    that. Yet you seem of such rank and prowess that no girl under heaven
    ought to refuse you. It is only that I have no heart to give. If I
    had, surely I could hold none dearer than you. But I have neither the
    thought nor power, and may God never give it to me!”[337]

One need not tell the flash of joy that then was Diomede’s, nor the many
troubles that were to be his before at last Briseida finds that her heart
has indeed turned to this new lover, always at hand, courting danger for
her sake, and at last wounded almost to death by Troilus’s spear. The end
of the story is assured in her first discreetly halting words.

Enough has been said to show how far Benoit was from _Omers qui fu clers
merveillos_, and what a story in some thirty thousand lines he has made of
the dry data of “Dares” and “Dictys.” His Briseida, with her changing
heart, was to rival steadier-minded but not more lovable women of
mediaeval fiction--Iseult or Guinevere. And although the far-off echo of
Briseid’s name comes from the ancient centuries, none the less she is as
entirely a mediaeval creation as Lancelot’s or Tristram’s queen. Thus the
Middle Ages took the antique narrative, and created for themselves within
the altered lines of the old tale.[338]

The transformation of themes of epic story in vernacular mediaeval
versions is paralleled by mediaeval refashionings of historical subjects
which had been fictionized before the antique period closed. A chief
example is the romance of Alexander the Great. The antique source was the
conqueror’s _Life and Deeds_, written by one who took the name of
Alexander’s physician, Callisthenes. The author was some Egyptian Greek of
the first century after Christ. His work is preposterous from the
beginning to the end, and presents a succession of impossible marvels
performed by the somewhat indistinguishable heroes of the story. Its
qualities were reflected in the Latin versions, which in turn were drawn
upon by the Old French rhyming romancers. The latter mediaevalized and
feudalized the tale. Nor were they halted by any absurdity, or conscious
of the characterlessness of the puppets of the tale.[339]

Further to pursue the fortunes of antique themes in mediaeval literature
would lead us beyond bounds. Yet mention should be made of the handling of
minor narratives, as the _Metamorphoses_ of Ovid. They were very popular,
and from the twelfth century on, paraphrases or refashionings were made of
many of them. These added to the old tale the interesting mediaeval
element of the moral or didactic allegory. The most prodigious instance of
this moralizing of Ovid was the work of Chrétien Légouais, a French
Franciscan who wrote at the beginning of the fourteenth century. In some
seventy thousand lines he presented the stories of the _Metamorphoses_,
the allegories which he discovered in them, and the moral teaching of the
same.[340]

Equally interesting was the application of allegory to Ovid’s _Ars
amatoria_. The first translators treated this frivolous production as an
authoritative treatise upon the art of winning love. So it was perhaps,
only Ovid was amusing himself by making a parable of his youthful
diversions. Mediaeval imitators changed the habits of the gilded youth of
Rome to suit the society of their time. But they did more, being votaries
of courtly love. Such love in the Middle Ages had its laws which were
prone to deduce their lineage from Ovid’s verses. But its uplifted spirit
revelled in symbolism; and tended to change to spiritual allegory whatever
authority it imagined itself based upon, even though the authority were a
book as dissolute, when seriously considered, as the _Ars amatoria_. It is
strange to think of this poem as the very far off street-walking prototype
of De Lorris’s _Roman de la rose_.



CHAPTER XXXIII

MEDIAEVAL APPROPRIATION OF THE ROMAN LAW

      I. THE FONTES JURIS CIVILIS.

     II. ROMAN AND BARBARIAN CODIFICATION.

    III. THE MEDIAEVAL APPROPRIATION.

     IV. CHURCH LAW.

      V. POLITICAL THEORIZING.


Classical studies, and the gradual development of mediaeval prose and
verse, discussed in the preceding chapters, illustrate modes of mediaeval
progress. But of all examples of mediaeval intellectual growth through the
appropriation of the antique, none is more completely illuminating than
the mediaeval use of Roman law. As with patristic theology and antique
philosophy, the Roman law was crudely taken and then painfully learned,
till in the end, vitally and broadly mastered, it became even a means and
mode of mediaeval thinking. Its mediaeval appropriation illustrates the
legal capacity of the Middle Ages and their concern with law both as a
practical business and an intellectual interest.


I

Primitive law is practical; it develops through the adjustment of social
exigencies. Gradually, however, in an intelligent community which is
progressing under favouring influences, some definite consciousness of
legal propriety, utility, or justice, makes itself articulate in
statements of general principles of legal right and in a steady endeavour
to adjust legal relationships and adjudicate actual controversies in
accordance. This endeavour to formulate just and useful principles, and
decide novel questions in accordance with them, and enunciate new rules in
harmony with the body of the existing law, is jurisprudence, which thus
works always for concord, co-ordination, and system.

There was a jurisprudential element in the early law of Rome. The Twelve
Tables are trenchant announcements of rules of procedure and substantial
law. They have the form of the general imperative: “Thus let it be; If one
summons [another] to court, let him go; As a man shall have appointed by
his Will, so let it be; When one makes a bond or purchase,[341] as the
tongue shall have pronounced it, so let it be.” These statements of legal
rules are far from primitive; they are elastic, inclusive, and suited to
form the foundation of a large and free legal development. And the
consistency with which the law of debt was carried out to its furthest
cruel conclusion, the permitted division of the body of the defaulting
debtor among several creditors,[342] gave earnest of the logic which was
to shape the Roman law in its humaner periods. Moreover, there is
jurisprudence in the arrangement of the Laws of the Twelve Tables.
Nevertheless the jurisprudential element is still but inchoate.

The Romans were endowed with a genius for law. Under the later Republic
and the Empire, the minds of their jurists were trained and broadened by
Greek philosophy and the study of the laws of Mediterranean peoples; Rome
was becoming the commercial as well as social and political centre of the
world. From this happy combination of causes resulted the most
comprehensive body of law and the noblest jurisprudence ever evolved by a
people. The great jurisconsults of the Empire, working upon the prior
labours of long lines of older praetors and jurists, perfected a body of
law of well-nigh universal applicability, and throughout logically
consistent with general principles of law and equity, recognized as
fundamental. These were in part suggested by Greek philosophy, especially
by Stoicism as adapted to the Roman temperament. They represented the best
ethics, the best justice of the time. As principles of law, however, they
would have hung in the air, had not the practical as well as theorizing
genius of the jurisconsults been equal to the task of embodying them in
legal propositions, and applying the latter to the decision of cases. Thus
was evolved a body of practical rules of law, controlled, co-ordinated,
and, as one may say, universalized through the constant logical employment
of sound principles of legal justice.[343]

The Roman law, broadly taken, was heterogeneous in origin, and complex in
its modes of growth. The great jurisconsults of the Empire recognized its
diversity of source, and distinguished its various characteristics
accordingly. They assumed (and this was a pure assumption) that every
civilized people lived under two kinds of law, the one its own, springing
from some recognized law-making source within the community; the other the
_jus gentium_, or the law inculcated among all peoples by natural reason
or common needs.

The supposed origin of the _jus gentium_ was not simple. Back in the time
of the Republic it had become necessary to recognize a law for the many
strangers in Rome, who were not entitled to the protection of Rome’s _jus
civile_. The edict of the praetor Peregrinus covered their substantial
rights, and sanctioned simple modes of sale and lease which did not
observe the forms prescribed by the _jus civile_. So this edict became the
chief source of the _jus gentium_ so-called, to wit, of those liberal
rules of law which ignored the peculiar formalities of the stricter law of
Rome. Probably foreign laws, that is to say, the commercial customs of the
Mediterranean world, were in fact recognized; and their study led to a
perception of elements common to the laws of many peoples. At all events,
in course of time the _jus gentium_ came to be regarded as consisting of
universal rules of law which all peoples might naturally follow.

The recognition of these simple modes of contracting obligations, and
perhaps the knowledge that certain rules of law obtained among many
peoples, fostered the conception of common or natural justice, which human
reason was supposed to inculcate everywhere. Such a conception could not
fail to spring up in the minds of Roman jurists who were educated in
Stoical philosophy, the ethics of which had much to say of a common human
nature. Indeed the idea _naturalis ratio_ was in the air, and the thought
of common elements of law and justice which _naturalis ratio inter omnes
homines constituit_, lay so close at hand that it were perhaps a mistake
to try to trace it to any single source. Practically the _jus gentium_
became identical with _jus naturale_, which Ulpian imagined as taught by
nature to all animals; the _jus gentium_, however, belonged to men
alone.[344]

Thus rules which were conceived as those of the _jus gentium_ came to
represent the principles of rational law, and impressed themselves upon
the development of the _jus civile_. They informed the whole growth and
application of Roman law with a breadth of legal reason. And conceptions
of a _jus naturale_ and a _jus gentium_ became cognate legal fictions, by
the aid of which praetor and jurisconsult might justify the validity of
informal modes of contract. In their application, judge and jurist learned
how and when to disregard the formal requirements of the older and
stricter Roman law, and found a way to the recognition of what was just
and convenient. These fictions agreed with the supposed nature and demands
of _aequitas_, which is the principle of progressive and discriminating
legal justice. Law itself (_jus_) was identical with _aequitas_ conceived
(after Celsus’s famous phrase) as the _ars boni et aequi_.

The Roman law proper, the _jus civile_, had multifarious sources. First
the _leges_, enacted by the people; then the _plebiscita_, sanctioned by
the Plebs; the _senatus consulta_, passed by the Senate; the
_constitutiones_ and _rescripta[345] principum_, ordained by the Emperor.
Excepting the _rescripta_, these (to cover them with a modern expression)
were statutory. They were laws announced at a specific time to meet some
definite exigency. Under the Empire, the _constitutiones principum_ became
the most important, and then practically the only kind of legal enactment.

Two or three other sources of Roman law remain for mention: first, the
_edicta_ of those judicial magistrates, especially the praetors, who had
the authority to issue them. In his edict the praetor announced what he
held to be the law and how he would apply it. The edict of each successive
praetor was a renewal and expansion or modification of that of his
predecessor. Papinian calls this source of law the “_jus praetorium_,
which the praetors have introduced to aid, supplement, or correct the _jus
civile_ for the sake of public utility.”

Next, the _responsa_ or _auctoritas jurisprudentium_, by which were
intended the judicial decisions and the authority of the legal writings of
the famous jurisconsults. Imperial rescripts recognized these _responsa_
as authoritative for the Roman courts; and some of the emperors embodied
portions of them in formally promulgated collections, thereby giving them
the force of law. Justinian’s _Digest_ is the great example of this method
of codification.[346] One need scarcely add that the authoritative
writings and _responsa_ of the jurisconsults extended and applied the _jus
gentium_, that is to say, the rules and principles of the best-considered
jurisprudence, freed so far as might be from the formal peculiarities of
the _jus civile_ strictly speaking. And the same was true of the
praetorian edict. The Roman law also gave legal effect to _inveterata
consuetudo_, the law which is sanctioned by custom: “for since the laws
bind us because established by the decision of the people, those unwritten
customs which the people have approved are binding.”[347]

Simply naming the sources of Roman law indicates the ways in which it
grew, and the part taken by the jurisconsults in its development as a
universal and elastic system. It was due to their labours that legal
principles were logically carried out through the mass of enactments and
decisions; that is, it was due to their large consideration of the body of
existing law, that each novel decision--each case of first
impression--should be a true legal deduction, and not a solecism; and that
even the new enactments should not create discordant law. And it was due
to their labours that as rules of law were called forth, they were stated
clearly and in terms of well-nigh universal applicability.

The Laws of the Twelve Tables showed the action of legal intelligence and
the result of much experience. They sanctioned a large contractual
freedom, if within strict forms; they stated broadly the right of
testamentary disposition. Many of their provisions, which commonly were
but authoritative recognitions, were expressions of basic legal
principles, the application of which might be extended to meet the needs
of advancing civic life. And through the enlargement of this fundamental
collection of law, or deviating from it in accordance with principles
which it implicitly embodied, the jurists of the Republic and the first
centuries of the Empire formed and developed a body of private and public
law from which the jurisprudence of Europe and America has never even
sought to free itself.

Roman jurisprudence was finally incorporated in Justinian’s _Digest_,
which opens with a statement of the most general principles, even those
which would have hung in the air but for the Roman genius of logical and
practical application to the concrete instance. “Jus est ars boni et
aequi”--it is better to leave these words untranslated, such is the wealth
of significance and connotation which they have acquired. “Justitia est
constans et perpetua voluntas jus suum cuique tribuendi. Juris praecepta
sunt haec: honeste vivere, alterum non laedere, suum cuique tribuere.
Jurisprudentia est divinarum atque humanarum rerum notitia, justi atque
injusti scientia.”

The first pregnant phrase is from the older jurist Celsus; the longer
passage is by the later Ulpian, and may be taken as an expansion of the
first. Both the one and the other expressed the most advanced and
philosophic ethics of the ancient world. They are both in the first
chapter of the _Digest_, wherein they become enactments. An extract from
Paulus follows: “_Jus_ has different meanings; that which is always
_aequum ac bonum_ is called _jus_, to wit, the _jus naturale_: _jus_ also
means the _jus civile_, that which is expedient (_utile_) for all or most
in any state. And in our state we have also the praetorian _jus_.” This
passage indicates the course of the development of the Roman law: the
fundamental and ceaselessly growing core of specifically Roman law, the
_jus civile_; its continual equitable application and enlargement, which
was the praetor’s contribution; and the constant application of the
_aequum ac bonum_, observed perhaps in legal rules common to many peoples,
but more surely existing in the high reasoning of jurists instructed in
the best ethics and philosophy of the ancient world, and learned and
practised in the law.

Now notice some of the still general, but distinctly legal, rather than
ethical, rules collected in the _Digest_: The laws cannot provide
specifically for every case that may arise; but when their intent is
plain, he who is adjudicating a cause should proceed _ad similia_, and
thus declare the law in the case.[348] Here is stated the general and
important formative principle, that new cases should be decided
consistently and _eleganter_, which means logically and in accordance with
established rules. Yet legal solecisms will exist, perhaps in a statute or
in some rule of law evoked by a special exigency. Their application is
not to be extended. For them the rule is: “What has been accepted _contra
rationem juris_, is not to be drawn out (_producendum_) to its
consequences,”[349] or again: “What was introduced not by principle, but
at first through error, does not obtain in like cases.”[350]

These are true principles making for the consistent development of a body
of law. Observe the scope and penetration of some other general rules:
“Nuptias non concubitus, sed consensus facit.”[351] This goes to the legal
root of the whole conception of matrimony, and is still the recognized
starting-point of all law upon that subject. Again: “An agreement to
perform what is impossible will not sustain a suit.”[352] This is still
everywhere a fundamental principle of the law of contracts. Again: “No one
can transfer to another a greater right than he would have himself,”[353]
another principle of fundamental validity, but, of course, like all rules
of law subject in its application to the qualifying operation of other
legal rules.

Roman jurisprudence recognized the danger of definition: “Omnis definitio
in jure civili periculosa est.”[354] Yet it could formulate admirable
ones; for example: “Inheritance is succession to the sum total (_universum
jus_) of the rights of the deceased.”[355] This definition excels in the
completeness of its legal view of the matter, and is not injured by the
obvious omission to exclude those personal privileges and rights of the
deceased which terminate upon his death.

Thus we note the sources and constructive principles of the Roman law. We
observe that while certain of the former might be called “statutory,” the
chief means and method of development was the declarative edict of the
praetor and the trained labour of the jurisconsults. In these appears the
consummate genius of Roman jurisprudence, a jurisprudence matchless in its
rational conception of principles of justice which were rooted in a
philosophic consideration of human life; matchless also in its carrying
through of such principles into the body of the law and the decision of
every case.


II

The Roman law was the creation of the genius of Rome and also the product
of the complex civilization of which Rome was the kinetic centre. As the
Roman power crumbled, Teutonic invaders established kingdoms within
territories formerly subject to Rome and to her law--a law, however, which
commonly had been modified to suit the peoples of the provinces. Those
territories retained their population of provincials. The invaders,
Burgundians, Visigoths, and Franks, planting themselves in the different
parts of Gaul, brought their own law, under which they continued to live,
but which they did not force upon the provincial population. On the
contrary, Burgundian and Visigothic kings promulgated codes of Roman law
for the latter. And these represent the forms in which the Roman law first
passed over into modes of acceptance and application no longer fully
Roman, but partly Teutonic and incipiently mediaeval. They exemplify,
moreover, the fact, so many aspects of which have been already noticed, of
transitional and partly barbarized communities drawing from a greater past
according to their simpler needs.

One may say that these codes carried on processes of decline from the full
creative genius of Roman jurisprudence, which had irrevocably set in under
the Empire in the fourth and fifth centuries. The decline lay in a
weakening of the intellectual power devoted to the law and its
development. The living growth of the praetorian edict had long since come
to an end; and now a waning jurisprudential intelligence first ceased to
advance the development of law, and then failed to save from desuetude the
achieved jurisprudence of the past. So the jurisprudential and juridical
elements (_jus_) fell away from the law, and the imperial constitutions
(_leges_) remained the sole legal vehicle and means of amendment. The need
of codification was felt, and that preserving and eliminating process was
entered upon.

Roman codification never became a reformulation. The Roman _Codex_ was a
collection of existing constitutions. A certain jurist (“Gregorianus”)
made an orderly and comprehensive collection of such as early as the close
of Diocletian’s reign; it was supplemented by the work of another jurist
(“Hermogenianus”) in the time of Constantine. Each compilation was the
work of a private person, who, without authority to restate, could but
compile the imperial constitutions. The same method was adopted by the
later codifications, which were made and promulgated under imperial
decree. There were two which were to be of supreme importance for the
legal future of western Europe, the Theodosian Code and the legislation of
Justinian. The former was promulgated in 438 by Theodosius II. and
Valentinianus. The emperors formally announce that “in imitation (_ad
similitudinem_) of the Code of Gregorianus and Hermogenianus we have
decreed that all the Constitutions should be collected” which have been
promulgated by Constantine and his successors, including ourselves.[356]
So the Theodosian Code contains many laws of the emperors who decreed
it.[357] It was thus a compilation of imperial constitutions already in
existence, or decreed from year to year while the codification was in
process (429-438). Every constitution is given in the words of its
original announcement, and with the name of the emperor. Evidently this
code was not a revision of the law.

The codification of Justinian began with the promulgation of the _Codex_
in 529. That was intended to be a compilation of the constitutions
contained in the previous codes and still in force, as well as those which
had been decreed since the time of Theodosius. The compilers received
authority to omit, abbreviate, and supplement. The _Codex_ was revised and
promulgated anew in 534. The constitutions which were decreed during the
remainder of Justinian’s long reign were collected after his death and
published as _Novellae_. So far there was nothing radically novel. But,
under Justinian, life and art seemed to have revived in the East; and
Tribonian, with the others who assisted in these labours, had larger views
of legal reform and jurisprudential conservation than the men who worked
for Theodosius. Justinian and his coadjutors had also serious plans for
improving the teaching of the law, in the furtherance of which the famous
little book of _Institutes_ was composed after the model, and to some
extent in the words, of the _Institutes_ of Gaius. It was published in
533.

The great labour, however, which Justinian and his lawyers were as by
Providence inspired to achieve was the encyclopaedic codification of the
jurisprudential law. Part of the emperor’s high-sounding command runs
thus:

    “We therefore command you to read and sift out from the books
    pertaining to the _jus Romanum_ composed by the ancient learned
    jurists (_antiqui prudentes_) to whom the most sacred emperors granted
    authority to indite and interpret the laws, so that the material may
    all be taken from these writers, and incongruity avoided--for others
    have written books which have been neither used nor recognized. When
    by the favour of the Deity this material shall have been collected, it
    should be reared with toil most beautiful, and consecrated as the own
    and most holy temple of justice, and the whole law (_totum jus_)
    should be arranged in fifty books under specific titles.”[358]

The language of the ancient jurists was to be preserved even critically,
that is to say, the compilers were directed to emend apparent errors and
restore what seemed “verum et optimum et quasi ab initio scriptum.” It was
not the least of the providential mercies connected with the compilation
of this great body of jurisprudential law, that Justinian and his
commission did not abandon the phrasing of the old jurisconsults, and
restate their opinions in such language as we have a sample of in the
constitution from which the above extract is taken. This jurisprudential
part of Justinian’s Codification was named the _Digest_ or
_Pandects_.[359]

Inasmuch as Justinian’s brief reconquest of western portions of the Roman
Empire did not extend north of the Alps, his codification was not
promulgated in Gaul or Germany. Even in Italy his legislation did not
maintain itself in general dominance, especially in the north where the
Lombard law narrowed its application. Moreover, throughout the peninsula,
the _Pandects_ quickly became as if they were not, and fell into
desuetude, if that can be said of a work which had not come into use. This
body of jurisprudential law was beyond the legal sense of those
monarchically-minded and barbarizing centuries, which knew law only as the
command of a royal lawgiver. The _Codex_ and the _Novellae_ were of this
nature. They, and not the _Digest_, represent the influence upon Italy of
Justinian’s legislation until the renewed interest in jurisprudence
brought the _Pandects_ to the front at the close of the eleventh century.
But _Codex_ and _Novellae_ were too bulky for a period that needed to have
its intellectual labours made easy. From the first, the _Novellae_ were
chiefly known and used in the condensed form given them in the excellent
_Epitome of Julianus_, apparently a Byzantine of the last part of
Justinian’s reign.[360] The cutting down and epitomizing of the _Codex_ is
more obscure; probably it began at once; the incomplete or condensed forms
were those in common use.[361]

It is, however, with the Theodosian Code and certain survivals of the
works of the great jurists that we have immediately to do. For these were
the sources of the codes enacted by Gothic and Burgundian kings for their
Roman or Gallo-Roman subjects. Apparently the earliest of them was
prepared soon after the year 502, at the command of Gondebaud, King of the
Burgundians. This, which later was dubbed the _Papianus_,[362] was the
work of a skilled Roman lawyer, and seems quite as much a text-book as a
code. It set forth the law of the topics important for the Roman
provincials living in the Burgundian kingdom, not merely making extracts
from its sources, but stating their contents and referring to them as
authorities. These sources were substantially the same as those used by
the Visigothic _Breviarium_, which was soon to supersede the _Papianus_
even in Burgundy.

_Breviarium_ was the popular name of the code enacted by the Visigothic
king Alaric II. about the year 506 for his _provinciales_ in the south of
Gaul.[363] It preserved the integrity of its sources, giving the texts in
the same order, and with the same rubrics, as in the original. The
principal source was the Theodosian Code; next in importance the
collections of _Novellae_ of Theodosius and succeeding emperors: a few
texts were taken from the Codes of “Gregorianus” and “Hermogenianus.”
These parts of the _Breviarium_ consisted of _leges_, that is, of
constitutions of the emperors. Two sources of quite a different character
were also drawn upon. One was the _Institutes_ of Gaius, or rather an old
epitome which had been made from it. The other was the _Sententiae_ of
Paulus, the famous “Five Books of Sentences _ad filium_.” This work of
elementary jurisprudence deserved its great repute; yet its use in the
_Breviarium_ may have been due to the special sanction which had been
given it in one of the constitutions of the Theodosian Code, also taken
over into the _Breviarium_: “Pauli quoque sententias semper valere
praecipimus.”[364] The same constitution confirmed the _Institutes_ of
Gaius, among other great jurisconsults. Presumably these two works were
the most commonly known as well as the clearest and best of elementary
jurisprudential compositions.

An interesting feature of the _Breviarium_, and destined to be of great
importance, was the _Interpretatio_ accompanying all its texts, except
those drawn from the epitome of Gaius. This was not the work of Alaric’s
compilers, but probably represents the approved exposition of the _leges_,
with the exposition of the already archaic _Sentences_ of Paulus, current
in the law schools of southern Gaul in the fifth century. The
_Interpretatio_ thus taken into the _Breviarium_ had, like the texts, the
force of royal law, and soon was to surpass them in practice by reason of
its perspicuity and modernity. Many manuscripts contain only the
_Interpretatio_ and omit the texts.

The _Breviarium_ became the source of Roman law, indeed the Roman law _par
excellence_, for the Merovingian and then the Carolingian realm, outside
of Italy. It was soon subjected to the epitomizing process, and its
epitomes exist, dating from the eighth to the tenth century: they reduced
it in bulk, and did away with the practical inconvenience of _lex_ and
_interpretatio_. Further, the _Breviarium_, and even the epitomes, were
glossed with numerous marginal or interlinear notes made by transcribers
or students. These range from definitions of words, sometimes taken from
Isidore’s _Etymologiae_, to brief explanations of difficulties in the
text.[365] In like manner in Italy, the _Codex_ and _Novellae_ of
Justinian were, as has been said, reduced to epitomes, and also equipped
with glosses.

These barbaric codes of Roman law mark the passage of Roman law into
incipiently mediaeval stages. On the other hand, certain Latin codes of
barbarian law present the laws of the Teutons touched with Roman
conceptions, and likewise becoming inchoately mediaeval.

Freedom, the efficient freedom of the individual, belongs to civilization
rather than to barbarism. The actual as well as imaginary perils
surrounding the lives of men who do not dwell in a safe society, entail a
state of close mutual dependence rather than of liberty. Law in a
civilized community has the twofold purpose of preserving the freedom of
the individual and of maintaining peace. With each advance in human
progress, the latter purpose, at least in the field of private civil law,
recedes a little farther, while the importance of private law, as
compared with penal law, constantly increases.

The law of uncivilized peoples lacks the first of these purposes. Its sole
conscious object is to maintain, or at least provide a method of
maintaining peace; it is scarcely aware that in maintaining peace it is
enhancing the freedom of every individual.

The distinct and conscious purpose of early Teutonic law was to promote
peace within the tribe, or among the members of a warband. Thus was law
regarded by the people--as a means of peace. Its communication or
ordainment might be ascribed to a God or a divine King. But in reality its
chief source lay in slowly growing regulative custom.[366] The force of
law, or more technically speaking the legal sanction, lay in the power of
the tribe to uphold its realized purpose as a tribe; for the power to
maintain its solidarity and organization was the final test of its
law-upholding strength.

Primarily the old Teutonic law looked to the tribe and its sub-units, and
scarcely regarded the special claims of an individual, or noticed
mitigating or aggravating elements in his culpability--answerability
rather. It prescribed for his peace and protection as a member of a
family, or as one included within the bands of _Sippe_ (blood
relationship); or as one of a warband or a chief’s close follower, one of
his _comitatus_. On the other hand, the law was stiff, narrow, and
ungeneralized in its recognized rules. The first Latin codifications of
Teutonic law are not to be compared for breadth and elasticity of
statement to the Law of the Twelve Tables. And their substance was more
primitive.[367]

The earliest of these first codifications was the Lex Salica, codified
under Clovis near the year 500. Unquestionably, contact with Roman
institutions suggested the idea, even as the Latin language was the
vehicle, of this code. Otherwise the Lex Salica is un-Christian and
un-Roman, although probably it was put together after Clovis’s baptism. It
was not a comprehensive codification, and omitted much that was common
knowledge at the time; which now makes it somewhat enigmatical. One finds
in it lists of thefts of every sort of object that might be stolen, and of
the various injuries to the person that might be done, and the sum of
money to be paid in each case as atonement or compensation. Such schedules
did not set light store on life and property. On the contrary, they were
earnestly intended as the most available protection of elemental human
rights, and as the best method of peaceful redress. The sums awarded as
Wergeld were large, and were reckoned according to the slain man’s rank.
By committing a homicide, a man might ruin himself and even his blood
relatives (_Sippe_) and of course on failure to atone might incur
servitude or death or outlawry.

The Salic law is scarcely touched by the law of Rome. From this piece of
intact Teutonism the codes of other Teuton peoples shade off into bodies
of law partially Romanized, that is, affected by the provincialized Roman
law current in the locality where the Teutonic tribe found a home. The
codes of the Burgundians and the Visigoths in southern France are examples
of this Teutonic-Romanesque commingling. On the other hand, the Lombard
codes, though later in time, held themselves even harshly Teutonic, as
opposed to any influence from the law of the conquered Italian population,
for whom the Lombards had less regard than Burgundians and Visigoths had
for their subject provincials. Moreover, as the Frankish realm extended
its power over other Gallo-Teuton states, the various Teuton laws modified
each other and tended toward uniformity. Naturally the law of the Franks,
first the Salic and then the partly derivative Ribuarian code, exerted a
dominating influence.[368]

These Teuton peoples regarded law as pertaining to the tribe. There was
little conscious intention on their part of forcing their laws on the
conquered. When the Visigoths established their kingdom in southern France
they had no idea of changing the law of the Gallo-Roman provincials living
within the Visigothic rule; and shortly afterwards, when the Franks
extended their power over the still Roman parts of Gaul, and then over
Alemanni, Burgundians, and Visigoths, they likewise had no thought of
forcing their laws either upon Gallo-Romans or upon the Teuton people
previously dominant within a given territory. This remained true even of
the later Frankish period, when the Carolingians conquered the Lombard
kingdom in upper Italy.

Indeed, to all these Teutons and to the Roman provincials as well, it
seemed as a matter of course that tribal or local laws should be permitted
to endure among the peoples they belonged to. These assumptions and the
conditions of the growing Frankish Empire evoked, as it were, a more acute
mobilization of the principle that to each people belonged its law. For
provincials and Teuton peoples were mingling throughout the Frankish
realm, and the first obvious solution of the legal problems arising was to
hold that provincials and Teutons everywhere should remain amenable and
entitled to their own law, which was assumed to attend them as a personal
appurtenance. Of course this solution became intolerable as tribal blood
and delimitations were obscured, and men moved about through the
territories of one great realm. Archbishop Agobard of Lyons remarks that
one might see five men sitting together, each amenable to a different
law.[369] The escape from this legal confusion was to revert to the idea
of law and custom as applying to every one within a given territory. The
personal principle gradually gave way to this conception in the course of
the ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries.[370] In the meanwhile during the
Merovingian, and more potently in the Carolingian period, king’s law, as
distinguished from people’s law, had been an influence making for legal
uniformity throughout that wide conglomerate empire which acknowledged the
authority of the Frankish king or emperor. The king’s law might emanate
from the delegated authority, and arise from the practices, of royal
functionaries; it was most formally promulgated in Capitularies, which
with Charlemagne reach such volume and importance. Some of these royal
ordinances related to a town or district only. Others were for the realm,
and the latter not only were instances of law applying universally, but
also tended to promote, or suggest, the harmonizing of laws which they did
not modify directly.


III

The Roman law always existed in the Middle Ages. Provincialized and
changed, it was interwoven in the law and custom of the land of the
_langue d’oc_ and even in the customary law of the lands where the _langue
d’oil_ was spoken. Through the same territory it existed also in the
_Breviarium_ and its epitomes. There was very little of it in England, and
scarcely a trace in the Germany east of the Rhine. In Italy it was applied
when not superseded by the Lombard codes, and was drawn from works based
on the _Codex_ and _Novels_ of Justinian. But the jurisprudential law
contained in Justinian’s _Digest_ was as well forgotten in Italy as in any
land north of the Alps, where the Codification of Justinian had never been
promulgated. The extent to which the classic forms of Roman law were known
or unknown, unforgotten or forgotten, was no accident as of codices or
other writings lost accidentally. It hung upon larger conditions--whether
society had reached that stage of civilized exigency demanding the
application of an advanced commercial law, and whether there were men
capable of understanding and applying it. This need and the capacity to
understand would be closely joined.[371]

The history of the knowledge and understanding of Roman law in the Middle
Ages might be resolved into a consideration of the sources drawn upon, and
the extent and manner of their use, from century to century. In the fifth
century, when the Theodosian Code was promulgated, law was thought of
chiefly as the mandate of a ruler. The Theodosian Code was composed of
_constitutiones principum_. Likewise the _Breviarium_, based upon it, and
other barbarian codes of Roman law, were ordained by kings; and so were
the codes of Teutonic law. For law, men looked directly to the visible
ruler. The _jus_, reasoned out by the wisdom of trained jurists, had lost
authority and interest. To be sure, a hundred years later Justinian’s
Commission put together in the _Digest_ the body of jurisprudential law;
but even in Italy where his codification was promulgated, the _Digest_
fell still-born. Never was an official compilation of less effect upon its
own time, or of such mighty import for times to come.

The _Breviarium_ became _par excellence_ the code of Roman law for the
countries included in the present France. With its accompanying
_Interpretatio_ it was a work indicating intelligence on the part of its
compilers, whose chief care was as to arrangement and explanation. But the
time was not progressive, and a gathering mental decadence was shown by
the manner in which the _Breviarium_ was treated and used, to wit,
epitomized in many epitomes, and practically superseded by them. Here was
double evidence of decay; for the supersession of such a work by such
epitomes indicates a diminishing legal knowledge in the epitomizers, and
also a narrowing of social and commercial needs in the community, for
which the original work contained much that was no longer useful.

There were, of course, epitomes and epitomes. Such a work as the _Epitome
Juliani_, in which a good Byzantine lawyer of Justinian’s time presented
the substance of the _Novellae_, was an excellent compendium, and deserved
the fame it won. Of a lower order were the later manipulations of
Justinian’s _Codex_, by which apparently the _Codex_ was superseded in
Italy. One of these was the _Summa Perusina_ of the ninth or tenth
century, a wretched work, and one of the blindest.[372]

Justinian’s _Codex_ and Julian’s _Epitome_ were equipped with glosses,
some of which are as early as Justinian’s time; but the greater part are
later. The glosses to Justinian’s legislation resemble those of the
_Breviarium_ before referred to. That is to say, as the centuries pass
downward toward the tenth, the glosses answer to cruder needs: they become
largely translations of words, often taken from Isidore’s
_Etymologiae_.[373] Indeed many of them appear to have had merely a
grammatical interest, as if the text was used as an aid in the study of
the Latin language.

The last remark indicates a way in which a very superficial acquaintance
with the Roman law was kept up through the centuries prior to the twelfth:
it was commonly taught in the schools devoted to elementary instruction,
that is to say, to the Seven Liberal Arts. In many instances the
instructors had only such knowledge as they derived from Isidore, that
friend of every man. That is, they had no special knowledge of law, but
imparted various definitions to their pupils, just as they might teach
them the names of diseases and remedies, a list of which (and nothing
more) they would also find in Isidore. It was all just as one might have
expected. Elementary mediaeval education was encyclopaedic in its childish
way; and, in accordance with the methods and traditions of the transition
centuries, all branches of instruction were apt to be turned to grammar
and rhetoric, and made linguistic, so to speak--mere subjects for curious
definition. Thus it happened to law as well as medicine. Yet some of the
teachers may have had a practical acquaintance with legal matters, with an
understanding for legal documents and skill to draw them up.

The assertion also is warranted that at certain centres of learning
substantial legal instruction was given; one may even speak of schools of
law. Scattered information touching all the early mediaeval periods shows
that there was no time when instruction in Roman law could not be obtained
somewhere in western Europe. To refer to France, the Roman law was very
early taught at Narbonne; at Orleans it was taught from the time of Bishop
Theodulphus, Charlemagne’s contemporary, and probably the teaching of it
long continued. One may speak in the same way of Lyons; and in the
eleventh century Angers was famed for the study of law.

Our information is less broken as to an Italy where through the early
Middle Ages more general opportunities offered for elementary education,
and where the Roman law, with Justinian’s Codification as a base, made in
general the law of the land. There is no reason to suppose that it was not
taught. Contemporary allusions bear witness to the existence of a school
of law in Rome in the time of Cassiodorus and afterwards, which is
confirmed by a statement of the jurist Odofredus in the thirteenth
century. At Pavia there was a school of law in the time of Rothari, the
legislating Lombard king; this reached the zenith of its repute in the
eleventh century. Legal studies also flourished at Ravenna, and succumbed
before the rising star of the Bologna school at the beginning of the
twelfth century.[374] In these and doubtless many other cities[375]
students were instructed in legal practices and formulae, and some
substance of the Roman law was taught. Extant legal documents of various
kinds afford, especially for Italy, ample evidence of the continuous
application of the Roman law.[376]

As for the merits and deficiencies of legal instruction in Italy and in
France, an idea may be gained from the various manuals that were prepared
either for use in the schools of law or for the practitioner. Because of
the uncertainty, however, of their age and provenance, it is difficult to
connect them with a definite _foyer_ of instruction.

Until the opening of the twelfth century, or at all events until the last
quarter of the eleventh, the legal literature evinces scarcely any
originality or critical capacity. There are glosses, epitomes, and
collections of extracts, more or less condensed or confused from whatever
text the compiler had before him. Little jurisprudential intelligence
appears in any writings which are known to precede the close of the
eleventh century; none, for instance, in the epitomes of the _Breviarium_
and the glosses relating to that code; none in those works of Italian
origin the material for which was drawn directly or indirectly from the
_Codex_ or _Novels_ of Justinian, for instance the _Summa Perusina_ and
the _Lex Romana canonice compta_, both of which probably belong to the
ninth century. Such compilations were put together for practical use, or
perhaps as aids to teaching.

Thus, so far as inference may be drawn from the extant writings, the legal
teaching in any school during this long period hardly rose above an
uncritical and unenlightened explanation of Roman law somewhat
mediaevalized and deflected from its classic form and substance. There was
also practical instruction in current legal forms and customs. Interest in
the law had not risen above practical needs, nor was capacity shown for
anything above a mechanical handling of the matter. Legal study was on a
level with the other intellectual phenomena of the period.

In an opusculum[377] written shortly after the middle of the eleventh
century, Peter Damiani bears unequivocal, if somewhat hostile, witness to
the study of law at Ravenna; and it is clear that in his time legal
studies were progressing in both France and Italy. It is unsafe to speak
more definitely, because of the difficulty in fixing the time and place of
certain rather famous pieces of legal literature, which show a marked
advance upon the productions to be ascribed with certainty to an earlier
time. The reference is to the _Petri exceptiones_ and the _Brachylogus_.
The critical questions relating to the former are too complex even to
outline here. Both its time and place are in dispute. The ascribed dates
range from the third quarter of the eleventh century to the first quarter
of the twelfth, a matter of importance, since the opening of the twelfth
century is marked by the rise of the Bologna school. As for the place,
some scholars still adhere to the south of France, while others look to
Pavia or Ravenna. On the whole, the weight of argument seems to favour
Italy and a date not far from 1075.[378]

The _Petrus_, as it is familiarly called, is drawn from immediately prior
and still extant compilations. The compiler wished to give a compendious
if not systematic presentation of law as accepted and approved in his
time, that is to say, of Roman law somewhat mediaevalized in tone, and
with certain extraneous elements from the Lombard codes. The ultimate
Roman sources were the Codification of Justinian, and indeed all of it,
_Digest_, _Codex_, and _Novels_, the last in the form to which they had
been brought in Julian’s _Epitome_. The purpose of the compilation is
given in the Prologue,[379] which in substance is as follows:

    “Since for many divers reasons, on account of the great and manifold
    difficulties in the laws, even the Doctors of the laws cannot without
    pains reach a certain opinion, we, taking account of both laws, to
    wit, the _jus civile_ and the _jus naturale_, unfold the solution of
    controversies under plain and patent heads. Whatever is found in the
    laws that is useless, void, or contrary to equity, we trample under
    our feet. Whatever has been added and surely held to, we set forth in
    its integral meaning so that nothing may appear unjust or provocative
    of appeal from thy judgments, Odilo;[380] but all may make for the
    vigour of justice and the praise of God.”

The arrangement of topics in the _Petrus_ hardly evinces any clear design.
The substance, however, is well presented. If there be a question to be
solved, it is plainly stated, and the solution arrived at may be
interesting. For example, a case seems to have arisen where the son of one
who died intestate had seized the whole property to the exclusion of the
children of two deceased daughters. The sons of one daughter acquiesced.
The sons of the other _per placitum et guerram_ forced their uncle to give
up their share. Thereupon the supine cousins demanded to share in what had
so been won. The former contestants resisted on the plea that the latter
had borne no aid in the contest and that they had obtained only their own
portion. The decision was that the supine cousins might claim their
heritage from whoever held it, and should receive their share in what the
successful contestants had won; but that the latter could by
counter-actions compel them to pay their share of the necessary expenses
of the prior contest.[381]

Sometimes the _Petrus_ seems to draw a general rule of law from the
apparent instances of its application in Justinian’s Codification. Therein
certain formalities were prescribed in making a testament, in adopting a
son, or emancipating a slave. The _Petrus_ draws from them the general
principle that where the law prescribes formalities, the transaction is
not valid if they are omitted.[382] In fine, unsystematized as is the
arrangement of topics, the work presents an advance in legal intelligence
over mediaeval law-writings earlier than the middle of the eleventh
century.

If the _Petrus_ was adapted for use in practice, the _Brachylogus_, on the
other hand, was plainly a book of elementary instruction, formed on the
model of Justinian’s _Institutes_. But it made use of his entire
codification, the _Novels_, however, only as condensed in Julian’s
_Epitome_. The influence of the _Breviarium_ is also noticeable; which
might lead one to think that the treatise was written in Orleans or the
neighbourhood, since the _Breviarium_ was not in use in Italy, while the
Codification of Justinian was known in France by the end of the eleventh
century. The beginning of the twelfth is the date usually given to the
_Brachylogus_. It does not belong to the Bologna school of glossators, but
rather immediately precedes them, wherever it was composed.[383]

The _Brachylogus_, as a book of Institutes, compares favourably with its
model, from the language of which it departed at will. Both works are
divided into four _libri_; but the _libri_ of the _Brachylogus_ correspond
better to the logical divisions of the law. Again, frequently the author
of the _Brachylogus_ breaks up the chapters of Justinian’s _Institutes_
and gives the subject-matter under more pertinent headings. Sometimes the
statements of the older work are improved by rearrangement. The
definitions of the _Brachylogus_ are pithy and concise, even to a fault.
Often the exposition is well adapted to the purposes of an elementary
text-book,[384] which was meant to be supplemented by oral instruction. On
the whole, the work shows that the author is no longer encumbered by the
mass or by the advanced character of his sources. He restates their
substance intelligently, and thinks for himself. He is no compiler, and
his work has reached the rank of a treatise.

The merits of the _Brachylogus_ as an elementary text-book are surpassed
by those of the so-called _Summa Codicis Irnerii_, a book which may mark
the beginning of the Bologna school of law, and may even be the
composition of its founder. Many arguments are adduced for this
authorship.[385] The book has otherwise been deemed a production of the
last days of the school of law at Rome just before the school was broken
up by some catastrophe as to which there is little information. In that
case the work would belong to the closing years of the eleventh century,
whereas the authorship of Irnerius would bring it to the beginning of the
twelfth. At all events, its lucid jurisprudential reasoning precludes the
likelihood of an earlier origin.

This _Summa_ is an exposition of Roman law, following the arrangement and
titles of Justinian’s _Codex_, but making extensive use of the _Digest_.
It thus contains Roman jurisprudential law, and may be regarded as a
compendious text-book for law students, forming apparently the basis of a
course of lectures which treated the topics more at length.[386] The
author’s command of his material is admirable, and his presentation
masterly. Whether he was Irnerius or some one else, he was a great
teacher. His work may be also called academic, in that his standpoint is
always that of the Justinianean law, although he limits his exposition to
those topics which had living interest for the twelfth century. Private
substantial law forms the chief matter, but procedure is set forth and
penal law touched upon. The author appreciates the historical development
of the Roman law and the character of its various sources--praetorian law,
_constitutiones principum_, and _responsa prudentium_. He also shows
independence, and a regard for legal reasoning and the demands of justice.
While he sets forth the _jus civile_, his exposition and approval follow
the dictates of the _jus naturale_.

    “The established laws are to be understood benignly, so as to preserve
    their spirit, and prevent their departure from equity; for the Judge
    recognizes ordainments as legitimate when they conform to the
    principles of justice (_ratio equitatis_).... Interpretation is
    sometimes general and imperative, as when the lawgiver declares it:
    then it must be applied not only to the matter for which it is
    announced, but in all like cases. Sometimes an interpretation is
    imperative, but only for the special case, like the interpretation
    which is declared by those adjudicating a cause. It is then to be
    accepted in that cause, but not in like instances; for not by
    precedents, but by the laws are matters to be adjusted. There is
    another kind of interpretation which binds no one, that made by
    teachers explaining an ambiguous law, for although it may be
    admissible because sound, still it compels no one. For every
    interpretation should so be made as not to depart from justice, and
    that all absurdity may be avoided and no door opened to fraud.”[387]

One must suppose that such concise statements were explained and qualified
in the author’s lectures. But even as they stand, they afford an
exposition of Roman principles of interpretation. Not only under the Roman
Empire, but subsequently in mediaeval times, the Roman lawyer or the
canonist did not pay the deference to adjudicated precedent which is felt
by the English or American judge. The passage in the _Codex_ which
“Irnerius” was expounding commands that the judge, in deciding a case,
shall follow the laws and the reasoning of the great jurists, rather than
the decision of a like controversy.

Since the author of this _Summa_ weighs the justice, the reason, and the
convenience of the laws, and compares them with each other, his book is a
work of jurisprudence. Its qualities may be observed in its discussion of
_possession_ and the rights arising therefrom. The writer has just been
expounding the _usucapio_, an institution of the _jus civile_ strictly
speaking, whereby the law of Rome in certain instances protected and,
after three years, perfected, the title to property which one had in good
faith acquired from a vendor who was not the owner:

    “Now we must discuss the _ratio possessionis_. _Usucapio_ in the _jus
    civile_ hinges on possession, and ownership by the _jus naturale_ may
    take its origin in possession. There are many differences in the ways
    of acquiring possession, which must be considered. And since in the
    _constitutiones_ and _responsa prudentium_ divers reasons are adduced
    regarding possession, my associates have begged that I would expound
    this important and obscure subject in which is mingled the _ratio_
    both of the civil and the natural law. So I will do my best. First one
    must consider what possession is, how it is acquired, maintained, or
    lost. Possession (here the author follows Paulus and Labeo in the
    _Digest_) is as when one’s feet are set upon a thing, when body
    naturally rests on body. To acquire possession is to begin to possess.
    Herein one considers both the fact and the right. The fact arises
    through ourselves or our representative. It is understood differently
    as to movables and as to land; for the movable we take in our hand,
    but we take possession of a farm by going upon it with this intent and
    laying hold of a sod. The intent to possess is crucial. Thus a ring
    put in the hand of a sleeper is not possessed for lack of intent on
    his part. You possess naturally when with mind and body (yours or
    another’s who represents you) you hold or sit upon with intent to
    possess. Corporeal things you properly possess, and acquire possession
    of, by your own or your agent’s hand. In the same manner you retain.
    Incorporeal things cannot be possessed properly speaking, but the
    civil law accords a quasi possession of them.”

Then follows a discussion of the persons through whom another may have
possession, and of the various modes of possessing _longa manu_ without
actual touch:

    “It is one thing when the possession begins with you, and another when
    it is transferred to you by a prior possessor: for possession begins
    in three ways, by occupation, accession, and transfer. You occupy the
    thing that belongs to no one. By accession you acquire possession in
    two ways. Thus the increment may be possessed, as the fruit of thy
    handmaid; or the accession consists in the union with a larger thing
    which is yours, as when alluvium is deposited on your land. Again
    possession is transferred to you,”

voluntarily or otherwise. He now discusses the various modes in which
possession is acquired by transfer, then the nature of the _justa_ or
_injusta causa_ with which possession may begin, and the effect on the
rights of the possessor, and then some matters more peculiar to the time
of Justinian. After which he passes to the loss of possession, and
concludes with saying that he has endeavoured to go over the whole
subject, and whatever is omitted or insufficiently treated, he begs that
it be laid to the fault of _humanae imbecillitatis_. The discussion reads
like a carefully drawn outline which his lecture should expand.[388]

The knowledge and understanding of the Roman law in the mediaeval
centuries should be viewed in conjunction with the general progress of
intellectual aptitude during the same periods. The growth of legal
knowledge will then show itself as a part of mediaeval development, as one
phase of the flowering of the mediaeval intellect. For the treatment of
Roman law presents stages essentially analogous to those by which the
Middle Ages reached their understanding and appropriation of other
portions of their great inheritance from classical antiquity and the
Christianity of the Fathers. Let us recapitulate: the Roman law, adapted,
or corrupted if one will, epitomized and known chiefly in its later
enacted forms, was never unapplied nor the study of it quite abandoned. It
constituted a great part of the law of Italy and southern France; in these
two regions likewise was its study least neglected. We have observed the
superficial and mainly linguistic nature of the glosses which this early
mediaeval period interlined or wrote on the margins of the source-books
drawn upon, also the rude and barbarous nature of the earlier summaries
and compilations. They were helps to a crude practical knowledge of the
law. Gradually the treatment seems to become more intelligent, a little
nearer the level of the matter excerpted or made use of. Through the
eleventh century it is evident that social conditions were demanding and
also facilitating an increase in legal knowledge; and at that century’s
close a by no means stupid compilation appears, the _Petri exceptiones_,
and perhaps such a fairly intelligent manual for elementary instruction
as the _Brachylogus_. These works indicate that the instruction in the law
was improving. We have also the sparse references to schools of law, at
Rome, at Ravenna, at Orleans. Then we come upon the _Summa Codicis_ called
of Irnerius, of uncertain _provenance_, like the _Petrus_ and
_Brachylogus_. But there is no need to be informed specifically of its
place and date in order to recognize its advance in legal intelligence, in
veritable jurisprudence. The writer was a master of the law, an adept in
its exposition, and his oral teaching must have been of a high order. With
this book we have unquestionably touched the level of the strong
beginnings of the greatest of mediaeval schools of Roman law.

Its seat was Bologna, one of the chief centres of the civic and commercial
life of Lombardy. The Lombards themselves had shown a persistent legal
genius: their own Teutonic codes, enacted in Italy, had maintained
themselves in that land of Roman law and custom. Lombard codification had
almost reached a jurisprudence of its own, at Pavia, the juridical centre
of Lombardy. The provisions of various codes had been compared and put
together in a sort of _Concordia_, as early as the ninth century.[389]
Possibly the rivalry of Lombard law might stimulate those learned in the
law of Rome to sharper efforts to expound it and prove its superiority.
Moreover, all sides of civic life and culture were flourishing in that
region where novel commercial relations were calling for a corresponding
progress in the law, and especially for a better knowledge of the Roman
law which alone afforded provision for their regulation.

As some long course of human development approaches its climax, the
advance apparently becomes so rapid as to give the impression of something
suddenly happening, a sudden leap upward of the human spirit. The velocity
of the movement seems to quicken as the summit is neared. One easily finds
examples, for instance the fifth century before Christ in Greek art, or
the fourth century in Greek philosophy, or again the excellence so quickly
reached apparently by the Middle High German poetry just about the year
1200. But may not the seeming suddenness of the phenomenon be due to lack
of information as to antecedents? and the flare of the final achievement
even darken what went before? Yet, in fact, as a movement nears its
climax, it may become more rapid. For, as the promoting energies and
favouring conditions meet in conjunction, their joint action becomes more
effective. Forces free themselves from cumbrances and draw aid from one
another. Thus when the gradual growth of intellectual faculty effects a
conjunction with circumstances which offer a fair field, and the prizes of
life as a reward, a rapid increase of power may evince itself in novel and
timely productivity.

This may suggest the manner of the apparently sudden rise of the Bologna
school of Roman law, which, be it noted, took place but a little before
the time of Gratian’s achievement in the Canon law, itself contemporaneous
with the appearance of Peter Lombard’s novel _Books of Sentences_.[390]
The preparation, although obscure, existed; and the school after its
commencement passed onward through stages of development, to its best
accomplishment, and then into a condition of stasis, if not decline.
Irnerius apparently was its first master; and of his life little is known.
He was a native of Bologna. His name as _causidicus_ is attached to a
State paper of the year 1113. Thereafter he appears in the service of the
German emperor Henry V. We have no sure trace of him after 1118, though
there is no reason to suppose that he did not live and labour for some
further years. He had taught the Arts at Ravenna and Bologna before
teaching, or perhaps seriously studying, the law. But his career as a
teacher of the law doubtless began before the year 1113, when he is first
met with as a man of affairs. Accounts agree in ascribing to him the
foundation of the school.

Unless the _Summa Codicis_ already mentioned, and a book of _Quaestiones_,
be really his, his glosses upon Justinian’s _Digest_, _Codex_, and
_Novels_, are all we have of him;[391] of the rest we know by report. The
glosses themselves indicate that this jurist had been a grammarian, and
used the learning of his former profession in his exposition of the law.
His interlinear glosses are explanations of words, and would seem to
represent his earlier, more tentative, work when he was himself learning
the meaning of the law. But the marginal glosses are short expositions of
the passages to which they are attached, and perhaps belong to the time of
his fuller command over the legal material. They indicate, besides, a
critical consideration of the text, and even of the original connection
which the passage in the _Digest_ held in the work of the jurisconsult
from which it had been taken. Some of them show an understanding of the
chronological sequence of the sources of the Roman law, _e.g._ that the
law-making power had existed in the people and then passed to the
emperors. These glosses of Irnerius represent a clear advance in
jurisprudence over any previous legal comment subsequent to the
_Interpretatio_ attached to the _Breviarium_. It was also part of his plan
to equip his manuscripts of the _Codex_ with extracts taken from the text
of the _Novels_, and not from the _Epitome of Julian_. He appears also as
a lawyer versed in the practice of the law. For he wrote a book of forms
for notaries and a treatise on procedure, neither of which is extant.[392]

The accomplishment of the Bologna school may be judged more fully from the
works, still extant, of some of its chief representatives in the
generations following Irnerius. A worthy one was Placentinus, a native of
Piacenza. The year of his birth is unknown, but he died in 1192, after a
presumably full span of life, passed chiefly as a student and teacher of
the law. He taught in Mantua and Montpellier, as well as in Bologna. He
was an accomplished jurist and a lover of the classic literature. His work
entitled _De varietate actionum_ was apparently the first attempt to set
forth the Roman law in an arrangement and form that did not follow the
sources.[393] He opens his treatise with an allegory of a noble dame,
hight Jurisprudentia, within the circle of whose sweet and honied
utterances many eager youths were thronging. Placentinus drew near, and
received from her the book which he now gives to others.[394] This little
allegory savours of the _De consolatione_ of Boëthius, or, if one will, of
Capella’s _De nuptiis Philologiae_.

The most admirable surviving work of Placentinus is his Summa of the
_Codex_ of Justinian. His autobiographical _proemium_ shows him not
lacking in self-esteem, and tells why he undertook the work. He had
thought at first to complete the Summa of Rogerius, an older glossator,
but then decided to put that book to sleep, and compose a full Summa of
the _Codex_ himself, from the beginning to the end. This by the favour of
God he has done; it is the work of his own hands, from head to heel, and
all the matter is his own--not borrowed. Next he wrote for beginners a
Summa of the _Institutes_. After which he returned to his own town, and
shortly proceeded thence to Bologna, whither he had been called. “There in
the citadel (_in castello_) for two years I expounded the laws to
students; I brought the other teachers to the threshold of envy; I emptied
their benches of students. The hidden places of the law I laid open, I
reconciled the conflicts of enactments, I unlocked the secrets most
potently.” His success was great, and he was besought to continue his
course of lectures. He complied, and remained two years more, and then
returned to Montpellier, in order to compose a Summa of the _Digest_.[395]
If indeed Placentinus speaks bombastically of his work, its excellence
excuses him. His well-earned reputation as a jurist and scholar long
endured.

_Quaestiones_, _Distinctiones_, _Libri disputationum_, _Summae_ of the
_Codex_ or the _Institutions_, and other legal writings, are extant in
goodly bulk and number from the Bologna school. The names of the men are
almost legion, and many were of great repute in their day both as jurists
and as men of affairs. We may mention Azo and Accursius, of a little
later time. Azo’s name appears in public documents from the year 1190 to
1220--and he may have survived the latter date by some years. His works
were of such compass and excellence as to supersede those of his
predecessors. His glosses still survive, and his _Lectura_ on the _Codex_,
his _Summae_ of the _Codex_ and the _Institutes_, and his _Quaestiones_,
and _Brocarda_, the last a sort of work stating general legal propositions
and those contradicting them. Azo’s glosses were so complete as to
constitute a continuous exposition of the entire legislation of Justinian.
His _Summae_ of the _Codex_ and _Institutes_ drove those of Placentinus
out of use, which we note with a smile.[396]

None of the glossators is better known than Accursius. He comes before us
as a Florentine, and apparently a peasant’s son. He died an old man rich
and famous, about the year 1260. Azo was his teacher. In 1252 he was
Podesta of Bologna, which indicates the respect in which men held him.
Villani, the Florentine historian, describes him as of martial form,
grave, thoughtful, even melancholy in aspect, as if always meditating; a
man of brilliant talents and extraordinary memory, sober and chaste in
life, but delighting in noble vesture. His hearers drank in the laws of
living from his mien and manners no less than from the dissertations of
his mouth.[397] Late in life he retired to his villa, and there in quiet
worked on his great _Glossa_ till he died.

This famous, perhaps all too famous, _Glossa ordinaria_ was a digest and,
as it proved, a final one, of the glosses of his predecessors and
contemporaries. He drew not only from their glosses, but also on their
_Summae_ and other writings. He added a good deal of his own. Great as was
the feat, the somewhat deadened talent of a compiler shows in the result,
which flattened out the individual labours of so many jurists. It came at
once into general use in the courts and outside of them; for it was a
complete commentary on the Justinianean law, so compendious and convenient
that there was no further need of the glosses of earlier men. This book
marked the turning-point of the Bologna school, after which its
productivity lessened. Its work was done: _Codex_, _Novels_, and above
all the _Pandects_ were rescued from oblivion, and fully expounded, so far
as the matter in them was still of interest. When the labours of the
school had been conveniently heaped together in one huge _Glossa_, there
was no vital inducement to do this work again. The school of the
glossators was _functus officio_. Naturally with the lessening of the
call, productivity diminished. Little was left to do save to gloss the
glosses, an epigonic labour which would not attract men of talent.
Moreover, treating the older glosses, instead of the original text, as the
matter to be interpreted was unfavourable to progress in the understanding
of the latter.

Yet, for a little, the breath of life was still to stir in the school of
the glossators. There was a man of fame, a humanist indeed, named Cino,
whose beautiful tomb still draws the lover of things lovely to Pistoia.
Cino was also a jurist, and it came to him to be the teacher of one whose
name is second to none among the legists of the Middle Ages. This was
Bartolus, born probably in the year 1314 at Sassoferrato in the duchy of
Urbino. He was a scholar, learned in geometry and Hebrew, also a man of
affairs. He taught the law at Pisa and Perugia, and in the last-named town
he died in 1357, not yet forty-four years old. Bartolus wrote and compiled
full commentaries on the entire _Corpus juris civilis_; and yet he
produced no work differing in kind from works of his predecessors.
Moreover, between him and the body of the law rose the great mass of gloss
and comment already in existence, through which he did not always
penetrate to the veritable _Corpus_. Yet his labours were inspired with
the energy of a vigorous nature, and he put fresh thoughts into his
commentaries.[398]

The school of glossators presented the full Roman law to Europe. The
careful and critical interpretation of the text of Justinian’s
Codification, of the _Digest_ above all, was their great service. In
performing it, these jurists also had educated themselves and developed
their own intelligence. They had also put together in Summae the results
of their own education in the law. These works facilitated legal study and
sharpened the faculties of students and professors. Books of Quaestiones,
legal disputations, works upon legal process and formulae, served the same
ends.[399] These men were deficient in historical knowledge. Yet they
compared _Digest_, _Codex_, and _Novels_; they tried to re-establish the
purity of the text; they weighed and they expounded. Theirs was an
intellectual effort to master the jurisprudence of Rome: their labours
constituted a renaissance of jurisprudence; and the fact that they were
often men of affairs as well as professors, kept them from ignoring the
practical bearings of the matters which they taught.

The work of the glossators may be compared with that of the theologian
philosophers of the thirteenth century--Alexander of Hales, Albertus
Magnus, Thomas Aquinas--who were winning for the world a new and
comprehensive knowledge of Aristotle. Both jurists and philosophers, in
their different spheres, carried through a more profound study, and
reached a more comprehensive knowledge, of a great store of antique
thought, than previous mediaeval centuries conceived of. Moreover, the
interpretation of the _Corpus juris_ was quite as successful as the
interpretation of Aristotle. It was in fact surer, because freer from the
deflections of religious motive. No consideration of agreement or
disagreement with Scripture troubled the glossators’ interpretation of the
_Digest_, though indeed they may have been interested in finding support
for whatever political views they held upon the claims of emperor and
pope. But this did not disturb them as much as Aristotle’s opinion that
the universe was eternal, worried Albertus and Aquinas.


IV

The Church, from the time of its first recognition by the Roman Empire,
lived under the Roman law;[400] and the constitutions safeguarding its
authority were large and ample before the Empire fell. Constantine, to be
sure, never dreamed of the famous “Donation of Constantine” forged by a
later time, yet his enactments fairly launched the great mediaeval
Catholic Church upon the career which was to bring it more domination than
was granted in this pseudo-charter of its power. A number of Constantine’s
enactments were preserved by the Theodosian Code, in which the powers and
privileges of Church and clergy were portentously set forth.

The Theodosian Code freed the property of the Church from most fiscal
burdens, and the clergy from taxes, from public and military service, and
from many other obligations which sometimes the Code groups under the head
of _sordida munera_. The Church might receive all manner of bequests, and
it inherited the property of such of its clergy as did not leave near
relatives surviving them. Its property generally was inalienable; and the
clergy were accorded many special safeguards. Slaves might be manumitted
in a church. The church edifices were declared asylums of refuge from
pursuers, a privilege which had passed to the churches from the heathen
fanes and the statues of the emperors. Constitution after constitution was
hurled against the Church’s enemies. The Theodosian Code has one chapter
containing sixty-six constitutions directed against heretics, the combined
result of which was to deprive them, if not of life and property, at least
of protected legal existence.

Of enormous import was the sweeping recognition on the Empire’s part of
the validity of episcopal jurisdiction. No bishop might be summoned before
a secular court as a defendant, or compelled to give testimony. Falsely to
accuse one of the clergy rendered the accuser infamous. All matters
pertaining to religion and church discipline might be brought only before
the bishop’s court, which likewise had plenary jurisdiction over
controversies among the clergy. It was also open to the laity for the
settlement of civil disputes. The command not to go to law before the
heathen came down from Paul (1 Cor. vi.), and together with the severed
and persecuted condition of the early Christian communities, may be
regarded as the far source of the episcopal jurisdiction, which thus
divinely sanctioned tended to extend its arbitrament to all manner of
legal controversies.[401] To be sure, under the Christian Roman Empire
the authority of the Church as well as its privileges rested upon imperial
law. Yet the emperors recognized, rather than actually created, the
ecclesiastical authority. And when the Empire was shattered, there stood
the Church erect amid the downfall of the imperial government, and capable
of supporting itself in the new Teutonic kingdoms.

The constitutions of Christian emperors did not from their own force and
validity become Ecclesiastical or Canon law--the law relating to
Christians as such, and especially to the Church and its functions. The
source of that law was God; the Church was its declarative organ.
Acceptance on the Church’s part was requisite before any secular law could
become a law of the Church.

Canon law may be taken to include theology, or may be limited to the law
of the organization and functions of the Church taken in a large sense as
inclusive of the laity in their relations to the religion of Christ.[402]
Obviously part comes from Christ directly, through the Old Testament as
well as New. The other part, and in bulk far greater, emanates from His
foundation, the Church, under the guidance of His Spirit, and may be added
to and modified by the Church from age to age. It is expressed in custom,
universal and established, and it is found in written form in the works of
the Fathers, in the decrees of Councils, in the decretals of the popes,
and in the concordats and conventions with secular sovereignties. From the
beginning, canon law tacitly or expressly adopted the constitutions of the
Christian emperors relating to the Church, as well as the Roman law
generally, under which the Church lived in its civil relations.

The Church arose within the Roman Empire, and who shall say that its
wonderfully efficient and complete organization at the close of the
patristic period was not the final creation of the legal and constructive
genius of Rome, newly inspired by the spirit of Christianity? But the
centre of interest had been transferred from earth to heaven, and human
aims had been recast by the Gospel and the understanding of it reached by
Christian doctors. Evidently since the ideals of the Church were to be
other than those of the Roman Empire, the law which it accepted or evolved
would have ideals different from those of the Roman law. If the great
Roman jurists created a legal formulation and rendering of justice
adequate for the highly developed social and commercial needs of Roman
citizens, the law of the Church, while it might borrow phrases, rules, and
even general principles, from that system, could not fail to put new
meaning in them. For example, the constant will to render each his due,
which was _justitia_ in the Roman law, might involve different
considerations where the soul’s salvation, and not the just allotment of
the goods of this world, was the law’s chief aim. Again, what new meaning
might attach to the _honeste vivere_ and the _alterum non laedere_ of
pagan legal ethics. _Honeste vivere_ might mean to do no sin imperilling
the soul; _alterum non laedere_ would acquire the meaning of doing nothing
to another which might impede his progress toward salvation. Injuries to a
man in his temporalities were less important.

Further, Christianity although conceived as a religion for all mankind,
was founded on a definite code and revelation. The primary statement was
contained in the canonical books of the Old and New Testaments. These were
for all men, universal in application and of irrefragable validity and
truth. Here was some correspondence to the conception of the _jus gentium_
as representative of universal principles of justice and expediency, and
therefore as equivalent to the _jus naturale_. There was something of
logical necessity in the transference of this conception to the law of
Christ. Says Gratian at the beginning of his _Decretum_: “It is _jus
naturae_ which is contained in the Law and the Gospel, by which every one
is commanded to do to another as he would be done by, and forbidden to
inflict on him what he does not wish to happen to himself.” Since the Law
and the Gospel represent the final law of life for all men, they are _par
excellence_ the _jus naturae_, as well as _lex divina_. Gratian quotes
from Augustine: “Divinum jus in scripturis divinis habemus, humanum in
legibus regum.”[403] And then adds: “By its authority the _jus naturale_
prevails over custom and constitution. Whatever in customs or writings is
contrary to the _jus naturale_ is to be held vain and invalid.” Again he
says more explicitly: “Since therefore nothing is commanded by natural law
other than what God wills to be, and nothing is forbidden except what God
prohibits, and since nothing may be found in the canonical Scripture
except what is in the divine laws, the laws will rest divinely in nature
(_divine leges natura consistent_). It is evident, that whatever is proved
to be contrary to the divine will or canonical Scripture, is likewise
opposed to natural law. Wherefore whatever should give way before divine
will or Scripture or the divine laws, over that ought the _jus naturale_
to prevail. Therefore whatever ecclesiastical or secular constitutions are
contrary to natural law are to be shut out.”[404]

The canon law is a vast sea. Its growth, its age-long agglomerate
accretion, the systematization of its huge contents, have long been
subjects for controversialists and scholars. Its sources were as
multifarious as those of the Roman law. First the Scriptures and the early
quasi-apostolic and pseudo-apostolic writings; then the traditions of
primitive Christianity and also the writings of the Fathers; likewise
ecclesiastical customs, long accepted and legitimate, and finally the two
great written sources, the decretals or decisions of the popes and the
decrees of councils. From patristic times collections were made of the
last. These collections from a chronological gradually acquired a topical
and more systemic arrangement, which the compilers followed more
completely after the opening of the tenth century. The decisions of the
popes also had been collected, and then were joined to conciliar
compilations and arranged after the same topical plan.

In all of them there was unauthentic matter, accepted as if its
pseudo-authorship or pseudo-source were genuine. But in the stormy times
of the ninth century following the death of Charlemagne, the method of
argument through forged authority was exceptionally creative. It produced
two masterpieces which won universal acceptance. The first was a
collection of false Capitularies ascribed to Charlemagne and Louis the
Pious, and ostensibly the work of a certain Benedictus Levita, deacon of
the Church of Mainz, who worked in the middle of the century. Far more
famous and important was the book of _False Decretals_, put together and
largely written, that is forged, about the same time, probably in the
diocese of Rheims, and appearing as the work of Saint Isidore of Seville.
This contained many forged letters of the early popes and other forged
matter, including the Epistle or “Donation” of Constantine; also genuine
papal letters and conciliar decrees. These false collections were accepted
by councils and popes, and formed part of subsequent compilations.

From the tenth century onward many such compilations were made, all of
them uncritical as to the genuineness of the matter taken, and frequently
ill-arranged and discordant. They were destined to be superseded by the
great work in which appears the better methods and more highly trained
intelligence developing at the Bologna School in the first part of the
twelfth century. Its author was Gratianus, a monk of the monastery of St.
Felix at Bologna. He was a younger contemporary of Irnerius and of Peter
Lombard. Legend made him the latter’s brother, with some propriety; for
the compiler of those epoch-making _Sentences_ represents the same stage
in the appropriation of the patristic theological heritage of the Middle
Ages, that Gratian represents in the handling of the canon law. The
Lombard’s _Sentences_ made a systematic and even harmonizing presentation
of the theology of the Fathers in their own language; and the equally
immortal _Decretum_ of Gratian accomplished a like work for the canon law.
This is the name by which his work is known, but not the name he gave it.
That appears to have been _Concordia discordantium canonum_, which
indicates his methodical presentation of his matter and his endeavour to
reconcile conflicting propositions.

The first part of the _Decretum_ was entitled “De jure naturae et
constitutionis.” It presents the sources of the law, the Church’s
organization and administration, the ordination and ranking of the clergy,
the election and consecration of bishops, the authority of legates and
primates. The second part treats of the procedure of ecclesiastical
courts, also the law regulating the property of the Church, the law of
monks and the contract of marriage. The third part is devoted to the
Sacraments and the Liturgy.

Gratian’s usual method is as follows: He will open with an authoritative
proposition. If he finds it universally accepted, it stands as valid. But
if there are opposing statements, he tries to reconcile them, either
pointing out the difference in date (for the law of the Church may be
progressive), or showing that one of the discordant rules had but local or
otherwise limited application, or that the first proposition is the rule,
while the others make the exceptions. If he still fails to establish
concord, he searches to find which rule had been followed in the Roman
Church, and accepts that as authoritative. A rule being thus made certain,
he proceeds with subdivisions and distinctions, treating them as
deductions from the main rule and adjusting the supporting texts. Or he
will suppose a controversy (_causa_) and discuss its main and secondary
issues. Throughout he accompanies his authoritative matter with his own
commentary--commonly cited as the _Dicta Gratiani_.[405] The _Decretum_
was characterized by sagacity of interpretation and reconcilement, by vast
learning, and clear ordering of the matter. Only it was uncritical as to
the genuineness of its materials; and a number of Gratian’s own statements
were subsequently disapproved in papal decretals. The _Dicta Gratiani_
never received such formal sanction by pope or council as the writings of
Roman jurists received by being taken into Justinian’s _Digest_.

The papal decretals had become the great source of canonical law.
Gratian’s work was soon supplemented by various compilations known as
_Appendices ad Decretum_ or _Decretales extravagantes_, to wit, those
which the _Decretum_ did not contain. These, however, were superseded by
the collection, or rather codification, made at the command of the great
canonist Gregory IX. and completed in the year 1234. This authoritative
work preserved Gratian’s _Decretum_ intact, but suppressed, or abridged
and reordered, the decretals contained in subsequent collections. Arranged
in five books, it forms the second part of the _Corpus juris canonici_. In
1298 Boniface VIII. promulgated a supplementary book known as the _Sextus_
of Boniface. This with a new collection promulgated under the authority of
Clement V. in 1313, called the _Clementinae_, and the _Extravagantes_ of
his successor John XXII. and certain other popes, constitute the last
portions of the _Corpus juris canonici_.[406]

According to the law of the Empire the emperor’s authority extended over
the Church, its doctrine, its discipline, and its property. Such authority
was exercised by the emperors from Constantine to Justinian. But the
Church had always stood upon the principle that it was better to obey God
rather than man. This had been maintained against the power of the pagan
Empire, and was not to be sunned out of existence by imperial favour. It
was still better to obey God rather than the emperor. The Church still
should say who were its members and entitled to participate in the
salvation which it mediated. Ecclesiastical authorities could
excommunicate; that was their engine of coercion. These principles were
incarnate in Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, withstanding and prohibiting
Theodosius from Christian fellowship until he had done penance for the
massacre at Thessalonica. Of necessity they inhered in the Church; they
were of the essence of its strength to fulfil its purpose; they stood for
the duly constituted power of Christian resolution to uphold and advance
the peremptory truth of Christ.

So such principles persisted through the time of the hostile and then the
favouring Roman Empire. And when the Empire in fact crumbled and fell,
what _de facto_ and _de jure_ authority was best fitted to take the place
of the imperial supremacy? The Empire represented a universal secular
dominion; the Church was also universal, and with a universality now
reaching out beyond the Empire’s shrinking boundaries. In the midst of
political fragments otherwise disjoined, the Church endured as the
universal unity. The power of each Teutonic king was great in fact and law
within his realm. Yet he was but a local potency, while the Church existed
through his and other realms. And when the power of one Teutonic line (the
Carolingian) reached something like universal sway, the Church was also
there within and without. It held the learning of the time, and the
culture which large-minded seculars respected; and quite as much as the
empire of Charlemagne, it held the prestige of Rome. Witness the attitude
of Charles Martel and Pippin toward Boniface the great apostle, and the
attitude of Boniface toward the Gregories whose legate he proclaimed
himself, and upon whose central authority he based his claims to be
obeyed. Through the reforms of the Frankish Church, carried out by him
with the support of Charles Martel and Pippin, the ecclesiastical
supremacy of Rome was established. Charlemagne, indeed, from the nature
and necessities of his own transcendent power, possessed in fact the
ecclesiastical authority of the Roman emperors, whom men deemed his
predecessors. But after him the secular power fell again into fragments
scarcely locally efficient, while the Church’s universality of authority
endured.

In the unstable fragmentation of secular rule in the ninth century, the
Isidorean _Decretals_ presented the truth of the situation as it was to
be, although not as it had been in the times of the Church dignitaries
whose names were forged for that collection. And thereafter, as the Church
recovered from its tenth-century disintegration, it advanced to the
pragmatic demonstration of the validity of those false _Decretals_, on
through the tempests of the age of Hildebrand to the final triumph of
Innocent III. at the opening of the thirteenth century. Evidently the
canon law, whatever might be its immediate or remote source, drew its
authority from the sanction of the Roman Catholic Church, which enunciated
it and made it into a body corresponding to the Church’s functions. It was
what the Church promulgated as the law of the ecclesiastical hierarchy and
the kingdom of God on earth. It should be the temporal and legal
counterpart of the Church’s spiritual purposes. Its general tendency and
purpose was the promotion of the Church’s saving aim, which regarded all
things in the light of their relationship to life eternal. Therefore the
Church’s law could not but define and consider all worldly interests, all
personal and property rights and secular authority, with constant regard
to men’s need of salvation. The advancement of that must be the final
appellate standard of legal right.

Such was the event. The entire canon law might be lodged within those
propositions which Hildebrand enunciated and Innocent III. realized. For
the salvation of souls, all authority on earth had been entrusted by
Christ to Peter and his successors. Theirs was the spiritual sword;
secular power, the sword material, was to be exercised under the pope’s
mandate and permission. No king or emperor, no layman whatsoever, was
exempt from the supreme authority of the pope, who also was the absolute
head of the Church, which had become a monarchy. “The Lord entrusted to
Peter not only the universal Church, but the government of the whole
world,” writes Innocent III., whose pontificate almost made this principle
a fact. In private matters no member of the clergy could be brought before
a secular court; and the jurisdiction of the ecclesiastical courts over
the laity threatened to reduce the secular jurisdiction to narrow
functions.[407] The property of the Church might not be taxed or levied on
by any temporal ruler or government; nor could the Church’s functions and
authority be controlled or limited by any secular decree. Universally
throughout every kingdom the Church was a sovereignty, not only in matters
spiritual, but with respect to all the personal and material
relationships that might be connected in any way with the welfare of
souls.[408]


V

The exposition of the _Corpus juris civilis_ in the school of the
glossators was of great moment in the evolution of _mediaeval political
theory_, which in its turn yields one more example of the mediaeval
application of thoughts derived from antique and patristic sources.
Political thinking in the Middle Ages sought its surest foundation in
theology; then it built itself up with concepts drawn from the philosophy
and social theory of the antique world; and lastly it laid hold on
jurisprudence, using the substance and reasoning of the Roman and the
Canon law.

Mediaeval ideas upon government and the relations between the individual
and his earthly sovereign, started from theological premises, of patristic
origin: _e.g._ that the universe and man were made by God, a miraculous
creation, springing from no other cause, and subject to no other
fundamental law, than God’s unsearchable will, which never ceases to
direct the whole creation to the Creator’s ends. A further premise was the
Scriptural revelation of God’s purpose as to man, with all the contents of
that revelation touching the overweening importance of man’s deathless
soul.

Unity--the unity of the creation--springs from these premises, or is one
of them. The principle of this unity is God’s will. Within the universal
whole, mankind also constitutes a unit, a community, specially ordained
and ordered. The Middle Ages, following the example of the patristic time,
were delivered over to allegory, and to an unbridled recognition of the
deductions of allegorical reasoning. Mankind was a community. Mankind was
also an organism, the mystical body whereof the head was Christ. Here was
an allegory potent for foolishness or wisdom. It was used to symbolize
the mystery of the oneness of all mankind in God, and the organic
co-ordination of all sorts and conditions of men with one another in the
divine commonwealth on earth; it was also drawn out into every detail of
banal anthropomorphic comparison. From John of Salisbury to Nicholas
Cusanus, Occam and Dante, no point of fancied analogy between the parts
and members of the body and the various functions of Church and State was
left unexploited.[409]

Mankind then is one community; also an organism. But within the human
organism abides the duality of soul and body; and the Community of Mankind
on earth is constituted of two orders, the spiritual and temporal, Church
and State.[410] There must be either co-ordination between State and
Church, body and soul, or subordination of the temporal and material to
the eternal and spiritual. To evoke an adjustment of what was felt to be
an actually universal opposition, was the chief problem of mediaeval
polity, and forms the warp and woof of conflicting theories. The Church
asserted a full spiritual supremacy even in things temporal, and, to
support the claim, brought sound arguments as well as foolish
allegory--allegory pretending to be horror-stricken at the vision of an
animal with two heads, a bicephalic monstrosity. But does not the Church
comprise all mankind? Did not God found it? Is not Christ its head, and
under Him his vicegerent Peter and all the popes? Then shall not the pope
who commands the greater, which is the spiritual, much more command the
less, the temporal? And all the argumentation of the two swords, delivered
to Peter, comes into play. That there are two swords is but a propriety of
administration. Secular rulers wield the secular sword at the pope’s
command. They are instruments of the Church. Fundamentally the State is
an ecclesiastical institution, and the bounds of secular law are set by
the law spiritual: the canon law overrides the laws of every State. True,
in this division, the State also is ordained of God, but only as
subordinate. And divinely ordained though it be, the origin of the State
lies in sin; for sin alone made government and law needful for man.[411]

On the other hand, the partisans of the State upheld co-ordination as the
true principle.[412] The two swords represent distinct powers, Sacerdotium
and Imperium. The latter as well as the former is from God; and the two
are co-ordinates, although of course the Church which wields the spiritual
sword is the higher. This theory creates no bicephalic monster. God is the
universal head. And even as man is body as well as soul, the human
community is State as well as Church; and the State needs the emperor for
its head, as the Church has the pope. The Roman Dominion, _imperium
mundi_, was legitimate, and by divine appointment has passed over to the
Roman-German emperor. Other views sustaining the scheme of co-ordination
upheld a plurality of states, rather than one universal Imperium. Of
course these opposing views of subordination or co-ordination of State and
Church took on every shade of diversity.

As to both Church and State, mediaeval political theory was predominantly
monarchical. Ideally this flowed from the thought of God as the true
monarch of the universe. Practically it comported with mediaeval social
conditions. Under Innocent III., if not under Gregory VII., the Church had
become a monarchy well-nigh absolute.[413] The pope’s power continued
plenary until the great schism and the age of councils evoked by it. For
the secular state, the common voice likewise favoured monarchy. The unity
of the social organism is best effected by the singleness of its head.
Thomas Aquinas authoritatively reasons thus, and Dante maintains that as
the unifying principle is Will, the will of one man is the best means to
realize it.[414] But monarchy is no absolute right existing for the
ruler’s benefit, rather it is an office to be righteously exercised for
the good of the community. The monarch’s power is limited, and if his
command outrages law or right, it is a nullity; his subjects need not
obey, and the principle applies, that it is better to obey God than man.
Even when, as in the days of the Hohenstaufen, the civil jurists claimed
for the emperor the _plenitudo potestatis_ of a Roman Caesar, the opposite
doctrine held strong, which gave him only a limited power, in its nature
conditioned on its rightful exercise.

Moreover, rights of the community were not unrecognized, and indeed were
supported by elaborate theories as the Middle Ages advanced to their
climacteric. The thought of a contract between ruler and people frequently
appears, and reference to the contract made at Hebron between David and
the people of Israel (2 Sam. v. 3). The civil jurist also looked back to
the principle of the _jus gentium_ giving to every free people the right
to choose a ruler; also to that famous text of the _Digest_, where,
through the _lex regia_, the people were said to have conferred their
powers upon the princeps.[415] With such thoughts of the people’s rights
came theories of representation and of the monarch as the people’s
representative; and Roman corporation law supplied the rules for mediaeval
representative assemblies, lay and clerical.[416]

The old Germanic state was a conglomerate of positive law and specific
custom, having no existence beyond the laws, which were its formative
constituents. Such a conception did not satisfy mediaeval publicists,
imbued with antique views of the State’s further aims and potency. Nor
were all men satisfied with the State’s divinely ordered origin in human
sinfulness. An ultimate ground for its existence was sought, commensurate
with its broadest aims. Such was found, not in positive, but in natural
law--again an antique conception. That a veritable natural law existed,
all men agreed; also that its source lay back of human conventions,
somehow in the nature of God. All admitted its absolute supremacy, binding
alike upon popes and secular monarchs, and rendering void all acts and
positive laws contravening it. It must be the State’s ultimate constituent
ground.

God was the source of natural law. Some argued that it proceeded from His
will, as a command, others that its source was eternal Reason announcing
her necessary and unalterable dictates; again its source was held to lie
more definitely in the Reason that was identical with God the _summa ratio
in Deo existens_, as Aquinas puts it. From that springs the _Lex
naturalis_, ordained to rest on the participation of man, as a rational
creature, in the moral order which he perceives by the light of natural
reason. This _lex naturalis_ (or _jus naturale_) is a true promulgated
law, since God implants it for recognition in the minds of men.[417]
Absolute unconditional supremacy was ascribed to it, and also to the _jus
divinum_, which God revealed supernaturally for a supramundane end. A
cognate supremacy was ascribed to the _jus commune gentium_, which was
composed of rules of the _jus naturale_ adapted to the conditions of
fallen human nature.

Such law was above the State, to which, on the other hand, positive law
was subject. Whenever the ruler was conceived as sovereign or absolute, he
likewise was deemed above positive law, but bound by these higher laws.
They were the source and sanction of the innate and indestructible rights
of the individual, to property and liberty and life as they were
formulated at a later period. It is evident how the recognition of such
rights fell in with the Christian revelation of the absolute value of
every individual in and for himself and his immortal life. On the other
hand, certain rights of the State, or the community, were also
indestructible and inalienable by virtue of the nature of their source in
natural law.[418]

This abstract of political theory has been stated in terms generalized to
vagueness, and with no attempt to follow the details or trace the
historical development. The purpose has been to give the general flavour
of mediaeval thought concerning Church and State, and the Individual as a
member of them both. One observes how the patristic and mediaeval
Christian thought mingles with the antique; and one may assume the
intellectual acumen applied by legist, canonist, and scholastic theologian
to the discussion and formulation of these high arguments. The mediaeval
genius for abstractions is evident, and the mediaeval faculty of linking
them to the affairs of life; clear also is the baneful effect of mediaeval
allegory. Even as men now-a-days are disposed to rest in the apparent
reality of the tangible phenomenon, so the mediaeval man just as commonly
sought for his reality in what the phenomenon might be conceived to
symbolize. Therefore in the higher political controversies, even as in
other interests of the human spirit, argument through allegory was
accepted as legitimate, if not convincing; and a proper sequence of
thought was deemed to lie from one symbolical meaning to another, with
even a deeper validity than from one palpable fact to that which followed
from it.



BOOK VII

ULTIMATE INTELLECTUAL INTERESTS OF THE TWELFTH AND THIRTEENTH CENTURIES



CHAPTER XXXIV

SCHOLASTICISM: SPIRIT, SCOPE, AND METHOD


The religious philosophy or theology of the Middle Ages is commonly called
scholasticism, and its exponents are called the scholastics. The name
applies most properly to the respectable academic thinkers. These, in the
early Middle Ages, usually were monks living in monasteries, like St.
Anselm, for instance, who was Abbot of Bec in Normandy before, to his
sorrow, he was made Archbishop of Canterbury. In the thirteenth century,
however, while these respected thinkers still were monks, or rather
mendicant friars, they were also university professors. Albertus Magnus
and St. Thomas Aquinas, the great Dominicans, and their friend St.
Bonaventura, who became the head of the Franciscan Order, all lectured at
the University of Paris, the chief university of the Middle Ages in the
domain of philosophy and theology. Moreover, as the scholastics were
respectable and academic, so they were usually orthodox Churchmen, good
Roman Catholics. The conduct or opinions of some of them, Abaelard for
example, became suspect to the Church authorities; yet Abaelard, although
his book had been condemned, kept within the Church’s pale, and died a
monk of Cluny. There were plenty of obdurate heretics in the Middle Ages;
but their bizarre ideas, sometimes coming down from Manichaean sources,
were scarcely germane to the central lines of mediaeval thought.[419]

One hears of scholastic philosophy and scholastic theology; and assuredly
these mediaeval theologian-philosophers endeavoured to distinguish between
the one and the other phase of the matters which occupied their minds. The
distinction was intelligibly drawn and, in many treatises, doubtless
affected the choice and ordering of topics. Whether it was consistently
observed in the handling of those topics, is another question, which
perhaps should be answered in the negative. At all events, to attempt to
observe this distinction in considering the ultimate intellectual
interests of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, might sap the matter of
the human interest attaching to it, to wit, that interest and validity
possessed by all serious effort to know--and to be saved. These were the
motives of the scholastics, whether they used their reason, or clung to
revelation, or did both, as they always did.

Mediaeval methods of thinking and topics of thought are no longer in
vogue. For the time, men have turned from the discussion of universals and
the common unity or separate individuality of mind, and are as little
concerned with transubstantiation as with the old dispute over
investitures. But the scholastics were men and so are we. Our humanity is
one with theirs. Men are still under the necessity of reflecting upon
their own existence and the world without, and still feel the need to
reach conclusions and the impulse to formulate consistently what seem to
them vital propositions. Herein we are blood kin to Gerbert and Anselm, to
Abaelard and Hugo of St. Victor, to Thomas Aquinas as well as Roger Bacon:
and our highest nature is one with theirs in the intellectual fellowship
of human endeavour to think out and present that which shall appease the
mind. Because of this kinship with the scholastics, and the sympathy which
we feel for the struggle which is the same in us and them, their
intellectual endeavours, their achieved conclusions, although now
appearing as but apt or necessitated phrases, may have for us the immortal
interest of the eternal human.

Let us then approach mediaeval thought as man meets man, and seek in it
for what may still be valid, or at least real to us, because agreeing with
what we find within ourselves. Being men as well as scholars, we would win
from its parchment-covered tomes those elements which if they do not
represent everlasting verities, are at least symbols of the permanent
necessities of the human mind. Whatever else there is in mediaeval
thought, as touching us less nearly, may be considered by way of
historical setting and explanation.

In different men the impulse to know bears different relationships to the
rest of life. It sometimes seems self-impelled, and again palpably
inspired by a motive beyond itself. In some form, however, it winds itself
into every action of our mental faculties, and no province of life appears
untouched by this craving of the mind. Nevertheless to know is not the
whole matter; for with knowledge comes appetition or aversion, admiration
or contempt, love or abhorrence; and other impulses--emotional,
desiderative, loving--impel the human creature to realize its nature in
states of heightened consciousness that are not palpable modes of knowing,
though they may be replete with all the knowledge that the man has gained.

These ultimate cravings which we recognize in ourselves, inspired
mediaeval thought. Its course, its progress, its various phases, its
contents and completed systems, all represent the operation of human
faculty pressing to expression and realization under the accidental or
“historical” conditions of the mediaeval period. We may be sure that many
kinds of human craving and corresponding faculty realized themselves in
mediaeval philosophy, theology, piety and mysticism--the last a word used
provisionally, until we succeed in resolving it into terms of clearer
significance. And we also note that in these provinces, realization is
expression. Every faculty, every energy, in man seeks to function, to
realize its power in act. The sheer body--if there be sheer body--acts
bodily, operates, and so makes actual its powers. But those human energies
which are informed with mind, realize themselves in ardent or rational
thought, or in uttered words, or in products of the artfully devising
hand. All this clearly is expression, and corresponds, if it is not one
and the same, with the passing of energy from potency to the actuality
which is its end and consummation. Thus love, seeking its end, thereby
seeks expression, through which it is enhanced, and in which it is
realized. Likewise, impelled by the desire to know, the faculties of
cognition and reason realize themselves in expression; and in expression
each part of rational knowledge is clarified, completed, rendered
accordant with the data of observation and the laws or necessities of the
mind.

Human faculties form a correlated whole; and this composite human nature
seeks to act, to _function_. Thus the whole man strives to realize the
fullest actuality of his being, and satisfy or express the whole of him,
and not alone his reason, nor yet his emotions, or his appetites. This
uttermost realization of human being--man’s _summum bonum_ or _summa
necessitas_--cannot unite the incompatible within its synthesis. It must
be kept a consistent ideal, a possible whole. Here the demiurge is the
discriminating and constructive intelligence, which builds together the
permanent and valuable elements of being, and excludes whatever cannot
coexist in concord with them. Yet the intelligence does not always set its
own rational activities as man’s furthest goal of realization. It may
place love above reason. And, of course, its discriminating judgment will
be affected by current knowledge and by dominant beliefs as to man and his
destiny, the universe and God.

Manifestly whatever the thoughtful idealizing man in any period (and our
attention may at once focus itself upon the Middle Ages) adjudges to
belong to the final realization of his nature, will become an object of
intellectual interest for him; and he will deem it a proper subject for
study and meditation. The rational, spiritual, or even physical elements,
which may enter and compose this, his _summum bonum_, represent those
intellectual interests which may be termed ultimate, for the very reason,
that they relate to what the thinker deems his beatitude. These ultimate
intellectual interests possess an absolute sanction, for the lack of which
whatever lies outside of them tends to adjudge itself vain.

The philosophy, theology, and the profoundly felt and reasoned piety, of
the twelfth and thirteenth centuries made up that period’s ultimate
intellectual interests. We are not concerned with other matters occupying
its attention, save as they bore on man’s supreme beatitude, which was
held to consist in his everlasting salvation and all that might constitute
his bliss in that unending state. The elements of this blessedness were
not deemed to lie altogether in rational cognition and its processes; for
the conception of the soul’s beatitude was catholic; and while with some
men the intellectual elements were dominant, with others salvation’s
summit was attained along the paths of spiritual emotion.

Obviously, from the side of the emotions, there could come no large and
lasting happiness, unless emotional desire and devotion were directed to
that which might also satisfy the mind, or at all events, would not
conflict with its judgment. Hence the emotional side of the ultimate
mediaeval ideal was pietistic; because the mediaeval dogmatic faith
regarded the emotional impulses between one human being and another as
distracting, if not wicked. Such mortal impulses were so very difficult to
harmonize with the eternal beatitude which consisted in the cognition and
love of God. This principle was proclaimed by monks and theologians, or
philosophers; it was even recognized (although not followed) in the
literature which glorified the love of man and woman, but in which the
lover-knight so often ends a hermit, and the convent at last receives his
sinful mistress. On the other hand, reason, with its practical and
speculative knowledge, is sterile when unmixed with piety and love. This
is the sum of Bonaventura’s fervid arguments, and is as clearly, if more
quietly, recognized by Aquinas, with whom _fides_ without _caritas_ is
_informis_, formless, very far indeed from its true actuality or
realization.

Thus, for the full realization of man’s highest good in everlasting
salvation, the two complementary phases of the human spirit had to act and
function in concord. Together they must realize themselves in such
catholic expression as should exclude only the froward or evil elements,
non-elements rather, of man’s nature. Both represent ultimate mediaeval
interests and desires; and perhaps deep down and very intimately, even
inscrutably, they may be one, even as they clearly are complementary
phases of the human soul. Yet with certain natures who perhaps fail to
hold the balance between them, the two phases seem to draw apart, or, at
least, to evince themselves in distinct expression, and indeed in all men
they are usually distinguishable.

Generally speaking, the conception of man’s divinely mediated salvation,
and of the elements of human being which might be carried on, and realized
in a state of everlasting beatitude, prescribed the range of ultimate
intellectual interests for the Middle Ages. The same had been despotically
true of the patristic period. Augustine would know God and the soul;
Ambrose expressed equally emphatic views upon the vanity of all knowledge
that did not contribute to an understanding of the Christian Faith. This
view was held with temperamental and barbarizing narrowness by Gregory the
Great. It was admitted, as of course, throughout the Carolingian period,
although humanistically-minded men played with the pagan literature. Nor
was it seriously disputed in the eleventh or twelfth century, when men
began to delight in dialectic, and some cared for pagan literature; nor
yet in the thirteenth when an increasing number were asking many things
from philosophy and natural knowledge, which had but distant bearing on
the soul’s salvation. One of these men was Roger Bacon, whose scientific
studies were pursued with ceaseless energy. But he could also state
emphatically the principle of the worthlessness of whatever does not help
men to understand the divine truths by which they are saved. In Bacon’s
time, the love of knowledge was enlarging its compass, while, really or
nominally as the individual case might be, the criterion of relevancy to
the Faith still obtained, and set the topics with which men should occupy
themselves. All matters of philosophy or natural science had to relate
themselves to the _summum bonum_ of salvation in order to possess ultimate
human interest. Therefore, if philosophy was to preserve the strongest
reason for its existence, it had to remain the handmaid of theology.
Still, to be sure, the conception of man’s beatitude would become more
comprehensive with the expansion and variegation of the desire for
knowledge.

As the _summum bonum_ of salvation prescribed the topics of ultimate
intellectual interest for the Middle Ages, so the stress which it laid
upon one topic rather than another tended to direct their ordering or
classification, as well as the proportion of attention devoted to each
one. Likewise the form or method of presentation was controlled by the
authority of the Scriptural statement of the way and means of salvation,
and the well-nigh equally authoritative interpretation of the same by the
beatified Fathers. Thus the nature of the _summum bonum_ and the character
of its Scriptural statement and patristic exposition suggested the
arrangement of topics, and set the method of their treatment in those
works of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries which afford the most
important presentations of the ultimate intellectual interests of that
time. Obvious examples will be Abaelard’s _Sic et non_ and his
_Theologia_, Hugo of St. Victor’s _De sacramentis_, the Lombard’s _Books
of Sentences_, and the _Summa theologiae_ of Thomas Aquinas.

It will be seen in the next chapter that the arrangement of topics in
these comprehensive treatises differed from what would have been evolved
through the requirements of a systematic presentation of human knowledge.
Aquinas sets forth the reasons why one mode of treatment is suitable to
philosophy and another to sacred science, and why the latter may omit
matters proper for the former, or treat them from another point of view.
The supremacy of sacred science is incidentally shown by the argument. In
his _Contra Gentiles_[420] chapter four, book second, bears the title:
“Quod aliter considerat de creaturis Philosophus et aliter Theologus”
(“That the philosopher views the creation in one way and the theologian in
another”). In the text he says:

    “The science (_doctrina_) of Christian faith considers creatures so
    far as there may be in them some likeness of God, and so far as error
    regarding them might lead to error in things divine.... Human
    philosophy considers them after their own kind, and its parts are so
    devised as to correspond with the different classes (_genera_) of
    things; but the faith of Christ considers them, not after their own
    kind, as for example, fire as fire, but as representing the divine
    altitude.... The philosopher considers what belongs to them according
    to their own nature; the believer (_fidelis_) regards in creatures
    only what pertains to them in their relationship to God, as that they
    are created by Him and subject to Him. Wherefore the science of the
    Faith is not to be deemed incomplete, if it passes over many
    properties of things, as the shape of the heaven or the quality of
    motion.... It also follows that the two sciences do not proceed in the
    same order. With philosophy, which regards creatures in themselves,
    and from them draws on into a knowledge of God, the first
    consideration is in regard to the creatures and the last is as to God.
    But in the science of faith, which views creatures only in their
    relationship to God (_in ordine ad Deum_), the first consideration is
    of God, and next of the creatures.”

Obviously _sacra doctrina_, which is to say, _theologia_, proceeds
differently from _philosophia humana_, and evidently it has to do with
matters of ultimate importance, and therefore of ultimate intellectual
interest. The passage quoted from the _Contra Gentiles_ may be taken as
introductory to the more elaborate statement at the beginning of his
_Summa theologiae_, where Thomas sets forth the principles by which _sacra
doctrina_ is distinguished from the _philosophicae disciplinae_, to wit,
the various sciences of human philosophy:

    “It was necessary to human salvation that there should be a science
    (_doctrina_) according with divine revelation, besides the
    philosophical disciplines which are pursued by human reason. Because
    man was formed (_ordinatur_) toward God as toward an end exceeding
    reason’s comprehension. That end should be known to men, who ought to
    regulate their intentions and actions toward an end. Wherefore it was
    necessary for salvation that man should know certain matters through
    revelation, which surpass human reason.”

Thomas now points out that, on account of many errors, it also was
necessary for man to be instructed through divine revelation as to those
saving truths concerning God which human reason was capable of
investigating. He next proceeds to show that _sacra doctrina_ is science.

    “But there are two kinds of sciences. There are those which proceed
    from the principles known by the natural light of the mind, as
    arithmetic and geometry. There are others which proceed from
    principles known by the light of a superior science: as perspective
    proceeds from principles made known through geometry, and music from
    principles known through arithmetic. And _sacra doctrina_ is science
    in this way, because it proceeds from principles known by the light of
    a superior science or knowledge which is the knowledge belonging to
    God and the beatified. Thus as music believes the principles delivered
    to it by arithmetic, so sacred doctrine believes the principles
    revealed to it from God.”

The question then is raised whether _sacra doctrina_ is one science, or
many. And Thomas answers, that it is one, by reason of the unity of its
formal object. For it views everything discussed by it as divinely
revealed; and all things which are subjects of revelation (_revelabilia_)
have part in the formal conception of this science; and so are
comprehended under _sacra doctrina_, as under one science. Nevertheless it
extends to subjects belonging to various departments of knowledge so far
as they are knowable through divine illumination. As some of these may be
practical and some speculative, it follows that sacred science includes
both the practical and the speculative, even as God with the same
knowledge knows himself and also the things He makes.

    “Yet this science is more speculative than practical, because on
    principle it treats of divine things rather than human actions, which
    it treats in so far as man by means of them is directed (_ordinatur_)
    to perfect cognition of God, wherein eternal beatitude consists. This
    science in its speculative as well as practical functions transcends
    other sciences, speculative and practical. One speculative science is
    said to be worthier than another, by reason of its certitude, or the
    dignity of its matter. In both respects this science surpasses other
    speculative sciences, because the others have certitude from the
    natural light of human reason, which may err; but this has certitude
    from the light of the divine knowledge, which cannot be deceived;
    likewise by reason of the dignity of its matter, because primarily it
    relates to matters too high for reason, while other sciences consider
    only those which are subjected to reason. It is worthier than the
    practical sciences, which are ordained for an ulterior end; for so far
    as this science is practical, its end is eternal beatitude, unto which
    as an ulterior end all other ends of the practical sciences are
    ordained (_ordinantur_).

    “Moreover although this science may accept something from the
    philosophical sciences, it requires them merely for the larger
    manifestation of the matters which it teaches. For it takes its
    principles, not from other sciences, but immediately from God through
    revelation. So it does not receive from them as from superiors, but
    uses them as servants. Even so, it uses them not because of any defect
    of its own, but because of the defectiveness of our intellect which is
    more easily conducted (_manuducitur_) by natural reason to the things
    above reason which this science teaches.”

Thomas now shows, with scholastic formalism, that God is the _subjectum_
of this science; since all things in it are treated with reference to God
(_sub ratione Dei_), either because they are God himself, or because they
bear relationship (_habent ordinem_) to God as toward their cause and end
(_principium et finem_). The final question is whether this science be
_argumentativa_, using arguments and proofs; and Thomas thus sets forth
his masterly solution:

    “I reply, it should be said that as other sciences do not prove their
    first principles, but argue from them in order to prove other matters,
    so this science does not argue to prove its principles, which are
    articles of Faith, but proceeds from them to prove something else, as
    the Apostle, in 1 Corinthians xv., argues from the resurrection of
    Christ to prove the resurrection of us all. One should bear in mind
    that in the philosophic sciences the lower science neither proves its
    own first principles nor disputes with him who denies them, but leaves
    that to a higher science. But the science which is the highest among
    them, that is metaphysics, does dispute with him who denies its
    principles, if the adversary will concede anything; if he concede
    nothing it cannot thus argue with him, but can only overthrow his
    arguments. Likewise _sacra Scriptura_ (or _doctrina_ or sacred
    science, theology), since it owns no higher science, disputes with him
    who denies its principles, by argument indeed, if the adversary will
    concede any of the matters which it accepts through revelation. Thus
    through Scriptural authorities we dispute against heretics, and adduce
    one article against those who deny another. But if the adversary will
    give credence to nothing which is divinely revealed, sacred science
    has no arguments by which to prove to him the articles of faith, but
    has only arguments to refute his reasonings against the Faith, should
    he adduce any. For since faith rests on infallible truth, its contrary
    cannot be demonstrated: manifestly the proofs which are brought
    against it are not proofs, but controvertible arguments.

    “To argue from authority is most appropriate to this science; for its
    principles rest on revelation, and it is proper to credit the
    authority of those to whom the revelation was made. Nor does this
    derogate from the dignity of this science; for although proof from
    authority based on human reason may be weak, yet proof from authority
    based on divine revelation is most effective.

    “Yet sacred science also makes use of human reason; not indeed to
    prove the Faith, because this would take away the merit of believing;
    but to make manifest other things which may be treated in this
    science. For since grace does not annul nature, but perfects it,
    natural reason should serve faith, even as the natural inclination
    conforms itself to love (_caritas_). Hence sacred science uses the
    philosophers also as authority, where they were able to know the truth
    through natural reason. It uses authorities of this kind as extraneous
    arguments having probability. But it uses the authorities of the
    canonical Scriptures arguing from its own premises and with certainty.
    And it uses the authorities of other doctors of the Church, as arguing
    upon its own ground, yet only with probability. For our faith rests
    upon the revelation made to the Apostles and Prophets, who wrote the
    canonical books; and not upon the revelation, if there was any, made
    to other doctors.”[421]

Mediaeval thought was beset behind and before by the compulsion of its
conditions. Its mighty antecedents lived in it, and wrought as moulding
forces. Well we know them, two in number, the one, of course, the antique
philosophy; the other, again of course, the dogmatic Christian Faith,
itself shot through and through with antique metaphysics, in the terms of
which it had been formulated. These two, very dual and yet joined,
antagonistic and again united, constituted the form-giving principles of
mediaeval thinking. They were, speaking in scholastic phrase, the
substantial as well as accidental forms of mediaeval theology, philosophy,
and knowledge. Which means that they set the lines of mediaeval theology
or philosophy, and caused the one and the other to be what it became,
rather than something else; and also that they supplied the knowledge
which mediaeval men laboured to acquire, and attempted to adjust their
thinking to. Thus, through the twelfth, the thirteenth, and the fourteenth
centuries, they remained the inworking formal causes of mediaeval thought;
while, on the other hand, the moving and efficient causes (still speaking
in scholastic-Aristotelian phrase) were the human impulses which those
formal causes moulded, or indeed suggested, and the faculties which they
trained.

The patristic system of dogma with the antique philosophy, set the forms
of mediaeval expression, fixed the distinctive qualities of mediaeval
thought, furnished its topics, and even necessitated its problems--in two
ways: First, through the specific substance which passed over and filled
the mediaeval productions; and secondly, simply by reason of the existence
of such a vast authoritative body of antique and patristic opinion,
knowledge, dogma, which the Middle Ages had to accept and master, and
beyond which the substance of mediaeval thinking was hardly destined to
advance.

The first way is obvious enough, inasmuch as patristic and antique matter
palpably make the substance of mediaeval theology and philosophy. The
second is less obvious, but equally important. This mass of dogma,
knowledge, and opinion, existed finished and complete. Men imperfectly
equipped to comprehend it were brought to it by the conviction that it was
necessary to their salvation, and then gradually by the persuasion also
that it offered the only means of intellectual progress. The struggle to
master such a volume of knowledge issuing from a more creative past, gave
rise to novel problems, or promoted old ones to a novel prominence. The
problem of universals was taken directly from the antique dialectic. It
played a monstrous rôle in the twelfth century because it was in very
essence a fundamental problem of cognition, of knowing, and so pressed
upon men who were driven by the need to master continually unfolding
continents of thought.[422] This is an instance of a problem transmitted
from the past, but blown up to extraordinary importance by mediaeval
intellectual conditions. So throughout the whole scholastic range,
attitude and method alike are fixed by the fact that scholasticism was
primarily an appropriation of transmitted propositions.

In considering the characteristics of mediaeval thought, it is well to
bear in mind these diverse ways in which its antecedents made it what it
was: through their substance transmitted to it; through the receptive
attitude forced upon men by existing accumulations of authoritative
doctrine, and the method entailed upon mediaeval thought by its scholastic
rather than originative character. Also one will not omit to notice which
elements came from the action of the patristic body of antecedents, rather
than from the antique group, and _vice versa_.

Since the antique and patristic constituted well-nigh the whole substance
of philosophy and theology in the Middle Ages, a separate consideration of
what was thus transmitted would amount to a history of mediaeval thought
from a somewhat unilluminating point of view. On the other hand, one may
learn much as to the qualities of mediaeval thought from observing the
attitudes of various men in successive centuries toward Greek philosophy
and patristic theology. The Fathers had used the concepts of the former in
the construction of their systems of acceptance of the Christian Faith.
But the spirit of inquiry from which Greek philosophy had sprung, was very
different from the spirit in which the Fathers used its concepts and
arguments, in order to substantiate what they accepted on the authority of
Scripture and tradition. It is true that Greek philosophy in the
Neo-Platonism of Porphyry and Iamblicus was not far from the patristic
attitude toward knowledge. But the spirit of these declining moods of
Neo-Platonism was not the spirit which had carried the philosophy of the
Greeks to its intellectual culmination in Plato and Aristotle, and to
its attainment of the ethically rational in Stoicism and the system of
Epicurus.

Thus patristic thinking was essentially different in purpose and method
from the philosophy which it forced to serve its uses; and the two
differed by every difference of method, spirit, and intent which were
destined to appear among the various kinds of mediaeval thinkers. But the
difference between Greek philosopher and Church Father was deeper than any
that ever could exist among mediaeval men. Some of the last might be
conventionally orthodox and passionately pious, while others cared more
distinctly for the fruits of knowledge. But even these could not be as
Greek philosophers, because they were accustomed to rely on authority, and
because they who drew their knowledge from an existing store would not
have the independence and originality distinguishing the Greeks, who had
created so much of that store from which they drew.[423] Moreover, while
neither Plato’s inquiry for truth, nor Aristotle’s catholic search for
knowledge, was isolated from its bearing on either the conduct or the
event of life, nevertheless with them rational inquiry was a final motive
representing in itself that which was most divinely human, and so the best
for man.[424] But with the philosophers of the Middle Ages, it never was
quite so. For the need of salvation had worked in men’s blood for
generations. And salvation, man’s highest good, did not consist in
humanly-attained knowledge or in virtue won by human strength; but was
divinely mediated and had to be accepted upon authority. Hence, even in
the great twelfth and thirteenth centuries, intellectual inquiry was never
unlimbered from bands of deference, nor ever quite dispassionately
rational or unaffected by the mortal need to attain a salvation which was
bestowed or withheld by God according to His plan authoritatively
declared.

Accordingly all mediaeval variances of thought show common similitudes: to
wit, some consciousness of need of super-rational and superhuman
salvation; deference to some authority; and finally a pervasive
scholasticism, since mediaeval thought was of necessity diligent,
acceptant, reflective, rather than original. One will be impressed with
the formal character of mediaeval thought. For being thus scholastic, it
was occupied with devising forms through which to express, or re-express,
the mass of knowledge proffered to it. Besides, formal logic was a
prominent part of the transmitted contents of antique philosophy; and
became a chief discipline for mediaeval students; because they accepted it
along with all the rest, and found its training helpful for men burdened
with such intellectual tasks as theirs.

Within the lines of these universal qualities wind the divergencies of
mediaeval thought; and one will notice how they consist in leanings toward
the ways of Greek philosophy, or a reliance more or less complete upon the
contents and method of patristic theology. One common quality, of which we
note the variations, is that of deference to the authority of the past.
The mediaeval scholar could hardly read a classic poet without finding
authoritative statements upon every topic brushed by the poet’s fancy, and
of course the matter of more serious writings, history, logic, natural
science, was implicitly accepted. If the pagan learning was thus regarded,
how much more absolute was the deference to sacred doctrine. Here all was
authority. Scripture was the primary source; next came the creed, and the
dogmas established by councils; and then the expositions of the Fathers.
Thus the meaning of the authoritative Scripture was pressed into
authoritative dogma, and then authoritatively systematized. The process
had been intellectual and rational, yet with the driven rationality of
Church Fathers struggling to formulate and express the accepted import of
the Faith delivered to the saints. Authority, faith, held the primacy, and
in two senses, for not only was it supreme and final, but it was also
prior in initiative efficiency. Tertullian’s _certum est, quia impossibile
est_, was an extreme paradox. But Augustine’s _credimus ut cognoscamus_
was fundamental, and remained unshaken. Anselm lays it at the basis of his
arguments; with Bernard and many others it is _credo_ first of all, let
the _intelligere_ come as it may, and as it will according to the fulness
of our faith. The same principle of faith’s efficient primacy is
temperamentally as well as logically fundamental with Bonaventura.

Here then was a first general quality of mediaeval thought: deference to
authority. Now for the variances. Scarcely diverging, save in emphasis,
from Augustine and Bonaventura, are the greatest of the schoolmen, Albert
and Thomas. They defer to authority and recognize the primacy of faith,
and yet they will, with abundant use of reason, deliminate the respective
provinces of grace and human knowledge, and distinguish the absolute
authority of Scripture from the statements even of the saints, which may
be weighed and criticized. In secular philosophy, these two will, when
their faith admits, accept the views of the philosophers--Aristotle above
all--yet using their own reason. They are profoundly interested in
knowledge and metaphysical dialectic, but follow it with deferential
tempers and believing Christian souls.

Outside the company of such, are men of more independent temper, whose
attitude tends to weaken the principle of acceptance of authority in
sacred doctrine. The first of these was Eriugena with his explicit
statement that reason is greater than authority; yet we may assume that he
was not intending to impugn Scripture. Centuries later another chief
example is Abaelard, whose dialectic temper leads him to wish to prove
everything by reason. Not that he stated, or would have admitted this; yet
the extreme rationalizing tendency of the man is projected through such a
passage as the following from his _Historia calamitatum_, where he alludes
to the circumstances of the composition of his work upon the Trinity. He
had become a monk in the monastery of St. Denis, but students were still
thronging to hear him, to the wrath of some of his superiors.

    “Then it came about that I was brought to expound the very foundation
    of our faith by applying the analogies of human reason, and was led to
    compose for my pupils a theological treatise on the divine Unity and
    Trinity. They were calling for human and philosophical arguments, and
    insisting upon something intelligible, rather than mere words, saying
    that there had been more than enough of talk which the mind could not
    follow; that it was impossible to believe what was not understood in
    the first place; and that it was ridiculous for any one to set forth
    to others what neither he nor they could rationally conceive
    (_intellectu capere_).”

And Abaelard cites the verse from Matthew about the blind leaders of the
blind, and goes on to tell of the success of his treatise, which pleased
everybody, yet provoked the greater envy because of the difficulty of the
questions which it elucidated; and at last envy blew up the condemnation
of his book, at the Council of Soissons, in the year of grace 1121.[425]

Here one has the plain reversal. We must first understand in order to
believe. Doubtless the demands of Abaelard’s students to have the
principles of the Christian Faith explained, that they might be understood
and accepted rationally, echoed the master’s imperative intellectual need.
Not that Abaelard would breathe the faintest doubt of these verities; they
were absolute and unquestionable. He accepted them upon authority just as
implicitly (he might think) as St. Bernard. Herein he shows the mediaeval
quality of deference. But he will understand with his mind the profoundest
truths enunciated by authority; he will explain them rationally, that the
mind may rationally comprehend them.

Men of an opposite cast of mind foresaw the outcome of this
rationalization of dogma more surely than the subtle dialectician for whom
this process was both peremptory and proper. And the Church acted with a
true instinct in condemning Abaelard in spite of his protestations of
belief, just as with a like true instinct Friar Bacon’s own Franciscan
Order looked askance on one whose mind was suspiciously set upon
observation and experiment--and cavilling at others. _Celui-ci tuera
cela!_ The ultra-scientific spirit is dangerous to faith--and Bacon’s
asseverations that no knowledge was of value save as it helped the soul’s
salvation, was doubtless regarded as a conventional insincerity. Yet Roger
Bacon had his mediaeval deferences, as will appear.[426]

Neither one extreme view nor the other was to represent the attitude of
thoughtful and believing Christendom; not William of St. Thierry and St
Bernard, nor yet (on these points) Abaelard and Friar Bacon should
prevail; but the all-balancing and all-considering Aquinas. He will draw
the lines between faith and reason, and bulwark them with arguments which
shall seem to render unto reason the things of reason, and unto faith its
due. Yet it is actually Roger Bacon who accuses Thomas of making his
_Theology_ out of dialectic and very human reasonings. It was true; and we
are again reminded how variant views shaded into each other in the Middle
Ages, and all within certain lines of similarity. Practically all
mediaeval thinkers defer to authority--more or less; and all hold to some
principle of faith, to the necessity of _believing_ something, for the
soul’s salvation. There is likewise some similarity in their attitudes
toward intellectual interests. For all recognized their propriety, and
gave credit to the human desire to know. Likewise all saw that salvation,
the _summum bonum_ for man, included more than intellection; and felt that
it held some consummation of other human impulses; that it held love--the
love of God along with the intellectual ardour of contemplation; and
well-nigh all recognized also that the faith held mystery, not to be
solved by reason. Thus all were rational--some more, some less; and all
were devotional and believing, pietistic, ardent--some more, some less;
according as the intellectual nature dominated over the emotional, or the
emotions quelled the conscious exercise of reason, yet reached out and
upward from what knowledge and reason had given as a base to spring from.

Thus the mediaeval spirit, variant within its lines of likeness; and of a
piece with it was the field it worked in, which made its range and scope.
Here as well, a saving knowledge of God and the soul was central and chief
among all intellectual interests. None denied this. Augustine, the
universal prototype of the mediaeval mind, had cried, “God and the soul,
these will I know, and these are all.” But wide had been the scope of
_his_ knowledge of God and the soul; and in the centuries which hung upon
his words, wide also was the range of knowledge subsumed under those
capitals. How would one know God and the soul? Might one not know God in
all His universe, in the height and breadth thereof, and backwards and
forwards through the reach of time? Might not one also know the soul in
all its operations, all its queries and desires; would not it and they,
and their activities, make up the complementary side of
knowledge--complementary to the primal object, God, known in His eternity,
in His temporal creation, in His everlasting governance? Wide or narrow
might be the intellectual interests included within a knowledge of God and
the soul. And while many men kept close to the centre and saving _nexus_
of these potentially universal themes, others might become absorbed with
data of the creature-world, or with the manifold actions of the mind of
man, so as to forget to keep all duly ordered and connected with the
central thought.

So the search for knowledge might roam afield. Likewise as to its motive;
practically with many men it was, in itself, a joy and end; although they
might continue to connect this end formally with the salvation of the
soul. Roger Bacon of a surety was such a one. Another was Albertus Magnus.
The laborious culling of twenty tomes of universal knowledge surely had
the joy of knowing as the active motive. And Aquinas too; no one could be
such an acquisitive and reasoning genius, without the love of knowledge in
his soul. Yet Thomas never let this love point untrue to its goal of
research and devotion, to wit, sacred doctrine, theology, the Christian
Faith in its very widest compass, yet in its unity of saving purpose.

In Thomas Aquinas the certitude of faith, the sense of grace, the ardour
of love, never quenched the conscious action of the reasoning and knowing
mind; nor did reasoning quench devotion. A balance too, though perhaps
with one scale higher than the other, was kept by Bonaventura, whose mind
had reason’s faculty, but whose heart burned perpetually toward God.
Another rationally ardent soul was Bonaventura’s intellectual forerunner,
Hugo of St. Victor. In these men intellect did not outstrip the fervours
of contemplation. But such catholic balance did not hold with Abaelard and
Bacon, who lacked the pietistic temperament. With others, conversely, the
strength of the pietistic and emotional nature overbore the intellect;
the mind was less exacting; and devotional ardour used reason solely for
its purposes. The mightiest of these were Bernard and Francis. To the same
key might chime the woman, St. Hildegard of Bingen. We narrow down from
these to hectic souls content with a few thoughts which serve as a basis
for the heart’s fervours.

The varying attitudes of mediaeval thinkers toward reason and authority,
and even their different views upon the limits of the field of salutary
knowledge, are exemplified in their methods, or rather in the variations
of their common method. Here the factors were again authority and the
intellect which considers the authority, and in terms of its own rational
processes reacts upon the proposition under view. The intellect might
simply accept authority; or, on the other hand, it might, through
dialectic, seek a conclusion of its own. But midway between a mere
acceptance of authority, and the endeavour of dialectic for a conclusion
of its own, there is the reasoning process which perceives divergence
among authorities, compares, discriminates, interprets, and at last acts
as umpire. This was the combined and catholic scholastic method. It
contained the two factors of its necessary duality; and its variations
(besides the gradual perfecting of its form from one generation to
another) consisted in the predominant employment of one factor or the
other.

The beginning was in the Carolingian time, when Rabanus compiled his
authorities from sources sacred and profane, scarcely discriminating
except to maintain the pre-eminence of the sacred matter. His younger
contemporary, Eriugena, was a translator of his own chief source,
Pseudo-Dionysius, him of the _Hierarchies_, Celestial and Ecclesiastical.
Yet he composed also a veritable book, _De divisione naturae_, in which he
put his matter together organically and with argument. And while
professing to hold to the authority of Scripture and the Fathers, he not
only took upon himself to select from their statements, but propounded the
proposition that the authority which is not confirmed by reason appears
weak. Eriugena made his authorities yield him what his reason required.
His argumentative method became an independent rehandling of matter drawn
from them. It was very different from the plodding excerpt-gathering of
Rabanus.

We pass down the centuries to Anselm. Contemplative and religious, his
reverence for authority was unimpaired by any conscious need to refashion
its meaning. Though he possessed creative intellectual powers, they were
incited and controlled by his deep piety. Hence his works were constructed
of original and lofty arguments, but such as did not infringe upon either
the efficient or the final priority of faith.

With Abaelard of many-sided fame the duality of method becomes explicit,
and is, if one may say so, set by the ears. On the one hand, he advances
in his constructive theological treatises toward a portentous application
of reason to explain the contents of the Christian Faith; on the other,
somewhat sardonically, he devises a scheme for the employment and
presentation of authorities upon these sacred matters, a scheme so
obviously apt that once made known it could not but be followed and
perfected.

The divers works of a man are likely to bear some relation and resemblance
to each other. Abaelard was a reasoner, more specifically speaking, a
dialectician according to the ways of Aristotelian logic. And in
categories of formal logic he sought to rationalize every matter
apprehended by his mind. Swayed by the master-interest of the time, he
turned to theology; and his own nature impelled him to apply a
constructive dialectic to its systematic formulation. The result is
exemplified in the extant portion of his _Theologia_ (mis-called
_Introductio ad Theologiam_), which was condemned by the Council of Sens
in 1141, the year before the master’s death. The spirit of this work
appears in the passage already quoted from the _Historia calamitatum_,
referring to what was substantially an earlier form of the
_Theologia_.[427] The _Theologia_ argues for a free use of dialectic in
expounding dogma, especially in order to refute those heretics who will
not listen to authority, but demand reasons. Like Abaelard’s previous
theological treatises, it is filled with citations of authority,
principally Augustine; and the reader feels the author’s hesitancy to
reveal that dialectic is the architect. Nor, in fact, is the work an
exclusively dialectic structure; yet it illustrates (if it does not always
inculcate) the application of the arguments of human reason to the
exposition and substantiation of the fundamental and most deeply hidden
contents of the Christian Faith. Obviously Abaelard was not an initiator
here. Augustine had devoted his life to fortifying the Faith with argument
and explanation; Eriugena, with a far weaker realization of its contents,
had employed a more distorting metaphysics in its presentation; and
saintly Anselm had flown his veritable eagle flights of reason. But
Abaelard’s more systematic work represents a further stage in the
application of independent dialectic to dogma, and an innovating freedom
in the citation of pagan philosophers to demonstrate its philosophic
reasonableness. Nevertheless his statement that he had gathered these
citations from writings of the Fathers, and not from the books of the
philosophers (_quorum pauca novi_),[428] shows that he was only using what
the Fathers had made use of before him, and also indicates the slightness
of his independent knowledge of Greek philosophy.

On the other hand, Abaelard’s way of presenting authorities for and
against a theological proposition was more distinctly original. He seems
to have been the first purposefully to systematize the method of stating
the problem, and then giving in order the authorities on one side and the
other--_sic et non_; as he entitled his famous work. But the trail of his
nature lay through this apparently innocent composition, the evident
intent of which was to emphasize, if not exaggerate, the opposition among
the patristic authorities, and without a counterbalancing attempt to show
any substantial accord among them. This, of course, is not stated in the
Prologue, which however, like everything that Abaelard wrote, discloses
his fatal facility of putting his hand on the raw spot in the matter;
which unfortunately is likely to be the vulnerable point also. In it he
remarks on the difficulty of interpreting Scripture, upon the corruption
of the text (a perilous subject), and the introduction of apocryphal
writings. There are discrepancies even in the sacred texts, and
contradictions in the writings of the Fathers. With a profuse backing of
authority he shows that the latter are not to be read _cum credendi
necessitate_, but _cum judicandi libertate_. Assuredly, as to anything in
the canonical Scriptures, “it is not permitted to say: ‘The Author of this
book did not hold the truth’; but rather ‘the codex is false or the
interpreter errs, or thou dost not understand.’ But in the works of the
later ones (_posteriorum_, Abaelard’s inclusive designation of the
Fathers), which are contained in books without number, if passages are
deemed to depart from the truth, the reader is at liberty to approve or
disapprove.”

This view was supported by Abaelard’s citations from the Fathers
themselves; and yet, so abruptly made, it was not a pleasant statement for
the ears of those to whom the writings of the holy Fathers were sacred.
Nothing was sacred to the man who wrote this prologue--so it seemed to his
pious contemporaries. And who among them could approve of the Prologue’s
final utterance upon the method and purpose of the book?

    “Wherefore we decided to collect the diverse statements of the holy
    Fathers, as they might occur to our memory, thus raising an issue from
    their apparent repugnancy, which might incite the _teneros lectores_
    to search out the truth of the matter, and render them the sharper for
    the investigation. For the first key to wisdom is called
    interrogation, diligent and unceasing.... By doubting we are led to
    inquiry; and from inquiry we perceive the truth.”

To use the discordant statements of the Fathers to sharpen the wits of the
young! Was not that to uncover their shame? And the character of the work
did not salve the Prologue’s sting. Abaelard selected and arranged his
extracts from pagan as well as Christian writers, and prepared sardonic
titles for the questions under which he ordered his material. Time and
again these titles flaunt an opposition which the citations scarcely bear
out. For example, title iv.: “Quod sit credendum in Deum solum, et
contra”--certainly a flaming point; yet the excerpts display merely the
verb _credere_, used in the palpably different senses borne by the word
“believe.” There is no real repugnancy among the citations. And again, in
title lviii.: “Quod Adam salvatus sit, et contra”--there is no citation
_contra_. And the longest chapter in the book (cxvii.) has this bristling
title: “De sacramento altaris, quod sit essentialiter ipsa veritas carnis
Christi et sanguinis, et contra.”

Because of such prickly traits the _Sic et non_ did not itself come into
common use. But the suggestions of its method once made, were of too
obvious utility to be abandoned. First, among Abaelard’s own pupils the
result appears in _Books of Sentences_, which, in the arrangement of their
matter, followed the topical division not of the _Sic et non_, but of
Abaelard’s _Theologia_, with its threefold division of Theology into
_Fides_, _Caritas_, and _Sacramentum_.[429] But the arrangement of the
_Theologia_ was not made use of in the best and most famous of these
compositions, Peter Lombard’s _Sententiarum libri quatuor_. This work
employed the method (not the arrangement) of the _Sic et non_, and
expounded the contents of Faith methodically, “Distinctio” after
“Distinctio,” stating the proposition, citing the authorities bearing upon
it, and ending with some conciliating or distinguishing statement of the
true result. In canon law the same method was applied in Gratian’s
_Decretum_, of which the proper name was _Concordia discordantium
canonum_.

These _Books of Sentences_ have sometimes been called _Summae_, inasmuch
as their scope embraced the entire contents of the Faith. But the term
_Summa_ may properly be confined to those larger and still more
encyclopaedic compositions in which this scholastic method reached its
final development. The chief makers of these, the veritable _Summae
theologiae_, were, in order of time, Alexander of Hales, Albertus Magnus,
and Thomas Aquinas. The _Books of Sentences_ were books of sentences. The
_Summa_ proceeded by the same method, or rather issued from it, as its
consummation and perfect logical form; thus the scholastic method arrived
at its highest constructive energy. In the _Sentences_ one excerpted
opinion was given and another possibly divergent, and at the end an
adjustment was presented. This comparative formlessness attains in the
_Summa_ a serried syllogistic structure. Thomas, who finally perfects it,
presents his connected and successive topics divided into _quaestiones_,
which are subdivided into _articuli_, whose titles give the point to be
discussed. He states first, and frequently in his own syllogistic terms,
the successive negative arguments; and then the counter-proposition, which
usually is a citation from Scripture or from Augustine. Then with clear
logic he constructs the true positive conclusion in accordance with the
authority which he has last adduced. He then refutes each of the adverse
arguments in turn.

Thus the method of the _Sentences_ is rendered dialectically organic; and
with the perfecting of the form of _quaestio_ and _articulus_, and the
logical linking of successive topics, the whole composition, from a
congeries, becomes a structure, organic likewise, a veritable _Summa_, and
a _Summa_ of a science which has unity and consistency. This science is
_sacra doctrina, theologia_. Moreover, as compared with the _Sentences_,
the contents of the _Summa_ are enormously enlarged. For between the time
of the Lombard and that of Thomas, there has come the whole of Aristotle,
and what is more, the mastery of the whole of Aristotle, which Thomas
incorporates in a complete and organic statement of the Christian scheme
of salvation.[430]



CHAPTER XXXV

CLASSIFICATION OF TOPICS; STAGES OF EVOLUTION

     I. PHILOSOPHIC CLASSIFICATION OF THE SCIENCES; THE ARRANGEMENT OF
        VINCENT’S ENCYCLOPAEDIA, OF THE LOMBARD’S _SENTENCES_, OF
        AQUINAS’S _SUMMA THEOLOGIAE_.

    II. THE STAGES OF DEVELOPMENT: GRAMMAR, LOGIC, METALOGICS.


I

Having considered the spirit, the field, and the dual method, of mediaeval
thought, there remain its classifications of topics. The problem of
classification presented itself to Gerbert as one involved in the rational
study of the ancient material.[431] But as scholasticism culminated in the
twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the problem became one of arrangement
and presentation of the mass of knowledge and argument which the Middle
Ages had at length made their own, and were prepared to re-express. This
ordering was influenced by a twofold principle of classification; for, as
abundantly shown by Aquinas,[432] theology in which all is ordered with
reference to God, will properly follow an arrangement of topics quite
unsuitable to the natural or human sciences, which treat of things with
respect to themselves. But the mediaeval practice was more confused than
the theory; because the interest in human knowledge was apt to be touched
by motives sounding in the need of divine salvation; and speculation could
not free itself of the moving principles of Christian theology. On the
other hand, an enormous quantity of human dialectic, and a prodigious mass
of what strikes us as profane information, or misinformation, was carried
into the mediaeval _Summa_, and still more into those encyclopaedias,
which attempted to include all knowledge, and still were influenced in
their aim by a religious purpose.[433]

As the human sciences came from the pagan antique, the accepted
classifications of them naturally were taken from Greek philosophy. They
followed either the so-called Platonic division, into Physics, Ethics, and
Logic,[434] or the Aristotelian division of philosophy into theoretical
and practical. The former scheme, of which it is not certain that Plato
was the author, passed on through the Stoic and Epicurean systems of
philosophy, was recognized by the Church Fathers, and received Augustine’s
approval. It was made known to the Middle Ages through Cassiodorus,
Isidore, Alcuin, Rabanus, Eriugena and others.

Nevertheless the Aristotelian division of philosophy into theoretical and
practical was destined to prevail. It was introduced to the western Middle
Ages through Boëthius’s Commentary on Porphyry’s _Isagoge_,[435] and
adopted by Gerbert; later it passed over through translations of Arabic
writings. It was accepted by Hugo of St. Victor, by Albertus Magnus and by
Thomas, to mention only the greatest names; and was set forth in detail
with explanation and comment in a number of treatises, such as
Gundissalinus’s _De divisione philosophiae_, and Hugo of St. Victor’s
_Eruditio didascalica_,[436] which were formal and schematic introductions
to the study of philosophy and its various branches.

The usual subdivisions of these two general parts of philosophy were as
follows. Theoretica (or _Theorica_) was divided into (1) Physics, or
_scientia naturalis_, (2) Mathematics, and (3) Metaphysics or Theology, or
_divina scientia_, as it might be called. Physics and Mathematics were
again divided into more special sciences. _Practica_ was divided commonly
into Ethics, Economics, Politics, or into Ethics and _Artes mechanicae_.
There was a difference of opinion as to what to do with Logic. It had, to
be sure, its position in the current Trivium, along with grammar and
rhetoric. But this was merely current, and might not approve itself on
deeper reflection. Gundissalinus speaks of three propaedeutic sciences,
the _scientiae eloquentiae_, grammar, poetics, and rhetoric, and then puts
Logic after them as a _scientia media_ between these primary educational
matters and philosophy, _i.e._ the whole range of knowledge, theoretical
and practical. Again, over against _philosophia realis_, which contains
both the _theoretica_ (or _speculativa_) and the _practica_, Thomas
Aquinas sets the _philosophia rationalis_, or logic; and Richard Kilwardby
opposes _logica_, the _scientia rationalis_, to _practica_, in his
division.[437]

The last-named philosopher was the pupil and then the hostile critic of
Aquinas, and also became Archbishop of Canterbury. He was the author of a
careful and elaborate classification of the parts of philosophy, entitled
_De ortu et divisione philosophiae_.[438] In it, following the broad
distinction between _res divinae_ and _res humanae_, Kilwardby divides
philosophy into _speculativa_ and _practica_. _Speculativa_ is divided
into _naturalis_ (physics), _mathematica_, and _divina_ (metaphysics). He
does not divide the first and third of these; but he divides _mathematica_
into those sciences which treat of quantity in continuity and separation
respectively (_quantitas continua_ and _quantitas discreta_). The former
embrace geometry, astronomy and astrology, and perspective; the latter,
music and arithmetic. _Practica_, which is concerned with _res humanae_,
is divided into _activa_ and _sermocinalis_: because _res humanae_ consist
either of _operationes_ or _locutiones_. The _activa_ embraces Ethics and
mechanics; the _scientia sermocinalis_ embraces grammar, logic, and
rhetoric. Such are Kilwardby’s bare captions; his treatise lengthily
treats of the interrelations of these various branches of knowledge.

An idea of the scholastic discussion of the classification of sciences may
be had by following Albertus Magnus’s ponderous approach to a
consideration of logic: whether it be a science, and, if so, what place
should be allotted it. We draw from the opening of his _liber_ on the
_Predicables_,[439] that is to say, his exposition of Porphyry’s
Introduction. Albert will consider “what kind of a science (_qualis
scientia_) logic may be, and whether it is any part of philosophy; what
need there is of it, and what may be its use; then of what it treats, and
what are its divisions.” The ancients seem to have disagreed, some saying
that logic is no science, since it is rather a _modus_ (mode, manner or
method) of every science or branch of knowledge. But these, continues
Albertus, have not reflected that although there are many sciences, and
each has its special _modus_, yet there is one _modus_ common to all
sciences, pertaining to that which is common to them all: the principle,
to wit, that through reason’s inquiry, from what is known one arrives at
knowledge of the unknown. This mode or method common to every science may
be considered in itself, and so may be the subject of a special science.
After further balancing of the reasons and authorities _pro_ and _con_,
Albertus concludes:

    “It is therefore clear that logic is a special science just as in
    ironworking there is the special art of making a hammer, yet its use
    pertains to everything made by the ironworker’s craft. So this process
    of discovering the unknown through the known, is something special,
    and may be studied as a special art and science; yet the use of it
    pertains to all sciences.”

He next considers whether logic is a part of philosophy. Some say no,
since there are (as they say) only three divisions of philosophy, physics,
mathematics, and metaphysics; others say that logic is a _modus_ of
philosophy and not one of its divisions. But, on the contrary, it is shown
by others that this view of philosophy omits the practical side, for
philosophy’s scope comprehends the truth of everything which man may
understand, including the truth of that which is in ourselves, and strives
to comprehend both truth and the process of advancing from the known to a
knowledge of the unknown. These point out that

    “... the Peripatetics divided philosophy first into three parts, to
    wit, into _physicam generaliter dictam_, and _ethicam generaliter
    dictam_ and _rationalem_ likewise taken broadly. I call _physica
    generaliter dicta_ that which embraces _scientia naturalis_,
    _disciplinalis_, and _divina_ (_i.e._ physics in a narrower sense,
    mathematics which is called _scientia disciplinalis_, and metaphysics
    which is _scientia divina_). And I call _ethica_, that which, broadly
    taken, contains the _scientia monastica_, _oeconomica_ and _civilis_.
    And I call that the _scientia rationalis_, broadly taken, which
    includes every mode of proceeding from the known to the unknown. From
    which it is evident that logic is a part of philosophy.”

And finally it may be shown that

    “if anything is within the scope of philosophy it must be that without
    which philosophy cannot reach any knowledge. He who is ignorant of
    logic can acquire no perfect cognition of the unknown, because he is
    ignorant of the way in which he should proceed from the known to the
    unknown.”

From these latter arguments, approved by him and in part stated as his
own, Albertus advances to a classification of the parts of logic, which he
makes to include rhetoric, poetics, and dialectic, and to be
demonstrative, sophistical or disputatious, according to the use to which
logic (broadly taken) is applied and the manner in which it may in each
case proceed, in advancing from the known to some farther ascertainment or
demonstration.[440] Soon after this, in discussing the subject of this
science, Albertus points out how logic differs from rhetoric and poetics,
although with them it may treat of _sermo_, or speech, and be called a
_scientia sermonalis_; for, unlike them, it treats of _sermo_ merely as a
means of drawing conclusions, and not in and for itself.

From the purely philosophical division of the sciences we pass to the
hybrid arrangement adopted by Vincent of Beauvais, who died in 1264. This
man was a prodigious devourer of books, and for a sufficient pabulum, St.
Louis set before him his collection of twelve hundred volumes. Thereupon
Vincent compiled the most famous of mediaeval encyclopaedias, employing in
that labour enormous diligence and a number of assistants. His ponderous
_Speculum majus_ is drawn from the most serviceable sources, including the
works of Albertus, his contemporary, and great scholastics like Hugo of
St. Victor, who were no more. It consisted of the _Speculum naturale_,
_doctrinale_, and _historiale_; and a fourth, the _Speculum morale_, was
added by a later hand.[441] Turning its leaves, and reading snatches here
and there, especially from its Prologues, we shall gain a sufficient
illustration of the arrangement of topics followed by this writer, whose
faculties seem to drown in his shoreless undertaking.[442]

In his turgid _generalis prologus_ to the _Speculum naturale_, Vincent
presents his motives for collecting in one volume

    “... certain flowers according to my modicum of faculty, gathered from
    every one I have been able to read, whether of our Catholic Doctors or
    the Gentile philosophers and poets. Especially have I drawn from them
    what seemed to pertain either to the building up of our dogma, or to
    moral instruction, or to the incitement of charity’s devotion, or to
    the mystic exposition of divine Scripture, or to the manifest or
    symbolical explanation of its truth. Thus by one grand _opus_ I would
    appease my studiousness, and perchance, by my labours, profit those
    who, like me, try to read as many books as possible, and cull their
    flowers. Indeed of making many books there is no end, and neither is
    the eye of the curious reader satisfied, nor the ear of the auditor.”

He then refers to the evils of false copying and the ascription of
extracts to the wrong author. And it seems to him that Church History has
been rather neglected, while men have been intent on expounding knotty
problems. And now considering how to proceed and group his various
matters, Vincent could find no better method than the one he has chosen,
“to wit, that after the order of Holy Scripture, I should treat first of
the Creator, next of the creation, then of man’s fall and reparation, and
then of events (_rebus gestis_) chronologically.” He proposes to give a
summary of titles at the end of the work. Sometimes he may state as his
own, things he has had from his teachers or from very well-known books;
and he admits that he did not have time to collate the _gesta martyrum_,
and so some of the abstracts which he gives of these are not by his own
hand, but by the hand of scribes (_notariorum_).

Vincent proposes to call the whole work _Speculum majus_, a Speculum
indeed, or an _Imago mundi_, “containing in brief whatever, from
unnumbered books, I have been able to gather, worthy of consideration,
admiration, or imitation _as to things which have been made or done or
said in the visible or invisible world from the beginning until the end,
and even of things to come_.” He briefly adverts to the utility of his
work, and then gives his motive for including history. This he thinks will
help us to understand the story of Christ; and from a perusal of the wars
which took place “before the advent of our pacific King, the reader will
perceive with what zeal we should fight against our spiritual foes, for
our salvation and the eternal glory promised us.” From the great slaughter
of men in many wars, may be realized also the severity of God against the
wicked, who are slain like sheep, and perish body and soul.[443]

As to nature, Vincent says:

    “Moreover I have diligently described the nature of things, which, I
    think, no one will deem useless, who, in the light of grace, has read
    of the power, wisdom and goodness of God, creator, ruler and
    preserver, in that same book of the Creation appointed for us to
    read.”

Moreover, to know about things is useful for preachers and theologians, as
Augustine says. But Vincent is conscious of another motive also:

    “Verily how great is even the humblest beauty of this world, and how
    pleasing to the eye of reason diligently considering not only the
    modes and numbers and orders of things, so decorously appointed
    throughout the universe, but also the revolving ages which are
    ceaselessly uncoiled through abatements and successions, and are
    marked by the death of what is born. I confess, sinner as I am, with
    mind befouled in flesh, that I am moved with spiritual sweetness
    toward the creator and ruler of this world, and honour Him with
    greater veneration, when I behold at once the magnitude, and beauty
    and permanence of His creation. For the mind, lifting itself from the
    dunghill of its affections, and rising, as it is able, into the light
    of speculation, sees as from a height the greatness of the universe
    containing in itself infinite places filled with the divers orders of
    creatures.”

Here Vincent feels it well to apologize for the limitlessness of his
matter, being only an excerptor, and not really knowing even a single
science; and he refers to the example of Isidore’s _Etymologiae_. He
proceeds to enumerate the various sources upon which he relies, and then
to summarize the headings of his work; which in brief are as follows:

    The Creator.

    The empyrean heaven and the nature of angels; the state of the good,
    and the ruin of the proud, angels.

    The formless material and the making of the world, and the nature and
    properties of each created being, according to the order of the Works
    of the Six Days.

    The state of the first man.

    The nature and energies of the soul, and the senses and parts of the
    human body.

    God’s rest and way of working.

    The state of the first man and the felicity of Paradise.

    Man’s fall and punishment.

    Sin.

    The reparation of the Fall.

    The properties of faith and other virtues in order, and the gifts of
    the Holy Spirit, and the beatitudes.

    _The number and matter of all the sciences._

    _Chronological history of events in the world, and memorable sayings,
    from the beginning to our time_, with a consideration of the state of
    souls separated from their bodies, of the times to come, of
    Antichrist, the end of the World, the resurrection of the dead, the
    glorification of the saints and the punishments of the wicked.

One may stand aghast at the programme. Yet practically all of it would go
into a _Summa theologiae_, excepting the human history, and the matter of
what we should call the arts and sciences! A programme like this might be
handled summarily, according to the broad captions under which it is
stated; or it might be carried out in such detail as to include all
available information, or opinion, touching every part of every topic
included under these universal heads. The latter is Vincent’s way.
Practically he tries to include all knowledge upon everything. The first
of his tomes (the _Speculum naturale_) is to be devoted to a full
description of the forms and species of created beings, which make up the
visible world. Yet it includes much relating to beings commonly invisible;
for Vincent begins with a treatment of the angels. He then passes to a
consideration of the seven heavens; and then to the physical phenomena of
nature; then on to every known species of plant, the cultivation of trees
and vines, and the making of wine; then to the celestial bodies, and after
this to living things, birds, fishes, savage beasts, reptiles, the anatomy
of animals,--and at last comes to man. He discusses him body and soul, his
psychology, and the phenomena of sleep and waking; then human anatomy--nor
can he keep from considerations touching the whole creation; then human
generation, and a description of the countries and regions of the earth,
with a brief compendium of history until the time of Antichrist and the
Last Judgment. Of course he is utterly uncritical, even the
pseudo-Turpin’s fictions as to Charlemagne serving him for authority.

Vincent’s Prologue to his second tome, the _Speculum doctrinale_, briefly
mentions the topics of the _tota naturalis historia_, contained in his
first giant tome. In that he had brought his matter down to God’s creation
of _humana natura, omnium rerum finis ac summa_--and its spoliation
(_destitutio_) through sin. _Humana natura_ as constituted by God, was a
_universitas_ of all nature or created being, corporeal and spiritual. Now

    “in this second part, in like fashion we propose to treat of the
    plenary restitution of that destitute nature.... And since that
    restitution, or restoration, is effected and perfected by _doctrina_
    (imparted knowledge, science), this part not improperly is called the
    _Speculum doctrinale_. For of a surety everything pertaining to
    recovering or defending man’s spiritual or temporal welfare
    (_salutem_) is embraced under _doctrina_. In this book, the sciences
    (_doctrinae_) and arts are treated thus: First concerning all of them
    in general, to wit, concerning their invention, origin, and species;
    and concerning the method of acquiring them. Then concerning the
    singular arts and sciences in particular. And here first concerning
    those of the Trivium, which are devoted to language (grammar,
    rhetoric, logic); for without these, the others cannot be learned or
    communicated. Next concerning the practical ones (_practica_), because
    through them, the eyes of the mind being clarified, one ascends to the
    speculative (_theorica_). Then also concerning the mechanical ones;
    since, as they consist in making (_operatio_), they are joined by
    affinity to the _practica_. Finally concerning the speculative
    sciences (_theorica_), because the end and aim (_finis_) of all the
    rest is placed by the wise in them. And since (as Jerome says) one
    cannot know the power (_vis_) of the antidote unless the power of the
    poison first is understood, therefore to the _reparatio doctrinalis_
    of the human race, the subject of the book, something is prefixed as a
    brief epilogue from the former book, concerning the fall and misery of
    man, in which he still labours, as the penalty for his sin, in
    lamentable exile.”

So Vincent begins with the fall and misery of man; the _peccatum_ and the
_supplicium_. Then he proceeds to discuss the goods (_bona_) which God
bestows, like the mental powers, by which man may learn wisdom, and how to
strive against error and vice, and be overcome solely by the desire of the
highest and immutable good. He speaks also of the corporeal goods bestowed
on man, and the beauty and utility of visible things; and then of the
principal evils;--ignorance which corrupts the divine image in man,
concupiscence which destroys the divine similitude, sickness which
destroys his original bodily immortality. “And the remedies are three by
which these three evils may be repelled, and the three goods restored, to
wit, Wisdom, Virtue, and Need.”

Here we touch the gist of the ordering of topics in the _Speculum
doctrinale_, which treats of all the arts and sciences:

    “For the obtaining of these three remedies every art and every
    _disciplina_ was invented. In order to gain Wisdom, _Theorica_ was
    devised; and _Practica_ for the sake of virtue; and for Need’s sake,
    _Mechanica_. _Theorica_ driving out ignorance, illuminates Wisdom;
    _Practica_ shutting out vice, strengthens Virtue; _Mechanica_
    providing against penury, tempers the infirmities of the present life.
    _Theorica_, in all that is and that is not, chooses to investigate the
    true. _Practica_ determines the correct way of living and the form of
    discipline, according to the institution of the virtues. _Mechanica_
    occupied with fleeting things, strives to provide for the needs of the
    body. For the end and aim of all human actions and studies, which
    reason regulates, ought to look either to the reparation of the
    integrity of our nature or to alleviating the needs to which life is
    subjected. The integrity of our nature is repaired by Wisdom, to which
    _Theorica_ relates, and by Virtue, which _Practica_ cultivates. Need
    is alleviated by the administration of temporalities, to which
    _Mechanica_ attends. Last found of all is Logic, source of eloquence,
    through which the wise who understand the aforesaid principal sciences
    and disciplines, may discourse upon them more correctly, truly and
    elegantly; more correctly, through Grammar; more truly through
    Dialectic; more elegantly through Rhetoric.”[444]

Thus the entire round of arts and sciences is connected with man’s
corporeal and spiritual welfare, and is made to bear directly or
indirectly on his salvation. All constitutes _doctrina_, and by _doctrina_
man is saved. This is the reason for including the arts and sciences in
one tome, rightly called the _Speculum doctrinale_. We need not follow the
detail, but may view as from afar the long course ploughed by Vincent
through his matter. He first sketches the history of antique philosophy,
and then turns to books and language, and presents a glossary of Latin
synonyms. Book II. treats of Grammar, Book III. of Logic, Book IV. of
_Practica scientia_ or _Ethica_, first giving pagan ethics and then
passing on to the virtues of the monastic life. Book V. is a continuation
of this subject. Book VI. concerns the _Scientia oeconomica_, treating of
domestic economy, then of agriculture. Books VII. and VIII. take up
Politica, and, having discussed political institutions, proceed to a
treatment of law--the law of persons, things, and actions, according to
the canon and the civil law. Books IX. and X. consider Crimes--simony,
heresy, perjury, sacrilege, homicide, rape, adultery, robbery, usury. Book
XI. is more cheerful, _De arte mechanica_, and tells of building, the
military art, navigation, alchemy, and metals. Book XII. is Medicine, and
Books XIII. and XIV. discuss Physics, in connection with the healing art.
Book XV. is Natural Philosophy--animals and plants. Book XVI., _De
mathematica_, treats of arithmetic, music, geometry, astronomy, and
metaphysics cursorily. Book XVII. likewise thins out in a somewhat slight
discussion of Theology, which was to form the topic of the tome that
Vincent did not write.

But Vincent did complete another tome, the _Speculum historiale_. It is a
loosely chronological compilation of tradition, myth, and history, with
discursions upon the literary works of the characters coming under review.
It would be tedious to follow its excerpted presentation of the profane
and sacred matter.

We may leave Vincent, with the obvious reflection that his work is a
conglomerate, both in arrangement and contents. It has the pious aim of
contributing to man’s salvation, and yet is an attempted universal
encyclopaedia of human knowledge, much of which is plainly secular and
mundane. The monstrous scope and dual purpose of the work prevented any
unity in method and arrangement. More single in aim, and better arranged
in consequence, are the _Sentences_ of Peter Lombard and the _Summa
theologiae_ of Aquinas. For although their scope, at least the scope of
the _Summa_, is wide, all is ordered with respect to the true aim of
_sacra doctrina_, just as Thomas explained in the passage which we have
already given.

The alleged principle of the Lombard’s division strikes one as curious;
yet he got it from Augustine: _Signum_ and _res_--the symbol and the
thing: verily an age-long play of spiritual tendency lay back of these
contrasted concepts. Christian _doctrina_ related, perhaps chiefly, to the
significance of _signa_, signs, symbols, allegories, mysteries,
sacraments. It was not so strange that the Lombard made this antithesis
the ground of his arrangement. Quite as of course he begins by saying it
is clear to any one who considers, with God’s grace, that the “contents of
the Old and New Law are occupied either with _res_ or _signa_. For as the
eminent doctor Augustine says in his _Doctrina Christiana_, all teaching
is of things or signs; but things also are learned through signs. Properly
those are called _res_ which are not employed in order to signify
something; while _signa_ are those whose use is to signify.” Then the
Lombard separates the sacraments from other _signa_, because they not only
signify, but also confer saving aid; and he points out that evidently a
_signum_ is also some sort of a thing; but not everything is a _signum_.
He will treat first of _res_ and then of _signa_.

As to _res_, one must bear in mind, as Augustine says, that some things
are to be enjoyed (_fruendum_), as from love we cleave to them for their
own sake; and others are to be used (_utendum_) as a means; and still
others to be both enjoyed and used.

    “Those which are to be enjoyed make us blessed (_beatos_); those which
    are to be used, aid us striving for blessedness.... We ourselves are
    the things which are both to be enjoyed and used, and also the angels
    and the saints.... The things which are to be enjoyed are Father, Son,
    and Holy Spirit; and so the Trinity is _summa res_.”

So the Lombard’s first two Books consider _res_ in the descending order of
their excellence; the third considers the Incarnation, which, if not
itself a sacrament, and the chief and sum of all sacraments, is the source
of those of the New Law, considered in the fourth Book. The scheme is
single and orderly; the difficulty will be in actually arranging the
various topics within it. Endeavouring to do so, the Lombard in Book I.
puts together the doctrine of the Trinity, the three Persons composing it,
and their attributes and qualities. Book II. considers in order, the
Angels, and very briefly, the work of the Six Days down to the creation of
man; then the Christian _doctrina_ as to man is presented: his creation
and its reasons; the creation of his _anima_; the creation of woman; the
condition of man and woman before the Fall; their sin; next free-will and
grace. Book III. treats of the Incarnation, in all the aspects in which it
may be known, and of the nature of Christ, His saving merit, and the grace
which was in Him; also of the virtues of faith, hope, and charity, the
seven gifts of the Spirit, and the existence of them all in Christ. Book
IV. considers the Sacraments of the New Law: Baptism, Confirmation, the
Eucharist, penance, extreme unction, ordination to holy orders, marriage.
It concludes with setting forth the Resurrection and the Last Judgment.

The first chapters of Genesis were the ultimate source of the Lombard’s
actual arrangement. And the _Summa_ will follow the same order of
treatment. One may perceive how naturally the adoption of this order came
to Christian theologians by glancing over Augustine’s _De Genesi ad
litteram_.[445] This Commentary was partially constructive, and not simply
exegetical; and afforded a _cadre_, or frame, of topical ordering, which
could readily be filled out with the contents of the _Sentences_ or even
of the _Summa_: God, in His unity and trinity, the Creation, man
especially, his fall, the Incarnation as the saving means of his
restoration, and then the Sacraments, and the final Judgment unto heaven
and hell. One may say that this was the natural and proper order of
presenting the contents of the Christian _sacra doctrina_.

So the great _Summa theologiae_ of Thomas Aquinas adopts the same order
which the Lombard had followed. The _Pars prima_ begins with defining
_sacra doctrina_.[446] It then proceeds to consider God--whether He
exists; then treats of His _simplicitas_ and _perfectio_; next of His
attributes; His _bonitas_, _infinitas_, _immutabilitas_, _aeternitas_,
_unitas_; then of our knowledge of Him; then of His knowledge, and therein
of truth and falsity; thereupon are considered the divine will, love,
justice, and pity; the divine providence and predestination; the divine
power and beatitude.

All this pertains to the _unitas_ of the divine essence; and now Thomas
passes on to the _Trinitas personarum_, or the more distinctive portions
of Christian theology. He treats of the _processio_ and _relationes_ of
the _divinae Personae_, and then of themselves--Father, Son, Holy Spirit,
and then of their essential relationship and properties. Next he discusses
the _missio_ of the divine Persons, and the relations between God and His
Creation. First comes the consideration of the principle of creation, the
_processio creaturarum a Deo_, and of the nature of created things, with
some discussion of evil, whether it be a thing.

Among created beings, Thomas treats first of angels, and at great length;
then of the physical creation, in its order--the work of the six days, but
with no great detail. Then man, created of spiritual and corporeal
substance--his complex nature is to be analysed and fathomed to its
depths. Thomas discusses the union of the _anima ad corpus_; then the
powers of the anima, _in generali_ and _in speciali_--the intellectual
faculties, the appetites, the will and its freedom of choice; how the
_anima_ knows--the full Aristotelian theory of cognition is given. Next,
more specifically as to the creation of the soul and body of the first
man, and the nature of the image and similitude of God within him; then as
to man’s condition and faculties while in a state of innocence; also as to
Paradise.

This closes the treatment of the _creatio et distinctio rerum_; and Thomas
passes to their _gubernatio_, and the problem of how God conserves and
moves the corporeal and spiritual; then concerning the action of one
creature on another, and how the angels are ranged in hierarchies, and
although purely spiritual beings, minister to men and guard them; then
concerning the action of corporeal things, concerning fate, and the action
of men upon men.

Here ends _Pars prima_. The first section of the second part (_Prima
secundae_) begins. In a short Prologue Thomas says:

    “Because man is made in the image of God, that is, free in his thought
    and will, and able to act through himself (_per se potestativum_),
    after what has been said concerning the Exemplar, God, and everything
    proceeding from the divine power according to His will, it remains for
    us to consider His image, to wit, man, in so far as he is the source
    or cause (_principium_) of his own works, having free-will and power
    over them.”

Hereupon Thomas takes up in order: the ultimate end of man; the nature of
man’s beatitude, and wherein it consists, and how it may be attained; then
voluntary and involuntary acts, and the nature and action of will; then
fruition, intention, election, deliberation, consent, and actions good and
bad, flowing from the will; then the passions; concupiscence and pleasure,
sadness, hope and despair, fear, anger; next habits (_habitus_) and the
virtues, intellectual, cardinal, theological; the gifts of the Spirit, and
the beatitudes; the vices, and sin, and penalty. Thereupon it becomes
proper to consider the external causes (_principia_) of acts: “The
external cause (_principium_) moving toward good is God; who instructs us
through law, and aids us through grace. Therefore we must speak, first of
law, then of grace.” So Thomas discusses: the _essentia_ of law, and the
different kinds of law--_lex aeterna_, _lex naturalis_, _lex
humana_--their effect and validity; then the precepts of the Old Law (of
the Old Testament); then as to the law of the Gospel and the need of
grace; and lastly, concerning grace and human merit.

The _Secunda secundae_ (the second division of the second part) opens with
a Prologue, in which the author says that, having considered generally the
virtues and vices, and other things pertaining to the matter of ethics, it
is needful to consider these same matters more particularly, each in turn;
“for general moral statements (_sermones morales universales_) are less
useful, inasmuch as actions are always _in particularibus_.” A more
special statement of moral rules may proceed in two ways: the one from the
side of the moral material, discussing this or that virtue or vice; the
other considers what applies to special orders (_speciales status_) of
men, for instance prelates and the lower clergy, or men devoted to the
active or contemplative religious life. “We shall, therefore, consider
specially, first what applies to all conditions of men, and then what
applies to certain orders (_determinatos status_).” Thomas adds that it
will be best to consider in each case the virtue and corresponding gift,
and the opposing vice, together; also that “virtues are reducible to
seven, the three theological,[447] and the four cardinal virtues. Of the
intellectual virtues, one is Prudence, which is numbered with the cardinal
virtues; but ars does not pertain to morals, which relate to what is to be
done, while ars is the correct faculty of making things (_recta ratio
factibilium_).[448] The other three intellectual virtues, _sapientia_,
_intellectus_, _et scientia_, bear the names of certain gifts of the Holy
Spirit, and are considered with them. Moral virtues are all reducible to
the cardinal virtues; and therefore, in considering each cardinal virtue,
all the virtues related to it are considered, and the opposite vices.”

This classification of the virtues seems anything but clear. And perhaps
the weakest feature of the _Summa_ is this scarcely successful ordering,
or combination, of the Aristotelian virtues with those more germane to the
Christian scheme. However this may be, the author of the _Summa_ proceeds
to consider in order: _fides_, and the gifts (_dona_) of _intellectus_ and
_scientia_ which correspond to the virtue faith; next the opposing vices:
_infidelitas_, _haeresis_, _apostasia_, _blasphemia_, and _caecitas
mentis_ (spiritual blindness). Next in order come the virtue _spes_, and
the corresponding gift of the Spirit, _timor_, and the opposing vices of
_desperatio_ and _praesumptio_.[449] Next, _caritas_, with its _dilectio_,
its _gaudium_, its _pax_, its _misericordia_, its _beneficentia_ and
_eleemosyna_, and its _correctio fraterna_; then the opposite vices,
_odium_, _acedia_, _invidia_, _discordia_, _contentio_, _schisma_,
_bellum_, _rixa_, _seditio_, _scandalum_. Next the _donum sapientiae_, and
its opposite, _stultitia_; next, _prudentia_, and its correspondent gift,
_consilium_; and its connected vices, _imprudentia_, _negligentia_, and
its evil semblances, _dolus_ and _fraus_.

Says Thomas: _Consequenter post prudentiam considerandum est de Justitia_.
Whereupon follows a juristic treatment of _jus_, _justitia_, _judicium_,
_restitutio_, _acceptio personarum_; then _homicide_ and other crimes
recognized by law. Then come the virtues, connected with _justitia_, to
wit, _religio_, and its acts, _devotio_, _oratio_, _adoratio_,
_sacrificium_, _oblatio_, _decimae_, _votum_, _juramentum_; then the vices
opposed to _religio_: _superstitio_, _idolatria_, _tentatio Dei_,
_perjurium_, _sacrilegium_, _simonia_. Next is considered the virtue of
_pietas_; then _observantia_, with its parts, i.e. _dulia_ (service),
_obedientia_, and its opposite, _inobedientia_. Next, _gratia_ (thanks) or
_gratitudo_, and its opposite, _ingratitudo_; next, _vindicatio_
(punishment); next, _veritas_, with its opposites, _hypocrisis_,
_jactantia_ (boasting), and _ironia_; next, _amicitia_, with the vices of
_adulatio_ and _litigium_. Next, the virtue of _liberalitas_, and its
vices, _avaritia_ and _prodigalitas_; next, _epieikeia_ (_aequitas_).
Finally, closing this discussion of all that is connected with _Justitia_,
Thomas speaks of its corresponding gift of the Spirit, _pietas_.

Now comes the third cardinal virtue, _Fortitudo_--under which _martyrium_
is the type of virtuous act; _intimiditas_ and _audacia_ are the two
vices. Then the parts of _Fortitudo_, to wit, _magnanimitas_,
_magnificentia_, _patientia_, _perseverantia_, and the obvious opposing
vices. Next, the fourth cardinal virtue, _Temperantia_, its obvious
opposing vices, and its parts, to wit, _verecundia_, _honestas_,
_abstinentia_, _sobrietas_, _castitas_, _clementia_, _modestia_,
_humilitas_, and the various appropriate acts and opposing vices related
to these special virtues.

So far,[450] Thomas has been considering the virtues proper for all men;
and now he comes to those specially pertaining to certain kinds of men,
according to their gifts of grace, their modes of life, or the diversity
of their offices, or stations. Of the special virtues related to gifts of
grace, the first is _prophetia_, next _raptus_ (vision), then _gratia
linguarum_, and _gratia miraculorum_. After this, the _vita activa_ and
_contemplativa_, with their appropriate virtues, are considered. And then
Thomas proceeds to speak _De officiis et statibus hominum_, and their
respective virtues.

Here ends the _Secunda secundae_, and _Pars tertia_ opens with this
Prologue:

    “Inasmuch as our Saviour Jesus Christ (as witnesseth the Angel,
    _populum suum salvum faciens a peccatis eorum_) has shown in himself
    the way of truth, through which we are able to come to the beatitude
    of immortal life by rising again, it is necessary, for the
    consummation of the whole theological matter, after the consideration
    of the final end of human life, and of the virtues and vices, that our
    attention should be fixed upon the Saviour of all and His benefactions
    to the human race.

    “As to which, first one must consider the Saviour himself; secondly,
    His sacraments, by which we obtain salvation; thirdly, concerning the
    end (_finis_), immortal life, to which we come by rising again through
    Him.

    “As to the first, one has to consider the mystery of the Incarnation,
    in which God was made man for our salvation, and then those things
    that were done and suffered by our Saviour, that is, God incarnate.”

This Prologue indicates sufficiently the order of topics in the _Pars
tertia_ of the _Summa_, through Quaestio xc., at which point the hand of
the Angelic Doctor was folded to eternal rest. He was then considering
_penance_, the fourth in his order of Sacraments. All that he had to say
as to the person, and attributes, and acts and passion of Christ had been
written; and he had considered the Sacraments of baptism, confirmation,
and the eucharist; he was occupied with _poenitentia_; and still other
sacraments remained, as well as his final treatment of the matters which
lie beyond the grave. So he left his work unfinished, and, in spite of
many efforts, unfinishable by any of his pupils or successors.[451]


II

Inasmuch as the matter of their thoughts was transmitted to the men of the
Middle Ages, and was not drawn from their own observation or constructive
reasoning, the fundamental intellectual endeavour for mediaeval men was to
apprehend and make their own, and re-express. Their intellectual progress
followed this process of appropriation, and falls into three
stages--learning, organically appropriating, and re-expressing with added
elements of thought. Logically, and generally in time, these three stages
were successive. Yet, of course, they overlapped, and may be observed
progressing simultaneously. Thus, for example, what was known of Aristotle
at the beginning of the twelfth century was slight compared with the
knowledge of his philosophy that was opened to western Europe in the
latter part of the twelfth and the beginning of the thirteenth. And while,
by the middle of the twelfth century, the elements of Aristotle’s logic
had been thoroughly appropriated, the substantial Aristotelian philosophy
had still to be learned and mastered, before it could be reformulated and
re-expressed as part of mediaeval thought.

Looking solely to the outer form, the three stages of mediaeval thought
are exemplified in the Scriptural Commentary of the later Carolingian
time, in the twelfth-century _Books of Sentences_, and at last in the more
organic _Summa theologiae_. With this significant evolution and change of
outer form, proceeded the more substantial evolution consisting in
learning, appropriating, and re-expressing the inherited material. In both
cases, these three stages were necessitated by the greatness of the
transmitted matter; for the intellectual energies of the mediaeval period
were fully occupied with mastering the data proffered so pressingly, with
presenting and re-presenting this superabundant material, and recasting it
in new forms of statement, which were also expressions, or realizations,
of the mediaeval genius. So the mediaeval product may be regarded as given
by the past, and by the same token necessitated and controlled. But, on
the other hand, each stage of intellectual progress rendered possible the
next one.

The first stage of learning is represented by the Carolingian period,
which we have considered. It was then that the patristic material was
extracted from the writings of the Fathers, and rearranged and reapplied,
to meet the needs of the time. The mastery of this material had scarcely
made such vital progress as to enable the men of the ninth and tenth and
eleventh centuries to re-express it largely in terms of their own
thinking. In the ninth century, Eriugena affords an extraordinary
exception with his drastic restatement of what he had drawn from
Pseudo-Dionysius and others; and at the end comes Anselm, whose genius is
metaphysically constructive. But Anselm touches the coming time; and the
springs of Eriugena’s genius are hidden from us.

As for the antique thought during these Carolingian centuries, Eriugena
dealt in his masterful way with what he knew of it through patristic and
semi-patristic channels. But let us rather seek it in the curriculum of
the Trivium and Quadrivium. What progress Gerbert made in the Quadrivium,
that is, in the various branches of mathematics which he taught, has been
noted, and to what extent his example was followed by his pupil Fulbert,
at the cathedral school of Chartres.[452] The courses of the
Trivium--grammar, rhetoric, logic--demand our closer attention; for they
were the key of the situation. We must keep in mind that we are
approaching mediaeval thought from the side of the innate human need of
intellectual expression--the impulse to know and the need to formulate
one’s conceptions and express them consistently. For mediaeval men the
first indispensable means to this end was grammar, including rhetoric, and
the next was logic or dialectic. The Latin language contained the sum of
knowledge transmitted to the Middle Ages. And it had to be learned. This
was true even in Italy and Spain and France, where each year the current
ways of Romance speech were departing more definitely from the parent
stock; it was more patently true in the countries of Teutonic speech.
Centuries before, the Roman youth had studied grammar that they might
speak and write correctly. Now it was necessary to study Latin grammar, to
wit, the true forms and literary usages of the Latin tongue, in order to
acquire any branch of knowledge whatsoever, and express one’s
corresponding thoughts. And men would not at first distinguish sharply
between the mediating value of the learned tongue and the learning which
it held.[453]

Thus grammar, the study of the Latin language, represented the first stage
of knowledge for mediaeval men. This was to remain true through all the
mediaeval centuries; since all youths who became scholars had to learn the
language before they could study what was contained in it alone. One may
also say, and yet not speak fantastically, that grammar, the study of the
correct use of the language itself, corresponded spiritually with the main
intellectual labour of the Carolingian period. Alcuin’s attention is
commonly fixed upon the significance of language, Latin of course. And the
labours of his pupil Rabanus, and the latter’s pupil Walafrid, are as it
were devoted to the grammar of learning. That is to say, they read and
endeavour to understand the works of the Fathers; they compare and
collate, and make volumes of extracts, which they arrange for the most
part as Scripture commentaries; commentaries, that is, upon the
significance of the canonical writings which were the substance of all
wisdom, but needed much explication. Such works were the very grammar of
knowledge, being devoted to the exposition of the meaning of the
Scriptures and the vast burden of patristic thought. A like purpose was
evinced in the efforts of the great emperor himself to re-establish
schools of grammar, in order that the Scriptures might be more correctly
understood, and the expositions of the holy Fathers. In fine, just as
knowledge of the Latin tongue was the end and aim of grammar, so a correct
understanding of what was contained in Latin books was the aim of the
intellectual labours of this period. It all represented the first stage in
the mediaeval acquisition of knowledge, or in the presentation or
expression of the same; and thus the first stage in the mediaeval
endeavour to realize the human impulse to know.

The next course of the Trivium was logic; and likewise its study will
represent truly the second stage in the mediaeval realization of the human
impulse to know, to wit, the second stage in the appropriation and
expression of the knowledge transmitted from the past. We have spoken at
some length of the logical studies of Gerbert, and his endeavours to
adjust his thinking and classify the branches of knowledge by means of
formal logic.[454] Those discussions of his which seem somewhat puerile to
us, were essential to his endeavours to formulate what he had learned, and
present it as rational and ordered knowledge. Logic is properly the stage
succeeding grammar in the formulation of rational knowledge. At least it
was for men of Gerbert’s time, and the following centuries. Rightly
enough they looked on logic as a _scientia sermotionalis_, which on one
side touched sheer linguistics, and on the other, had for its field the
further processes of reason. Thus Hugo of St. Victor, Abaelard’s very
great contemporary, says:

    “Logic is named from the Greek word _logos_, which has a twofold
    interpretation. For _logos_ means either _sermo_ or _ratio_; and
    therefore logic may be termed either a _scientia sermotionalis_ or a
    _scientia rationalis_. _Logica rationalis_ embraces dialectic and
    rhetoric, and is called _discretiva_ (argumentative and exercising
    judgment); _logica sermotionalis_ is the genus which includes grammar,
    dialectic and rhetoric, to wit, discursive science
    (_disertiva_).”[455]

The close connection between grammar and logic is evident. Logic treats of
language used in rational expression, as well as of the reasoning
processes carried on in language. Its elementary chapters teach a rational
use of language, whereby men may reach a more deeply consistent expression
of their thoughts than is gained from grammar. Yet grammar also is logic,
and based on logical principles. All this is exemplified in the logical
treatises composing the Aristotelian _Organon_, which the Middle Ages
used. First comes Porphyry’s _Isagoge_, which clearly is bound up in
language. Likewise Aristotle’s _Categories_ treat of the rational and
consistent use of language, or of what may be stated in language. Next it
is obvious that the _De interpretatione_ treats of language used to
express thought, its generic function. The more advanced treatises of the
_Organon_, the _Prior_ and _Posterior Analytics_, the _Topics_, and
_Sophistical Elenchi_, treat directly and elaborately of the reasoning
processes themselves. So one perceives the grammatical affinities of the
simpler treatises in the _Organon_. The more advanced ones seem to stand
to them as oratorical rhetoric stands to elementary grammar. For the
_Analytics_, _Topics_, and _Sophistical Elenchi_ are a kind of _eristic_,
training the student to use the processes of thought and their expression
in order to attain an end, commonly argumentative. The prior treatises
have taught the elements, as it were the orthography and etymology of the
rational expression of thought in language; the latter (even as syntax and
rhetoric), train the student in the use of these elements. And one
observes a nice historical fitness in the fact that only the simpler
treatises of the _Organon_ were in common use in the early Middle Ages,
since they alone were necessary to the first stage in the appropriation of
the substance of patristic and antique thought. The full _Organon_ was
rediscovered, and retaken into use in the middle or latter part of the
twelfth century, when men had progressed to a more organic appropriation
of the patristic material and what they knew of the antique philosophy.

Thus in mediaeval education, and in the successive order of appropriating
the patristic and the antique, logic stood on grammar’s shoulders. It was
grammar’s rationalized stage, and treated language as the means of
expressing thought consistently and validly; that is, so as not to
contravene the necessities of that whereof it was the vehicle. And since
language thus treated was in accord with rational thought, it would accord
with the realities to which thought corresponds; and might be taken as
expressing _them_. This last reflection introduces metaphysics.

And properly. For the three stages in the mediaeval appropriation and
expression of knowledge were grammar, logic, metaphysics. Logic has to do
with the processes of thought; with the positing of premises and the
drawing of the conclusion. It does not necessarily consider whether the
contents of its premises represent realities. This is matter for ontology,
metaphysics. Now mediaeval metaphysics, which were those of Greek
philosophy, were extremely pre-Kantian, in assuming a correspondence
between the necessities or conclusions of thought and the supreme
realities, God and the Universe. Nor did mediaeval logic doubt that its
processes could elucidate and express the veritable natures of things. So
mediaeval logic readily wandered into the province of metaphysics, and
ignored the line between the two.

Yet there is little metaphysics in the _Organon_; none in its simpler
treatises. So there was none in the elementary logical instruction of the
schools before the twelfth century at least.[456] One may always
distinguish between logic and metaphysics; and it is to our purpose to do
so here. For as we have taken logic to represent the second stage in the
mediaeval appropriation of knowledge, so metaphysics, poised in turn on
logic’s shoulders, is very representative of the third stage, to wit, the
stage of systematic and organic re-expression of the ancient matter, with
elements added by the great schoolmen.

Metaphysics was very properly the final stage. The grammatical represented
an elementary learning of what the past had transmitted; the logical a
further retrying of the matter, an attempt to understand and express it,
formulate parts of it anew, with deeper consistency of expression. Then
follows the attempt for final and universal consistency: final inasmuch as
thought penetrates to the nature of things and expresses realities and the
relationships of realities; and universal, in that it seeks to order and
systematize all its concepts, and bring them to unity in a _Summa_--a
perfected scheme of rational presentation of God and His creation. This
will be, largely speaking, the final endeavour of the mediaeval man to
ease his mind, and realize _his_ impulse to know and express himself with
uttermost consistency.

So for mediaeval men, metaphysics stood on logic’s shoulders and
represented the final completion of their thought, in a universal system
and scheme of God and man and things.[457] But the first part of this
proposition had not been true with Greek philosophy. Metaphysics is
properly occupied with being, in its ultimate essence and relationships;
with the consistent putting together of things, to wit, the presentation
or expression of them so as not to disagree with any of the data
recognized as pertinent. The thinker considers profoundly, seeking to
penetrate the ultimate reality and relationships of things, through which
a universal whole is constituted. This makes ontology, metaphysics--the
science of being, of causes, and so the science of the first Cause, God.
Aristotle called this the “first” philosophy, because lying at the base of
all branches of knowledge, and depending on nothing beyond itself. Some
time after his death, the Peripatetics and then the Neo-Platonists called
this first science by the name of Metaphysics, “after” or “beyond”
physics, if one will, perhaps because of the actual order of treatment in
the schools.

The term Metaphysics is vague enough; either “first” philosophy or
“ontology” is preferable. Yet as to Greek philosophy the term has apt
historical suggestiveness. For it did come after physics in time, and was
in fact evoked by the imperfect method and consequent contradictions of
the earlier philosophies. From the beginning, Greek philosophy drove
straight at the cause or origin of things--surely the central problem of
metaphysics. Thales and the other Ionians began with rational, though
crude, hypotheses as to the sources of the universe. These were first
attempts to reach a consistent expression of its origin and nature. Each
succeeding philosopher considered further, from the vantage-ground of the
recognized inconsistencies or inadequacies in the theories of his
predecessors. He was thus led on to consider more profoundly the essential
relationships of things, the very truth of their relationships, and on and
on into the problem of their being. For the verity of relations must be
according to the verity of being of the things related. The world about us
consists in relationships, of antecedents and sequences, of cause and
effect; and our thought of it is made up of consistencies or
contradictions, which last we struggle to eliminate, or to transform to
consistencies.

These early philosophers looked only to the Aristotelian material cause
for the origin and cause of things; yet reflection plunged them deeper
into a consideration of the nature of being and relationships. The other
causes were evoked by Anaxagoras and then by Plato, and by them were led
into the arena of debate; and philosophers discussed the efficient and
final cause as well as the material. Such discussions are recognized by
Plato, and finally by Aristotle as relating to the first principles of
cognition and being, and so as constituting metaphysics. The constant
search for a deeper consistency of explanation had led on and on through a
manifold consideration of those palpable relationships which make up the
visible world; it had disclosed the series of necessary assumptions
required by those visible relationships; and thus the search for causality
and origins, and essential relationships, became one and the
same--metaphysics.

Metaphysics was not ineptly called so, since it had in time come after the
cruder physical hypotheses. But such was not the order of _mediaeval_
intellectual progress. The Middle Ages passed through no preliminary
course of physical hypotheses, explanatory of the universe. Not physics,
but logic (introduced by grammar) led up to the final construction--or
rather adoption and reconstruction--of ultimate hypotheses as to God and
man, led up to the all-ordering and all-compassing _Theologia_.
_Metalogics_, rather than Metaphysics, would be the proper name for these
final expressions or actualizations of the mediaeval impulse to know.



CHAPTER XXXVI

TWELFTH-CENTURY SCHOLASTICISM

      I. THE PROBLEM OF UNIVERSALS: ABAELARD.

     II. THE MYSTIC STRAIN: HUGO AND BERNARD.

    III. THE LATER DECADES: BERNARD SILVESTRIS; GILBERT DE LA PORRÉE;
         WILLIAM OF CONCHES; JOHN OF SALISBURY, AND ALANUS OF LILLE.


I

From the somewhat elaborate general considerations which have occupied the
last two chapters, we turn to the representative manifestations of
mediaeval thought in the twelfth century. These belong in part to the
second or “logical,” and in part to the third or “meta-logical,” stage of
the mediaeval mind. The first or “grammatical” stage was represented by
the Carolingian period; and in reviewing the mental aspects of the
eleventh century, we entered upon the second stage, that of logic, or
dialectic, to use the more specific mediaeval term. Toward the close of
the tenth century Gerbert was found strenuously occupying himself with
logic, and using it as a means of ordering the branches of knowledge. At
the end of the eleventh, Anselm has not only considered certain logical
problems, but has vaulted over into constructive metaphysical theology.
Looking back over Anselm’s work, from the vantage-ground of the twelfth
century’s further reflections, one may be conscious of a certain genial
youthfulness in his reliance upon single arguments, noble and beautiful
soarings of the spirit, which however pay little regard to the firmness of
the premises from which they spring, and still less to a number of
cognate and pertinent considerations, which the twelfth century was to
analyze.

Anselm’s thoughts perhaps overleaped logic. At all events he appears only
occasionally absorbed with its formal problems. Yet he lived in a time of
dawning logical controversy. Roscellin was even then blowing up the
problem of universals, a problem occasioned by the entering of mediaeval
thought upon the “logical” stage of its appropriation of the patristic and
antique.

The problem of universals, or general ideas, from the standpoint of logic,
lies at the basis of consistent thinking. It reverts to the time when
Aristotle’s assertion of the pre-eminently real existence of individuals
broke away from the Platonic doctrine of Ideas. For the early mediaeval
philosophers, it took its rise in a famous passage in Porphyry’s
Introduction to the _Categories_, the concluding sentence of which, as
translated into Latin by Boëthius, puts the question thus: “Mox de
generibus et speciebus illud quidem sive subsistant sive in nudis
intellectibus posita sint, sive subsistentia corporalia sint an
incorporalia, et utrum separata a sensibilibus an in sensibilibus posita
et circa haec consistentia, dicere recusabo.” “Next as to _genera_ and
_species_, do they actually exist or are they merely in thought; are they
corporeal or incorporeal existences; are they separate from sensible
things or only in and of them?--I refuse to answer,” says Porphyry; “it is
a very lofty business, unsuited to an elementary work.”

Thus, in three pairs of crude alternatives, the question came over to the
early Middle Ages. The men of the Carolingian period took one position or
another, without sensing its difficulties, or observing how it lay athwart
the path of knowledge. Students were not as yet attempting such a dynamic
appropriation of the ancient material as would evoke this veritable
problem of cognition. Even Gerbert at the close of the tenth century was
still so busy with the outer forms and figments of logic that he had no
time to enter on those ulterior problems where logic links itself to
metaphysics. One Roscellin, living and teaching apparently at Besançon in
the latter part of the eleventh century, seems to have been the first to
attack the currently accepted “realism” with some sense of the matter’s
thorny intricacies. With his own “nominalistic” position we are acquainted
only through his adversaries, who imputed to him views which a thoughtful
person could hardly have entertained--that universals were merely words
and breath (_flatus vocis_). Roscellin seems at all events to have been a
man strongly held by the reality of individuals, and one who found it
difficult to ascribe a sufficient intellectual actuality to the general
idea as distinguished from the perception of things and the demands of the
concepts of their individual existences. His logical difficulties impelled
him to theological heresy. The unity in the Trinity became an
impossibility; he could only conceive of three beings, just as he might
think of three angels; and he would have spoken of three Gods had usage
not forbidden it, says St. Anselm.[458] As it was, he said enough to draw
on him the condemnation of a Council held at Soissons in 1092, before
which he quailed and recanted. For the remainder of his life he so
constrained the expression of his thoughts as to ensure his safety.

One may say that Plato’s theory of ideas was a metaphysical presentation
of the universe, sounding in conceptions of reality. But for the Middle
Ages, the problem whether genera and species exist when abstracted from
their particulars, sprang from logical controversy. It was a problem of
cognition, cognizance, understanding: how should one understand and
analyze the contents of a statement, _e.g._ Socrates is a man. Moreover,
it was a fundamental and universal problem of cognition; for it was not
merely occupied, like all mental processes, with bringing data to
consistent formulation, but pertained to those processes themselves by
which any and all data are stated or formulated. It touched every
formulation of truth, asking, in fine, how are we to think our statements?
The philosophers of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, however, did not
view this problem as one pertaining to the mind’s processes, and as having
to do solely with the understanding of the contents of a statement.
Rather, even as Plato had done, they approached it as if it were a problem
of modes of existence; and for this very reason it had pushed Roscellin
into theological error.

The discussion was to pass through various stages; and each stage may seem
to us to represent the point reached by the thinker in his analysis of his
conscious meaning in stating a proposition. Moreover, each solution may be
valid for him who gives it, because of its correspondence to the meaning
of his utterances so far as he has analyzed them. But mediaeval men could
not take it in this way. Their intellectual task lay in appropriating, and
in their own way re-expressing, all that had come to them from an
authoritative past. The problem of universals had been stated by a great
authority, who put it as pertaining to the objective reality of genera and
species. How then might mediaeval men take it otherwise, especially when
at all events it pertained in all verity to their endeavour to grasp and
re-express the contents of transmitted truth? It became for a while the
crucial problem, the answer to which might indicate the thinker’s general
intellectual attitude. Far from keeping to logic, to the _organon_ or
instrumental part of the mediaeval endeavour to know, it wound itself
through metaphysics and theology. Obviously the thinker’s answer to the
problem would bear relation to his thoughts upon the transcendent reality
of spiritual essences.

The men who first became impressed with the importance of this problem,
gave extreme answers to it, sometimes crassly denying the real existence
of universals, but more often hailing them as antecedent and
all-permeating realities. If Roscellinus took the former position, a pupil
of his, William of Champeaux, held the extreme opposite view, when both he
and the twelfth century were still young. One may, however, bear in mind
that as the views of the older nominalist are reported only by his
enemies, so our knowledge of William’s lucubrations comes mainly from the
exacerbated pen of Peter Abaelard.

William held apparently “that the same thing, in its totality and at the
same time, existed in its single individuals, among which there was no
essential difference, but merely a variety of accidents.”[459] Abaelard
appears to have performed a _reductio ad absurdum_ upon this view that the
total genus exists in each individual. He pointed out that in such case
the total genus _homo_ would at the same time exist in Socrates and also
in Plato, when one of them might be in Rome and the other in Athens. “At
this William changed his opinion,” continues Abaelard, “and taught that
the genus existed in each individual not _essentialiter_ but
_indifferenter_ or [as some texts read] _individualiter_.” Which seems to
mean that William no longer held that the total genus existed in each
individual actually, but “indistinguishably,” or “individually.”

And the students flocked away with Abaelard, _he_ also says; and William
fled the lecture chair. William and Peter; shall we say of them _arcades
ambo_? This would be but a harmless depreciation of Abaelard, in the face
of the universal and correct tradition as to his epoch-making intellectual
progressiveness. Indeed it might be well to let the phrase sound in our
ears, just for the reminder’s sake, that Abaelard was, like William, a man
of logic, although far more expert both in manipulating the dialectic
processes and in applying them to theology.

Before endeavouring briefly to reconstruct the intellectual qualities of
Abaelard from his writings, let us see how the famous open letter to a
friend, in giving an apologetic story of the writer’s life, discloses the
fatalities of his character. This _Historia calamitatum suarum_ makes it
plain enough why the crises of his life were all of them
catastrophes--even leaving out of view his liaison with Heloïse and its
penalty. A fatal impulse to annoy seems to drive him from fate to fate;
the old word of Heraclitus ἦθος ἀνθρώπῳ δαίμων (character is a man’s
genius) was so patently true of him. Much that he said was to receive
orthodox approval after his time. Quite true. It has often been remarked,
that the heresy of one age is the accepted doctrine of the next, even
within the Church. But would the heretic have been _persona grata_ to the
later time? Perhaps not. Peter Abaelard at all events would have led
others and himself a life of thorns in the thirteenth century, or the
fourteenth had he been born again, when some of his methods and opinions
had become accepted commonplace. Did he have an eye for logical and human
truth more piercing than his twelfth-century fellows? Apparently. Was his
need to speak out his truth so much the more imperative than theirs?
Possibly. At all events, he was certainly possessed with an inordinate
impulsion to undo his rivals. He sits down before their fortress walls by
night, and when they see him there, they know not whether they look on
friend or foe--in this auditor. They will find out soon enough. He studied
dialectic under William of Champeaux at Paris, as all men were to know. He
got what William had to teach, and moved on, to lecture in Melun and
elsewhere. Then he returned and sat at William’s feet awhile to learn
rhetoric, as he announced. But quickly he rose up, and assailed his
master’s doctrine of universals, and overthrew him, as we have seen. The
victim’s friends made Abaelard’s eristically won lecturer’s seat a prickly
one. He left Paris for a while, and then returned and taught on Mount St.
Geneviève, outside the city.

Up to this time he had not been known to study theology. But in 1113, at
the age of thirty-four, he went to Laon to listen to a famous theologian
named Anselm, who himself had studied at Bec under a greater Anselm. Says
Abaelard in his _Historia calamitatum_: “So I came to this old man, whose
repute was a tradition, rather than merited by talent or learning. Any one
who brought his uncertainties to him, went away more uncertain still! He
was a marvel in the eyes of his hearers, but a nobody before a questioner.
He had a wonderful wordflow, but the sense was contemptible and the
reasoning abject.” Well, I didn’t listen to him long, Abaelard intimates;
but began to absent myself from his lectures, and was brought to task by
his auditors, to whom jokingly I said, I, too, could lecture on Scripture;
and I was taken up. Nothing loath, the next day I lectured to them on the
passage they had chosen from Ezekiel’s obscure prophecies. So, all
unprepared, and trusting in my genius, I began to lecture, at first to
sparse audiences, but they quickly grew. Such is the substance of
Abaelard’s own account, and he goes on to tell how “the old man aforesaid
was violently moved with envy,” and shortly Abaelard had to take his
lecturings elsewhere. He returned to Paris, and we have the episode of
Heloïse, for whom, as his life went on, he evinced a devoted
affection.[460]

Now he is monk in the abbey of St. Denis; and there again he lectures, and
takes up certain themes against Roscellinus, whom he seems to resurrect
from the quiet of old age to make a target of. This old man, too, hits
back, and other vicious people blow up a cloud of envy, until the gifted
lecturer finds himself an accused before the Council of Soissons, and his
book condemned. Untaught by the burning of his book, Abaelard returns to
his convent, and proceeds to unearth statements of the Venerable Bede
showing that Dionysius the Areopagite who heard Paul preach, was not the
St. Denis who became patron saint of France, and founder of the great
abbey which even now was sheltering a certain Abaelard, and drawing power
and revenue from the fame of its reputed almost apostolic founder. Its
abbot and monks did not care to have the abbey walls undermined by truth,
and Abaelard was hunted forth from among them.

It was after this that he made for himself a lonely refuge, which he named
the Paraclete, not far from Troyes, and thither again his pupils followed
him in swarms, and built their huts around him in the wilderness. But
still mightier foes--or their phantoms--rise against this hunted head. The
_Historia_ seems to allude to St. Norbert and to St. Bernard. Whatever the
storm was, it was escaped by flight to a remote Breton convent
which--still for his sins!--had chosen Abaelard its abbot. There in due
course they tried to murder him, and again he fled, this time back to his
congenial sphere, the schools of Paris, where he lectured, now at the
summit of fame, to enthusiastic multitudes of students. Some years pass,
and then the pious jackal, William of St. Thierry, rouses his lion Bernard
to contend with Abaelard and crush him, not with dialectic, at the
Council of Sens in 1141. In a year he died, a broken man, in Cluny’s
shelter. The conflict had not been of his seeking. Perhaps, had he been
less vain, he might have avoided it. When it was upon him, the unhappy
athlete of the schools found himself a pigmy matched against the giant of
Clairvaux--the Thor and Loki of the Church! Whether or not the unequal
battle raises Abaelard in our esteem, its outcome commends him to our
pity; and all our sympathy stays with him to the last days of a life that
was, as if physically, crushed. This accumulation of sad fortune bears
witness enough to the character of the man on whose neck it did not fall
by accident. Now let us try to reconstruct him intellectually.

We have heretofore observed the genius and noted the somewhat swaddling
dialectic categories of a certain eager intellect bearing the name of
Gerbert.[461] Abaelard’s mental processes have advanced beyond such
logical stammerings. He and his time are in the fulness of youth, and feel
the strength and joyful assurance of an intellectual progress, to be
brought about by a new-found proficiency in dialectic. In the first half
of the twelfth century, the intellectual genius of the time--and Abaelard
was its quintessence--knew itself advancing by this means in truth. A like
intellectual consciousness had rejoiced the disputants in Plato’s academy,
under the inspiration of that beautiful reasoner’s exquisite dialectic.
The one time, like the other, was justified in its confidence. For in such
epochs, language, reasoning, and knowledge advance with equal step;
thought clears up with linguistic and logical analysis; it becomes clear
and illuminated because more distinctly conscious of the character of its
processes, and the nature of statement. There is thus a veritable
progress, at least in the methodology of truth.

In Abaelard’s time men had already studied grammar, the grammar of the
Latin tongue, and the quasi-grammar of rearrangement and first painful
learning of the knowledge which it held. They had studied logic too, its
simpler elements, those which consist mainly in a further clearing up of
the meanings of language. Some men--Anselm of Canterbury--had already
made sudden flights beyond grammar, and out of logic’s pale. And the
labour of logical and organic appropriation, with some reconstruction of
the ancient material, was to go on in this first half of the twelfth
century, when Hugo of St. Victor lived as well as Abaelard. Progress by
means of dialectic controversy, and first attempts at systematic
construction, mark this period intellectually. Abaelard lived and moved
and had his being in dialectic. The further interest of Theology was lent
him by the spirit of his time. Through the medium of the one he reasoned
analytically; and in the province of the other he applied his reasoning
constructively, using patristic materials and the fragments of Greek
philosophy scattered through them. Thus Abaelard, a true man of the
twelfth century, passes on through logic to theology or metaphysics.

For the completeness of his logical knowledge he lived and worked twenty
or thirty years too soon. He was unacquainted with the more elaborate
logical treatises of Aristotle, to wit, the _Prior_ and _Posterior
Analytics_, the _Topics_, and _Sophistical Elenchi_. The sources of his
own treatises upon Dialectic are Porphyry’s Introduction, Aristotle’s
_Categories_ and _De interpretatione_, and certain treatises of
Boëthius.[462] A first result of the elementary and quasi-grammatical
character of the sources of logic upon which he drew, is that the
connection between logic and grammar is very plain with him. Note, for
example, this paragraph of his, the substance of which is drawn from
Aristotle’s _Categories_:

    “But neither can substances be compared,[463] since comparison relates
    to attribute, and not to substance; so it is shown that comparison
    lies not as to nouns, but as to their attributes. Thus we say _whiter_
    but not _whitenesser_. Much more are substances which have no
    attribute (_adjacentiam_) immune from comparison. More or less cannot
    be predicated of nouns (_nomina substantiva_). For one cannot say
    _more man_ or _less man_, as _more_ or _less white_.”[464]

Evidently this elementary sort of logic, whether with Aristotle or
Abaelard, represents a clearing up of the mind on current modes of
expression. And sometimes from such studies men make discoveries like that
of Molière’s Bourgeois Gentilhomme, who discovered that he had always been
talking prose. Some of the points on which the minds of Abaelard’s
contemporaries required clarification, would be foolish word-play to
ourselves, as, for instance, whether the significance of the sentence
_homo est animal_ is contained in the subject, copula, or predicate, or
only in all three; and whether when a word is spoken, the very same word
and the whole of it comes to the ears of all the hearers at the same time:
“utrum ipsa vox ad aures diversorum simul et tota aequaliter veniat.”[465]
Such questions, as was observed regarding the problems of logical
arrangement in Gerbert’s mind, may be pertinent and reasonable enough, if
viewed in connection with the intellectual conditions of a period; just as
many questions now make demand on us for solution, being links in the
chain of our knowledge, or manner of reasoning. But future men may pass
them by as not lying in their path to progressive knowledge of the
universe and man.

So the problem of universals was still cardinal with Abaelard and his
fellow-logicians, who through logic were advancing, as they believed,
along the path of objective truth. Its solution would determine the nature
of the categories into which logic was fitting whatever might be
enunciated or expressed. The inquiry represented an ultimate analysis of
statement, of the general nature of propositions; and also related to
their assumed correspondence with realities. What William of Champeaux had
unqualifiedly alleged, Abaelard tried to determine more analytically, to
wit, the value of the proposition “si aliquid sit ea res quae est species,
id est vel homo vel equus et caetera, sit quaelibet res quae eorum genus
est, veluti animal aut corpus aut substantia,”--if species be something,
as man, horse, and so forth, then that which is the genus of these may be
something, as animal, body, or substance.[466]

Abaelard’s discussion of this matter is a discussion of the true content
of propositions. His conclusion is not so clear as to have occasioned no
dispute. One must not think of him as an Aristotelian--for he knew little
of the substantial philosophy of Aristotle. Our dialectician had absorbed
more of Plato, through turbid patristic channels and the current
translation of the _Timaeus_. So his solution of the question of genus and
species may prove an analytic bit of eclecticism, an imagined
reconcilement of the two great masters. The universal or general is, says
he, “quod natum est de pluribus praedicari,” that which is by its nature
adapted to be predicated of a number of things. The universal consists
neither in things as such nor in words as such; it consists rather in
general predicability; it is _sermo, sermo praedicabilis_, that which may
be stated, as a predicate, of many. As such it is not a mere word: _sermo_
is not merely _vox_; that is not the true general predicable. On the other
hand, one thing cannot be the predicate of another; _res de re non
praedicatur_: therefore _sermo_ is not _res_. Yet Abaelard does not limit
the existence of the universal to the concept of him who thinks it. It
surely exists in the individuals, since _substantia specierum_ is not
different from the _essentia individuorum_. But does not the general
concept exist as an objective unity? Apparently Abaelard would answer:
Yes, it does thus exist as a common sameness (_consimilitudo_).

All this is anything but clear. And the various twelfth-century opinions
on universals no longer possess human interest. It is hard for us to
distinguish between them, or understand them clearly, or state them
intelligibly. They are bound up in a phraseology untranslatable into
modern language, because the discussion no longer corresponds to modern
ways of thought. But one is interested in the human need which drove
Abaelard and his fellows upon the horns of this problem, and in the nature
of their endeavours to formulate their thought so as to escape those
opposing horns--of an extreme realism which might issue in pantheism, and
an extreme nominalism which seemed to deprive predication of substance and
validity.[467]

So much for Abaelard as sheer logician, formal adjuster of the
instrumental processes of thinking. Dialectic was for him a first stage in
the actualization of the impulse to know, and bring knowledge to
consistent expression. It was also his way of approach to the further
systematic presentation of his thoughts upon God and man, human society
and justice, divine and human.

    “A new calumny against me, have my rivals lately devised, because I
    write upon the dialectic art; affirming that it is not lawful for a
    Christian to treat of things which do not pertain to the Faith. Not
    only they say that this science does not prepare us for the Faith, but
    that it destroys faith by the implications of its arguments. But it is
    wonderful if I must not discuss what is permitted them to read. If
    they allow that the art militates against faith, surely they deem it
    not to be science (_scientia_). For the science of truth is the
    comprehension of things, whose _species_ is the wisdom in which faith
    consists. Truth is not opposed to truth. For not as falsehood may be
    opposed to falsity, or evil to evil, can the true be opposed to the
    true, or the good to the good; but rather all good things are in
    accord. All knowledge is good, even that which relates to evil,
    because a righteous man must have it. Since he should guard against
    evil, it is necessary that he should know it beforehand: otherwise he
    could not shun it. Though an act be evil, knowledge regarding it is
    good; though it be evil to sin, it is good to know the sin, which
    otherwise we could not shun. Nor is the science _mathematica_ to be
    deemed evil, whose practice (astrology) is evil. Nor is it a crime to
    know with what services and immolations the demons may be compelled to
    do our will, but to use such knowledge. For if it were evil to know
    this, how could God be absolved, who knows the desires and cogitations
    of all His creatures, and how the concurrence of demons may be
    obtained? If therefore it is not wrong to know, but to do, the evil is
    to be referred to the act and not to the knowledge. Hence we are
    convinced that all knowledge, which indeed comes from God alone and
    from His bounty, is good. Wherefore the study of every science should
    be conceded to be good, because that which is good comes from it; and
    especially one must insist upon the study of that _doctrina_ by which
    the greater truth is known. This is dialectic, whose function is to
    distinguish between every truth and falsity: as leader in all
    knowledge it holds the primacy and rule of all philosophy. The same
    also is shown to be needful to the Catholic Faith, which cannot
    without its aid resist the sophistries of schismatics.”[468]

In this passage the man himself is speaking, and disclosing his innermost
convictions. For Abaelard’s nature was set upon understanding all things
through reason, even the mysteries of the Faith. He does not say, or quite
think, that he will disbelieve whatever he cannot understand; but his
reasoning and temper point to the conclusion. This was obviously true of
Abaelard’s ethical opinions; his enemies said it was true of his theology.
Such a man would naturally plead for freedom of discussion, even for
freedom of conclusion; but within certain bounds; for who in the twelfth
century could maintain that heretics or infidels did rightly in rejecting
the Christian Faith? Yet Abaelard says heretics should be compelled
(_coercendi_) by reason rather than force.[469] And he could at least
conceive of the rejection of the Faith upon, say, imperfect rational
grounds. In his dialogue between Philosopher, Jew, and Christian, the
Christian says to the Philosopher: One cannot argue against you from the
authority of Scripture, which you do not recognize; for no one can be
refuted save with arguments drawn from what he admits: _Nemo quippe argui
nisi ex concessis potest_.[470] However this sounded in Abaelard’s time,
the same was enunciated by Thomas Aquinas after him, in a passage already
given.[471] But it is doubtful whether Thomas would have cared to follow
Abaelard in some of the arguments of his _Ethics_ or _Book called, Know
Thyself_, in which he maintains that no act is a sin unless the actor was
conscious of its sinfulness; and therefore that killing the martyrs could
not be imputed as sin to those persecutors who deemed themselves thereby
to be doing a service acceptable to God.[472]

The titles given by Abaelard to his various treatises are indicative of
the critical insistency of his nature. He called his _Ethica_, _Scito te
ipsum_, _Know Thyself_: understand thy good and ill intentions, and what
may be vice or virtue in thee. Through the book, the discussion of right
and wrong directs itself as pertinaciously to considerations of human
nature as was possible in an age when theological dogma held the final
criteria of human conduct. And Abaelard is capable of a lofty insight
touching the relationship between God and man.

    “Penitence,” says he, “is truly fruitful when grief and contrition
    proceed from love of God, regarded as benignant, rather than from fear
    of penalties. Sin cannot endure with this groaning and contrition of
    heart: for sin is contempt of God, or consent to evil, and the love of
    God in inspiring our groaning, suffers no ill.”[473]

Possibly when reading the _Scito te ipsum_ one is conscious of a
dialectician drawing distinctions, rather than of a moralist searching the
heart of the matter. Everything is set forth so reasonably. Yet Abaelard’s
impartial delight in a rational view of belief and conduct shows nowhere
quite as obviously as in his _Dialogue_ between Philosopher and Jew and
Christian. Each in turn is made to set forth the best arguments his
position admits of. The author does his best for each, and perhaps seems
temperamentally drawn to the position of the Philosopher, whom he permits
to call the Jews _stultos_ and the Christians _insanos_. This philosopher
naturally is no Greek of Plato’s or Aristotle’s time, but a good Roman,
who regards _moralis philosophia_ as the _finis omnium disciplinarum_, and
hangs all intellectual considerations upon a discussion of the _summum
bonum_. His well-worn arguments are put with earnestness. He deprecates
the blind acceptance of beliefs by children from their fathers, and the
narrowness of mind which keeps men from perceiving the possible truth in
others’ opinions:

    “so that whomsoever they see differing from themselves in belief, they
    deem alien from the mercy of God. Thus condemning all others, they
    vaunt themselves alone as blessed. Long reflecting on this blindness
    and pride of the human race, I have unceasingly besought the Divine
    Pity that He would deign to draw me forth from this miserable
    Charibdian whirlpool of error, and guide me to a port of safety. So
    you [addressing both Jew and Christian] behold me solicitous and
    attentive as a disciple, to the documents of your arguments.”[474]

The qualities cultivated by dialectic, and the impartial rational temper,
here displayed, reappear in the works of Abaelard devoted to sacred
doctrine. Enough has been said of the method and somewhat captious
qualities of the _Sic et non_.[475] Unquestionably its manner of
presenting the contradictory opinions of the Fathers, without any attempt
to reconcile them, tended to bring into view the difficulties inhering in
the formulation of Christian belief. And indeed the book made prominent
all the diabolic insoluble problems of the Faith, or rather of life itself
and any view of God and man: Predestination, for example; whether God
causes evil; whether He is omnipotent; whether He is free. The Lombard’s
_Sentences_ and Thomas’s _Summa_ considered all these questions; but they
strove to solve them; and Thomas did solve every one, leaving no loose
ends to his theology. More potently than Abaelard did the Angelic Doctor
employ dialectic in his finished scheme. With him, this propaedeutic
discipline, this tool of truth, perfectly performs its task of
construction. So also Abaelard intended to work with it; but his somewhat
unconsidered use of the tool did not meet the approval of his
contemporaries. Accordingly, in his more constructive theological
treatises his impulse to know and state appears finally actualized in the
systematic formulation of convictions upon topics of ultimate interest, to
wit, theology, the contents of the Christian Faith, the full relationship
of God and man. Did he sever theology from philosophy? Nay, rather, with
him theology was ultimate philosophy.

Several times Abaelard rewrote what was substantially the same general
work upon Theology. In one of its earliest forms it was burnt by the
Council of Soissons in 1121.[476] In another form it exists under the
title _Theologia Christiana_;[477] and the first part of its apparently
final revision is now improperly entitled, _Introductio ad
theologiam_.[478]

The first Book of the _Theologia Christiana_ is an exposition of the
Trinity, not clinched in syllogisms, but consisting mainly of an orderly
presentation of the patristic authorities supporting the author’s view of
the matter. The testimonies of profane writers are also given. Liber II.
opens by saying that in the former part of the work “we have collected the
_testimonia_ of prophets and philosophers, in support of the faith of the
Holy Trinity.” Hereupon, by the same method of adducing authorities,
Abaelard proceeds to refute those who had blamed him for citing the pagan
philosophers. He marshals his supporting excerpts from the Fathers, and
remarks: “That nothing is more needful for the defence of our faith than
that as against the importunities of all the infidels we should have
witness from themselves wherewith to refute them.” Then he points to the
moral worth of some of the philosophers, to their true teaching of the
soul’s immortality, and quotes Horace’s

  “Oderunt peccare boni virtutis amore.”

He continues at some length setting forth their well-nigh evangelical
virtue, and speaks of the Gospel as _reformatio legis naturalis_.

At the beginning of Liber III. comes the statement: “We set the faith of
the blessed Trinity as the foundation of all good.” Whereupon Abaelard
breaks out in a denunciation of those who misuse dialectic; but again he
passes to a defence of the art as an art and branch of knowledge, and
shows its need as a weapon against those wranglers who will be quieted
neither by the authority of the saints nor the philosophers: against whom,
he, Abaelard, trusting in the divine aid, will turn this weapon as David
did the sword of Goliath. He now states the true object of his work:
“First then is to be set forth the theme of our whole labour, and the sum
of faith; the unity of the divine substance and the Trinity of persons,
which are in God, and are one God. Next we state the objections to our
theses, and then the solutions of those objections.” And he gives the
substance of the Athanasian Creed. From this point, his work becomes more
dialectical and constructive, although of course continuing to quote
authorities. He is emboldened to discuss the deepest mysteries, the very
penetralia of the Trinity, and in a way which might well alarm men like
Bernard, who desired acceptance of the Faith, with rhetoric, but without
discussion. To be sure Abaelard pauses to justify himself by reverting to
his apologetic purpose: “Heretics must be coerced with reason rather than
by force.” However this may be, the work henceforth shows the passing on
of logic to the exercise of its architectonic functions in constructing a
systematic theological metaphysics.

The miscalled _Introductio ad theologiam_, as might be expected of a last
revision of the author’s _Theology_, is a more organic work. In the
Prologue, Abaelard speaks of it as a _Summa sacrae eruditionis_ or an
_Introductio_ to Divine Scripture. And again he states the justifying
purpose of his labour, or rather puts it into the mouths of his disciples
who have asked for such a work from him: “Since our faith, the Christian
Faith, seems entangled in such difficult questions, and to stand apart
from human reason (_et ab humana ratione longius absistere_), it should be
fortified by so much the stronger arguments, especially against the
attacks of those who call themselves philosophers.” Continuing, Abaelard
protests that if in any way, for his sins, he should deviate from the
Catholic understanding and statement, he will on seeing his error revise
the same, like the blessed Augustine.

The work itself opens with a statement of its intended divisions: “In
three matters, as I judge, rests the sum of human salvation: _Fides_,
_caritas_, and _sacramentum_”; and he gives his definition of faith, which
was so obnoxious to Bernard and others, as the _existimatio rerum non
apparentium_. The three extant Books do not conclude the treatment even of
the first of these three topics. But one readily sees that were the work
complete, its arrangement might correspond with that of Thomas’s
_Summa_.[479] One may reiterate that it was more constructively
argumentative than the _Theologia Christiana_, even in the manner of
using the cited authorities. For instance, Abaelard’s mind is fixed on the
analogy between the Neo-Platonic Trinity of _Deus_, _nous_, and _anima
mundi_, and that of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The _nous_ fitly
represents Christ, who is the _Sapientia Dei_--which Abaelard sets forth;
but then with even greater insistency he identifies the Holy Spirit with
the world-soul. Nothing gave a stronger warrant to the accusations of
heresy brought against him than this last doctrine, with which he was
obsessed. Yet what roused St. Bernard and his jackals was not so much any
particular opinion of Abaelard, as his dialectic and critical spirit,
which insisted upon understanding and explaining, before believing. “The
faith of the righteous believes; it does not dispute. But that man,
suspicious of God (_Deum habens suspectum_), has no mind to believe what
his reason has not previously argued.”[480]

Still, when Bernard says that faith does not discuss, but believes, he
states a conviction of his mind, a conviction corresponding with an inner
need of his own to formulate and express his thought. Only, with Abaelard
the need to consider and analyse was more consciously imperative. He could
not avoid the constant query: How shall I think this thing--this thing,
for example, which is declared by revelation? Just as other questioning
spirits in other times might be driven upon the query: How shall we think
these things which are disclosed by the variegated walls of our physical
environment? Those yield data, or refuse them, and force the mind to put
many queries, and come to some adjustment. So experience presents data for
adjustment, just as dogma, Scripture, revelation present that which reason
must bring within the action of its processes, and endeavour to find
rational expression for.


II

The greatest dialectician of the early twelfth century felt no problems
put him by the physical world. That did not attract his inquiry; it did
not touch the reasonings evolved by his self-consciousness, any more than
it impressed the fervid mind of his great adversary, St. Bernard. The
natural world, however, stirred the mind of Abaelard’s contemporary, Hugo
of St. Victor.[481] Its colours waved before his reveries, and its visible
sublimities drew his mind aloft to the contemplation of God: for him its
_things_ were all the things of God--_opus conditionis_ or _opus
restaurationis_;[482] the work of foundation, whereby God created the
physical world for the support and edification of its crowning creature
man; and the work of restoration, to wit, the incarnation of the Word, and
all its sacraments.

Hugo was a Platonic and very Christian theologian. He would reason and
expound, and yet was well aware that reason could not fathom the nature of
God, or bring man to salvation. “Logic, mathematics, physics teach some
truth, yet do not reach that truth wherein is the soul’s safety, without
which whatever is is vain.”[483] So Hugo was not primarily a logician,
like Abaelard; nor did he care chiefly for the kind of truth which might
be had through logic. Nevertheless the productions of his short life prove
the excellence of his mind and his large enthusiasm for knowledge.

As Hugo was the head of the school of St. Victor for some years before his
death, certain of his works cover topics of ordinary mediaeval education,
secular and religious; while others advance to a more profound expression
of the intellectual, or spiritual, interests of their author. For
elementary religious instruction, he composed a veritable book of
_Sentences_,[484] which preceded the Lombard’s in time, but was later than
Abaelard’s _Sic et non_. Without striking features, it lucidly and amiably
carried out its general purpose of setting forth the authoritative
explanations of the elements of the Christian Faith. The writer did not
hesitate to quote opposing views, which were not heralded, however, by
such danger-signals of contradiction as flare from the chapter headings of
the _Sic et non_.

The corresponding treatise upon profane learning--the _Eruditio
didascalica_--is of greater interest.[485] It commences in elementary
fashion, as a manual of study: “There are two things by which we gain
knowledge, to wit, reading and meditation; reading comes first.” The book
is to be a guide to the student in the study both of secular and divine
writings; it teaches how to study the _artes_, and then how to study the
Scriptures.[486] Even in this manual, Hugo shows himself a meditative
soul, and one who seeks to base his most elementary expositions upon the
nature and needs of man. The mind, says he, is distracted by things of
sense, and does not know itself. It is renewed through study, so that it
learns again not to look without for what itself affords. Learning is
life’s solace, which he who finds is happy, and he who makes his own is
blessed.[487]

For Hugo, philosophy is that which investigates the _rationes_ of things
human and divine, seeking ever the final wisdom, which is knowledge of the
_primaeva ratio_: this distinguishes philosophy from the practical
sciences, like agriculture: it follows the _ratio_, and they administer
the matter. Again and again, Hugo returns to the thought that the object
of all human _actiones_ and _studia_ is to restore the integrity of our
nature or mitigate its weaknesses, restore the image of the divine
similitude in us, or minister to the needs of life. This likeness is
renewed by _speculatio veritatis_, or _exercitium virtutis_.[488]

Such is a pretty broad basis of theory for a high school manual. Hugo
proceeds to set forth the scheme, rather than the substance, of the arts
and sciences, pausing occasionally to admonish the reader to hold no
science vile, since knowledge always is good; and he points out that all
knowledge hangs together in a common coherency. He sketches[489] the true
student’s life: Whoever seeks learning, must not neglect discipline! He
must be humble, and not ashamed to learn from any one; he must observe
decent manners, and not play the fool and make faces at lecturers on
divinity, for thereby he insults God. Yea, and let him mind the example of
the ancient sages, who for learning’s sake spurned honours, rejected
riches, rejoiced in insults, deserted the companionship of men, and gave
themselves up to philosophy in desert solitudes, that they might be more
free for meditation. Diligent search for wisdom in quietude becomes a
scholar; and likewise poverty, and likewise exile: he is very delicate who
clings to his fatherland; “He is brave to whom every land is home
(_patria_); and he is perfect to whom the whole world is an exile!”[490]

Hugo has much to say of the _pulchritudo_ and the _decor_ of the
creature-world. But with him the world and its beauty point to God. One
should observe it because of its suggestiveness, the visible suggesting
the invisible. Hugo has already been followed in his argument that the
world, in its veriest reality, is a symbol.[491] Here we follow him along
his path of knowledge, which leads on and upward from _cogitatio_, through
_meditatio_, to _contemplatio_. The steps in Hugo’s scheme are rational,
though the summit lies beyond. This path to truth, leading on from the
visible symbol to the unseen power, is for him the reason and
justification of study; drawing to God it makes for man’s salvation.

Hugo has put perhaps his most lucid exposition of the three grades of
knowledge into the first of his _Nineteen Sermons on Ecclesiastes_.[492]
He is fond of certain numbers, and here his thought revolves in categories
of the number three. Solomon composed three works, the Proverbs,
Ecclesiastes, and Canticles. In the first, he addresses his son
paternally, admonishing him to pursue virtue and shun vice; in the second,
he shows the grown man that nothing in the world is stable; finally, in
Canticles, he brings the consummate one, who has spurned the world, to the
Bridegroom’s arms.

    “Three are the modes of cognition (_visiones_) belonging to the
    rational soul: cogitation, meditation, contemplation. It is cogitation
    when the mind is touched with the ideas of things, and the thing
    itself is by its image presented suddenly, either entering the mind
    through sense or rising from memory. Meditation is the assiduous and
    sagacious revision of cogitation, and strives to explain the involved,
    and penetrate the hidden. Contemplation is the mind’s perspicacious
    and free attention, diffused everywhere throughout the range of
    whatever may be explored. There is this difference between meditation
    and contemplation: meditation relates always to things hidden from our
    intelligence; contemplation relates to things made manifest, either
    according to their nature or our capacity. Meditation always is
    occupied with some one matter to be investigated; contemplation
    spreads abroad for the comprehending of many things, even the
    universe. Thus meditation is a certain inquisitive power of the mind,
    sagaciously striving to look into the obscure and unravel the
    perplexed. Contemplation is that acumen of intelligence which, keeping
    all things open to view, comprehends all with clear vision. Thus
    contemplation has what meditation seeks.

    “There are two kinds of contemplation: the first is for beginners, and
    considers creatures; the kind which comes later, belongs to the
    perfect, and contemplates the Creator. In the Proverbs, Solomon
    proceeds as through meditation. In Ecclesiastes he ascends to the
    first grade of contemplation. In the Song of Songs he transports
    himself to the final grade. In meditation there is a wrestling of
    ignorance with knowledge; and the light of truth gleams as in a fog of
    error. So fire is kindled with difficulty in a heap of green wood; but
    then fanned with stronger breath, the flame burns higher, and we see
    volumes of smoke rolling up, with flame flashing through. Little by
    little the damp is exhausted, and the leaping fire dispels the smoke.
    Then _victrix flamma_ darting through the heap of crackling wood,
    springs from branch to branch, and with lambent grasp catches upon
    every twig; nor does it rest until it penetrates everywhere and draws
    into itself all that it finds which is not flame. At length the whole
    combustible material is purged of its own nature and passes into the
    similitude and property of fire; then the din is hushed, and the
    voracious fire having subdued all, and brought all into its own
    likeness, composes itself to a high peace and silence, finding nothing
    more that is alien or opposed to itself. First there was fire with
    flame and smoke; then fire with flame, without smoke; and at last pure
    fire with neither flame nor smoke.”

So the _victrix flamma_ achieves the three stages of spiritual insight,
fighting its way through the smoke of cogitation, through the smoke and
flame of meditation, and at last through the flame of creature
contemplation, to the high peace of God, where all is love’s ardent
vision, without flame or smoke. It is thus through the grades of knowledge
that the soul reaches at last that fulness of intelligence which may be
made perfect and inflamed with love, in the contemplation of God. All
knowledge is good according to its grade; only let it always lead on to
God, and with humility. Hugo makes his principles clear at the opening of
his commentary on the _Celestial Hierarchy_ of Dionysius.[493]

    “_The Jews seek a sign, and the Greeks wisdom._ There was a certain
    wisdom which seemed such to them who knew not the true wisdom. The
    world found it, and began to be puffed up, thinking itself great in
    this. Confiding in its wisdom, it presumed, and boasted that it would
    attain the highest wisdom.... And it made itself a ladder of the face
    of the creation, shining toward the invisible things of the
    Creator.... Then those things which were seen were known, and there
    were other things which were not known; and through those which were
    manifest they expected to reach those which were hidden; and they
    stumbled and fell into the falsehoods of their own imaginings.... So
    God made foolish the wisdom of this world; and He pointed out another
    wisdom, which seemed foolishness, and was not. For it preached Christ
    crucified, in order that truth might be sought in humility. But the
    world despised it, wishing to contemplate the works of God, which He
    had made to be marvelled at, and it did not wish to venerate what He
    had set for imitation. Neither did it look to its own disease, and
    seek a medicine with piety; but presuming on a false health, it gave
    itself over with vain curiosity to the study of alien matters.”

This study made the wisdom of the world, whereby it devised the arts and
sciences which we still learn. But the world in its pride did not read
aright the great book of nature. It had not the knowledge of the true
Exemplar, for the sanitation of its inner vision, to wit, the flesh of the
eternal Word in the humanity of Jesus.

    “There were two images (_simulacra_) set for man, in which he might
    perceive the unseen: one consisting of nature, the other of grace. The
    former image was the face of this world; the latter was the humanity
    of the Word. And God is shown in both, but He is not understood in
    both; since the appearance of nature discloses the artificer, but
    cannot illuminate the eyes of him who contemplates it.”

Hugo then classifies the sciences in the usual Aristotelian way, and shows
that Christian theology is the end of all philosophy. The first part of
_philosophia theorica_ is mathematics, which speculates as to the visible
forms of visible things. The second is physics, which scrutinizes the
invisible causes of visible things. The third, theology, alone
contemplates invisible substances and their invisible natures. Herein is a
certain progression; and the mind mounts to knowledge of the true. Through
the visible forms of visible things, it comes to invisible causes of
visible things; and through the invisible causes of visible things, it
ascends to invisible substances, and to knowing their natures. This is the
summit of philosophy and the perfection of truth. In this, as already
said, the wise of this world were made foolish; because proceeding by the
natural document alone, making account only of the elements and appearance
of the world, they missed the instructive instances of Grace: which in
spite of humble guise afford the clearer insight into truth.

This is Hugo’s scheme of knowledge; it begins with _cogitatio_, then
proceeds through _meditatio_ to _contemplatio_ of the creature world, and
finally of the Creator. The arts and sciences, as well as the face of
nature, afford a _simulacrum_ of the unseen Power; but all this knowledge
by itself will not bring man to the perfect knowledge of God. For this he
needs the _exemplaria_ of Grace, shown through the incarnation of the
Word. Only by virtue of this added means, may man attain to perfect
contemplation of the truth of God. That end and final summit is beyond
reason’s reach; but the attainment of rational knowledge makes part of the
path thither. Keen as was Hugo’s intellectual nature, his interest in
reason was coupled with a deeper interest in that which reason might
neither include nor understand. The intellect does not include the
emotional and immediately desiderative elements of human nature; neither
can it comprehend the infinite which is God; and Hugo drew toward God not
only through his intellect, but likewise through his desiderative nature,
with its yearnings of religious love. That love with him was rational,
since its object satisfied his mind as far as his mind could comprehend
it.

So Hugo’s intellectual interests were connected with the emotional side of
human nature, and also led up to what transcended reason. Thus they led to
what was a mystery because too great for human reason, and they included
that which also was somewhat of a mystery to reason because lying partly
outside its sphere. Hugo is an instance of the intellectual nature which
will not rest in reason’s province, but feels equally impelled to find
expression for matters that either exceed the mind, or do not altogether
belong to it. Such an intellect is impelled to formulate its convictions
in regard to these; its negative conviction that it cannot comprehend
them, and why it cannot; and its more positive conviction of their
value--of the absolute worth of God, and of man’s need of Him, and of the
love and fear by which men may come close to Him, or avoid His wrath.

What Hugo has had to say as to cogitation, meditation, and contemplation,
represents his analysis of the stages by which a sufficing sense may be
reached of the Creator and His world of creature-kind. In this final
wisdom and ardour of contemplation, both human reason and human love have
part. The intellect advances along its lines, considering the world, and
drawing inferences as to the unseen Being who created and sustains it.
Mind’s unaided power will not reach. But by the grace of God, supremely
manifested in the Incarnation, the man is humbled, and his heart is
touched and drawn to love the power of the divine pity and humility. The
lesson of the Incarnation and its guiding grace, emboldens the heart and
enlightens the mind; and the man’s faculties are strengthened and uplifted
to the contemplation of God, wherein the mind is satisfied and the heart
at rest.

We have here the elements of piety, intellectual and devotional. Hugo is
an example of their union; they also preserve their equal weight in
Aquinas. But because Hugo emphasizes the limitations of the intellect, and
so ardently recognizes the heart’s yearning and immediacy of
apperception, he is what is styled a mystic; a term which we are now in a
position to consider, and to some extent exchange for other phrases of
more definite significance.[494]

Quite to avoid the term is not possible, inasmuch as the conception
certainly includes what is mysterious because unknowable through reason.
For it includes a sense of the supreme, a sense of God, who is too great
for human reason to comprehend, and therefore a mystery. And it includes a
yearning toward God, the desire of Him, and the feeling of love. The last
is also mysterious, in that it has not exclusive part with reason, but
springs as well from feeling. Yet the essence or nature of this spirit of
piety which we would analyse, consists in consciousness of the reality of
the object of its yearning or devotion. Not altogether through induction
or deduction, but with an irrational immediacy of conviction, it feels and
knows its object. In place of the knowledge which is mediated through
rational processes, is substituted a conviction upheld by yearning, love’s
conviction indeed, of the reality and presence of that which is all the
greater and more worthy because it baffles reason. And the final goal
attainable by this mystic love is, even as the goal of other love, union
with the Beloved.

The mystic spirit is an essential part of all piety or religion, which
relates always and forever to the rationally unknown, and therefore
mysterious. Without a consciousness of mystery, there can be neither piety
nor religion. Nor can there be piety without some devotion to God, nor the
deepest and most ardent forms of piety, without fervent love of God. This
devotion and this love supply strength of conviction, creating a realness
of communion with the divine, and an assurance of the soul’s rest and
peace therein. But that the intellect has part, Hugo abundantly
demonstrates. One must have perceptions, and thought’s severest
wrestlings--_cogitatio_ and _meditatio_--before reaching that first stage
of wide and sure intelligence, which relates to the creature world, and
affords a broad basis of assurance, whence at last the soul shall spring
to God. Intellectual perceptions and rational knowledge, and all the
mind’s puttings together of its data in inductions and deductions and
constructions, form a basis for contemplation, and yield material upon
which the emotional side of human nature may exercise itself in yearning
and devotion. Herein the constructive imagination works; which is
intellectual faculty illuminated and impelled by the emotions.

This spirit actualizes itself in the power and scope of its resultant
conviction, by which it makes real to itself the qualities, attributes,
and actions of its object, God, and the nature of man’s relationship or
union with the divine. In its final energy, when only partly conscious of
its intellectual inductions, it discards syllogisms, quite dissatisfied
with their devious and hesitating approach. Instead, by the power of love,
it springs directly to its God. Nevertheless the soul which feels the
inadequacy of reason even to voice the soul’s desires, will seek means of
expression wherein reason still will play a submerged part. The soul is
seeking to express what is not altogether expressible in direct and
rational statement. It seeks adumbrations, partial unveilings of its
sentiments, which shall perhaps make up in warmth of colour what they lack
in definiteness of line. In fine, it seeks symbols. Such symbolism must be
large and elastic, in order to shadow forth the soul’s relations with the
Infinite; it must also be capable of carrying passion, that it may satisfy
the soul’s craving to give voice to its great love.

In Greek thought as well as in the Hellenizing Judaism of a Philo,
symbolism, or more specifically speaking, allegorical interpretation, was
obviously apologetic, seeking to cloud in naturalistic interpretations the
doings of the rather over-human gods of Greece.[495] But it sprang also
from the unresting need of man to find expression for that sense of things
which will not fit definite statement. This was the need which became
creative, and of necessity fancifully creative, with Plato. Though he
would have nothing to do with falsifying apologetics, all the more he felt
the need of allegories, to suggest what his dialectic could not
formulate. In the early times of the Church militant of Christ,
allegorical interpretation was exploited to defend the Faith; in the later
patristic period, the Faith had so far triumphed, that allegory as a sword
of defence and attack might be sheathed, or just allowed to glitter now
and then half-drawn. But piety’s other need, with increasing energy,
compelled the use of symbols and articulate allegory to express the
directly inexpressible. Thereafter through the Middle Ages, while the use
of allegory as a defence against the Gentiles slumbered, so much more the
other need of it, and the sense of the universal symbolism of material
things, filled the minds of men; and in age-long answer to this need,
allegory, symbolism, became part of the very spirit of the mediaeval time.

Thus it became the universal vehicle of pious expression: it may be said
almost to have co-extended with all mediaeval piety. It was ardently
loving, as with St. Bernard; it might be filled with scarlet passion, as
with Mechthild of Magdeburg; or it might be used in the self-conscious,
and yet inspired vision-pictures of Hildegard of Bingen. And indeed with
almost any mediaeval man or woman, it might keep talking, as a way of
speech, obtrusively, conventionally, _ad nauseam_. For indeed in treatise
after treatise even of the better men, allegory seems on the one hand to
become very foolish and perverse, banal, intolerably talking on and on
beyond the point; or again we sense its mechanism, hear the creaking of
its jaws, while no living voice emerges,--and we suspect that the mystery
of life, if it may not be compassed by direct statement, also lies deeper
than allegorical conventions.

Hugo’s great _De sacramentis_ showed the equipoise of intellectual and
pietistic interests in him, and the Platonic quality of his mind’s sure
sense of the reality of the supersensual.[496] Other treatises of his show
his yearning piety, and the Augustinian quality of his soul, “made toward
thee, and unquiet till it rests in thee.” The _De arca Noe morali_,[497]
that is to say, the Ark of Noah viewed in its moral significance, is
charming in its spiritual refinement, and interesting in its catholic
intellectual reflections. The Prologue presents a situation:

    “As I was sitting once among the brethren, and they were asking
    questions, and I replying, and many matters had been cited and
    adduced, it came about that all of us at once began to marvel
    vehemently at the unstableness and disquiet of the human heart; and we
    began to sigh. Then they pleaded with me that I would show them the
    cause of such whirlings of thought in the human heart; and they
    besought me to set forth by what art or exercise of discipline this
    evil might be removed. I indeed wished to satisfy my brethren, so far
    as God might aid me, and untie the knot of their questions, both by
    authority and by argument. I knew it would please them most if I
    should compose my matter to read to them at table.

    “It was my plan to show first whence arise such violent changes in
    man’s heart, and then how the mind may be led to keep itself in stable
    peace. And although I had no doubt that this is the proper work of
    grace, rather than of human labour, nevertheless I know that God
    wishes us to co-operate. Besides it is well to know the magnitude of
    our weakness and the mode of its repairing, since so much the deeper
    will be our gratitude.

    “The first man was so created, that if he had not sinned, he would
    always have beheld in present contemplation his Creator’s face, and by
    always seeing Him, would have loved Him always, and, by loving, would
    always have clung close to Him, and by clinging to Him who was
    eternal, would have possessed life without end. Evidently the one true
    good of man was perfect knowledge of his Creator. But he was driven
    from the face of the Lord, since for his sin he was struck with the
    blindness of ignorance, and passed from that intimate light of
    contemplation; and he inclined his mind to earthly desires, as he
    began to forget the sweetness of the divine. Thus he was made a
    wanderer and fugitive over the earth. A wanderer indeed, because of
    disordered concupiscence; and a fugitive, through guilty conscience,
    which feels every man’s hand against it. For every temptation will
    overcome the man who has lost God’s aid.

    “So man’s heart which had been kept secure by divine love, and one by
    loving one, afterwards began to flow here and there through earthly
    desires. For the mind which knows not to love its true good, is never
    stable and never rests. Hence restlessness, and ceaseless labour, and
    disquiet, until the man turns and adheres to Him. The sick heart
    wavers and quivers; the cause of its disease is love of the world; the
    remedy, the love of God.”

Hugo’s object is to give rest to the restless heart, by directing its love
to God. One still bears in mind his three plains of knowledge, forming
perhaps the three stages of ascent, at the top of which is found the
knowledge that turns to divine contemplation and love. There may be a
direct and simple love of God for simple souls; but for the man of mind,
knowledge precedes love.

    “In two ways God dwells in the human heart, to wit, through knowledge
    and through love; yet the dwelling is one, since every one who knows
    Him, loves, and no one can love without knowing. Knowledge through
    cognition of the Faith erects the structure; love through virtue,
    paints the edifice with colour.”[498]

Then make a habitation for God in thy heart. This is the great matter, and
indeed all: for this, Scripture exists, and the world was made, and God
became flesh, through His humility making man sublime. The Ark of Noah is
the type of this spiritual edifice, as it is also the type of the Church.

The piety and allegory of this work rise as from a basis of knowledge. The
allegory indeed is drawn out and out, until it seems to become sheer
circumlocution. This was the mediaeval way, and Hugo’s too, alas! We will
not follow further in this treatise, nor take up his _De arca Noe
mystica_,[499] which carries out into still further detail the symbolism
of the Ark, and applies it to the Church and the people of God. Hugo has
also left a colloquy between man and his soul on the true love, which lies
in spiritual meditation.[500] But it is clear that the reaches of Hugo’s
yearning are still grounded in intellectual considerations, though these
may be no longer present in the mind of him whose consciousness is
transformed to love.

One may discern the same progression, from painful thought to surer
contemplation, and thence to the heart’s devoted communion, in him whom we
have called the Thor and Loki of the Church. No twelfth-century soul loved
God more zealously than St. Bernard. He was not strong in abstract
reasoning. His mind needed the compulsion of the passions to move it to
sublime conclusions. Commonly he is dubbed a mystic. But his piety and
love of God poise themselves on a basis of consideration before springing
to soar on other wings. In his _De consideratione_,[501] Bernard explains
that word in the sense given by Hugo to _meditatio_, while he uses
_contemplatio_ very much as Hugo does. It applies to things that have
become certain to the mind, while “_consideratio_ is busy investigating.
In this sense _contemplatio_ may be defined as the true and certain
intuition of the mind (_intuitus animi_) regarding anything, or the sure
apprehension of the true: while _consideratio_ is thought intently
searching, or the mind’s endeavour to track out the true.”[502]

_Contemplatio_, even though it forget itself in ecstasy, must be based on
prior consideration; then it may take wings of its own, or rather (with
orthodox Hugo and Bernard) wings of grace, and fly to the bosom of its
God. This flight is the immediacy of conviction and the ecstasy which
follows. One may even perceive the thinking going on during the soul’s
outpour of love. For the mind still supports the soul’s ardour with
reasonings, original or borrowed, as appears in the second sermon of that
long series preached by Bernard on Canticles to his own spiritual _élite_
of Clairvaux.[503] The saintly orator is yearning, yearning for Christ
Himself; he will have naught of Moses or Isaiah; nor does he desire
dreams, or care for angels’ visits: _ipse, ipse me osculetur_, cries his
soul in the words of Canticles--let _Him_ kiss me. The phrasing seems
symbolical; but the yearning is direct, and at least rhetorically
overmastering. The emotion is justified by its reasons. They lie in the
personality of Christ and Bernard’s love of Him, rising from all his
knowledge of Him, even from his experience of Jesus’ whisperings to the
soul. He knows how vastly Jesus surpasses the human prophets who
prefigured or foretold Him: _ipsos longe superat Jesus meus_--the word
_meus_ is love’s very articulation. The orator cries: “Listen! Let the
kissing mouth be the Word assuming flesh; and the mouth kissed be the
flesh which is assumed; then the kiss which is consummated between them is
the _persona_ compacted of the two, to wit, the mediator of God and men,
the man Christ Jesus.”

This identical allegory goes back to Origen’s _Commentary on Canticles_.
Bernard has kindled it with an intimate love of Jesus, which is not
Origen’s. But the thought explains and justifies Bernard’s desire to be
kissed by the kiss of His mouth, and so to be infolded in the divine love
which “gave His only-begotten Son,” and also became flesh. _Os osculans_
signifies the Incarnation: one realizes the emotional power which that
saving thought would take through such a metaphor. At the end of his
sermon, Bernard sums up the conclusion, so that his hearers may carry it
away:

    “It is plain that this holy kiss was a grace needed by the world, to
    give faith to the weak, and satisfy the desire of the perfect. The
    kiss itself is none other than the mediator of God and men, the man
    Christ Jesus, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns
    God, _per omnia saecula saeculorum_, Amen.”


III

There is small propriety in speaking of these men of the first half of the
twelfth century as Platonists or Aristotelians; nor is there great
interest in trying to find in Plato or Aristotle or Plotinus the specific
origin of any of their thoughts. They were apt to draw on the source
nearest and most convenient; and one must remember that their immediate
philosophic antecedents were not the distinct systems of Plato and
Aristotle and Plotinus, but rather the late pagan eras of eclecticism,
followed by that strongly motived syntheticism of the Church Fathers which
selected whatever might accord with their Christian scheme. So Abaelard
must not be called an Aristotelian. Neither he nor his contemporaries knew
what an Aristotelian was, and when they called Abaelard _Peripateticus_,
they meant one skilled in the logic which was derived from the simpler
treatises of Aristotle’s _Organon_. Nor will we call Hugo a Platonist, in
spite of his fine affinities with Plato; for many of Hugo’s thoughts, his
classification of the sciences for example, pointed back to Aristotle.

Abaelard, Hugo, St. Bernard suggest the triangulation of the epoch’s
intellectual interests. Peter Lombard, somewhat their junior, presents its
compend of accepted and partly digested theology. He took his method from
Abaelard, and drew whole chapters of his work from Hugo; but his great
source, which was also theirs, was Augustine. The Lombard was, and was to
be, a representative man; for his _Sentences_ brought together the
ultimate problems which exercised the minds of the men of his time and
after.

The early and central decades of the twelfth century offer other persons
who may serve to round out our general notion of the character of the
intellectual interests which occupied the period before the rediscovery of
Aristotle, that is, of the substantial Aristotelian encyclopaedia of
knowledge. Among such Adelard of Bath (England) was somewhat older than
Abaelard. His keen pursuit of knowledge made him one of its early pilgrims
to Spain and Greece. He compiled a book of _Quaestiones naturales_, and
another called _De eodem et diverso_,[504] in which he struggled with the
problem of universals, and with palpable problems of psychology. His
cosmology shows a genial culling from the _Timaeus_ fragment of Plato, and
such other bits of Greek philosophy as he had access to.

Adelard was influenced by the views of men who taught or studied at
Chartres. Bernard of Chartres, the first of the great Chartrian teachers
of the early twelfth century,[505] wrote on Porphyry, and after his death
was called by John of Salisbury _perfectissimus inter Platonicos saeculi
nostri_. He was one of those extreme realists whose teachings might bear
pantheistic fruit in his disciples; he had also a Platonistic imagination,
leading him to see in Nature a living organism. Bernard’s younger brother,
Thierry, also called of Chartres, extended his range of studies, and
compiled numerous works on natural knowledge, indicating his wide reading
and receptive nature. His realism brought him very close to pantheism,
which indeed flowered poetically in his admirer or pupil, Bernard
Silvestris of Tours.

If we should analyze the contents of the latter’s _De mundi universitate_,
it might be necessary to affirm that the author was a dualistic thinker,
in that he recognized two first principles, God and matter; and also that
he was a pantheist, because of the way in which he sees in God the source
of Nature: “This mind (_nous_) of the supreme God is soul (_intellectus_),
and from its divinity Nature is born.”[506] One should not, however, drive
the heterogeneous thoughts of these twelfth-century people to their
opposite conclusions. A moderate degree of historical insight should
prevent our interpreting their gleanings from the past by formulas of our
own greater knowledge. Doubtless their books--Hugo’s as well as Thierry’s
and Bernard Silvester’s--have enough of contradiction if we will probe for
it with a spirit not their own. But if we will see with their eyes and
perceive with their feelings, we shall find ourselves resting with each of
them in some unity of personal temperament; and _that_, rather than any
half-borrowed thought, is Hugo or Thierry or Bernard Silvestris.
Silvester’s book, _De mundi universitate, sive Megacosmus et microcosmus_,
is a half poem, like Boëthius’s _De consolatione_ and a number of
mediaeval productions to which there has been occasion to allude. It is
fruitless to dissect such a composite of prose and verse. In it Natura
speaks to Nous, and then Nous to Natura; the four elements come into play,
and nine hierarchies of angels; the stars in their firmaments, and the
genesis of things on earth; Physics and her daughters, Theorica and
Practica, and all the figures of Greek mythology. An analysis of such a
book will turn it to nonsense, and destroy the breath of that
twelfth-century temperament which loved to gather driftwood from the
wreckage of the ancient world of thought. Thus perhaps they expected to
draw to themselves, even from the pagan flotsam, some congenial
explanation of the universe and man.

A far more acute thinker was Gilbert de la Porrée,[507] who taught at
Chartres for a number of years, before advancing upon Paris in 1141. He
next became Bishop of Poictiers, and died in 1154. Like Abaelard, he was
primarily a logician, and occupied himself with the problem of universals,
taking a position not so different from Abaelard’s. Like Abaelard also,
Gilbert was brought to task before a council, in which St Bernard sought
to be the guiding, _scilicet_, condemning spirit. But the condemnation was
confined to certain sentences, which when cut from their context and
presented in distorting isolation, the author willingly sacrificed to the
flames. He refused, some time afterwards, to discuss his views privately
with the Abbot of Clairvaux, saying that the latter was too inexpert a
theologian to understand them. Gilbert’s most famous work, _De sex
principiis_, attempted to complete the last six of Aristotle’s ten
_Categories_, which the philosopher had treated cursorily; it was almost
to rival the work of the Stagirite in authority, for instance, with
Albertus Magnus, who wrote a Commentary upon it in the same spirit with
which he commented on the logical treatises of the _Organon_.

In the same year with Gilbert (1154) died a man of different mental
tendencies, William of Conches,[508] who likewise had been a pupil of
Bernard of Chartres. He was for a time the tutor of Henry Plantagenet.
William was interested in natural knowledge, and something of a humanist.
He made a Commentary on the _Timaeus_, and wrote various works on the
philosophy of Nature, in which he wavered around an atomistic explanation
of the world, yet held fast to the Biblical Creation, to save his
orthodoxy. He also pursued the study of medicine, which was a specialty at
Chartres; through the treatises of Constantinus Africanus[509] he had some
knowledge of the pathological theories of Galen and Hippocrates. For his
interest in physical knowledge, he may be regarded as a precursor of
Roger Bacon. On the other hand, he was a humanist in his strife against
those “Cornificiani” who would know no more Latin than was needful;[510]
and he compiled from the pagan moralists a sort of _Summa_. It is called,
in fact, a _Summa moralium philosophorum_ (an interesting title,
connecting it with the Christian _Summae sententiarum_).[511] It treats
the virtues under the head of _de honesto_; and under that of _de utile_,
reviews the other good things of mind, body, and estate. It also discusses
whether there may be a conflict between the _honestum_ and the _utile_.

These men of the first half of the twelfth century lived before the new
revealing of the Aristotelian philosophy and natural knowledge coming at
the century’s close. Their muster is finally completed by two younger men,
the one an Englishman and the other a Lowlander. The youthful years of
both synchronize with the old age of the men of whom we have been
speaking. For John of Salisbury was born not far from the year 1115, and
died in 1180; and Alanus de Insulis (Lille) was probably born in 1128, and
lived to the beginning of the next century. They are spiritually connected
with the older men because they were taught by them, and because they had
small share in the coming encyclopaedic knowledge. But they close the
group: John of Salisbury closing it by virtue of his critical estimate of
its achievement; Alanus by virtue of his final rehandling of the body of
intellectual data at its disposal, to which he may have made some slight
addition. Abaelard knew and used the simpler treatises of the Aristotelian
_Organon_ of logic. He had not studied the _Analytics_ and the _Topics_,
and of course was unacquainted with the body of Aristotle’s philosophy
outside of logic. John of Salisbury and Alanus know the entire _Organon_;
but neither one nor the other knows the rest of Aristotle, which Alexander
of Hales was the first to make large use of.

John of Salisbury, Little John, Johannes Parvus, as he was called, was the
best classical scholar of his time.[512] His was an acute and active
intellect, which never tired of hearing and weighing the views of other
men. He was, moreover, a man of large experience, travelling much, and
listening to all the teachers prominent in his youth. Also he was active
in affairs, being at one time secretary to Thibaut, Archbishop of
Canterbury, and then the intimate of Becket, of Henry II., and Pope Adrian
IV.! A finished scholar, who knew not one thing, but whatever might be
known, and was enlightened by the training of the world, Little John
critically estimates the learning and philosophy of the men he learns
from. Having always an independent point of view he makes acute remarks
upon it all, and admirable contributions to the sum of current thought.
But chiefly he seems to us as one who looks with even eye upon whatsoever
comes within his vision. He knows the weaknesses of men and the
limitations of branches of discipline; knows, for instance, that dialectic
is sterile by itself, but efficient as an aid to other disciplines. So, as
to logic, John keeps his own point of view, and is always reasonable and
practical.[513] Likewise, with open mind, he considers what there may be
in the alleged science of the Mathematicians, _i.e._ diviners and
astrologers. He uses such phrases as “_probabilia quidem sunt haec ... sed
tamen_ the venom lies under the honey!” For this science sets a fatal
necessity on things, and would even intrude into the knowledge of the
future reserved for God’s majesty. And as John considers the order of
events to come, and the diviner’s art, _cornua succrescunt_--the horns of
more than one dilemma grow.[514]

John knew more than any man of the ancient philosophies.[515] For himself,
of course he loved knowledge; yet he would not dissever it from its value
in the art of living. “Wisdom indeed is a fountain, from which pour forth
the streams which water the whole earth; they fill not alone the garden of
delights of the divine page, but flow on to the Gentiles, and do not
altogether fail even the Ethiopians.... It is certain that the faithful
and wise reader, who from love keeps learning’s watch, escapes vice and
draws near to life.”[516] Philosophy is the _moderatrix omnium_ (a
favourite phrase with John); the true philosopher, as Plato says, is a
lover of God: and so _philosophia_ is _amor divinitatis_. Its precept is
to love God with all our strength, and our neighbour as ourselves: “He who
by philosophizing has reached _charitas_, has attained philosophy’s true
end.”[517] John goes on to show how deeply they err who think philosophy
is but a thing of words and arguments: many of those who multiply words,
by so doing burden the mind. Virtue inseparably accompanies wisdom; this
is John’s sum of the matter. Clearly he is not always, or commonly,
wrestling with ultimate metaphysical problems; he busies himself, acutely
but not metaphysically, with the wisdom of life. He too can use the
language of piety and contemplation. In the sixth chapter of his _De
septem septenis_ (The seven Sevens) he gives the seven grades of
contemplation--_meditatio_, _soliloquium_, _circumspectio_, _ascensio_,
_revelatio_, _emissio_, _inspiratio_.[518] He presents the matter
succinctly, thus perhaps giving clarity to current pietistic phraseology.

Alanus de Insulis was a man of renown in his life-time, and after his
death won the title of Doctor Universalis. Although the fame of scholar,
philosopher, theologian, poet, may have uplifted him during his years of
strength, he died a monk at Citeaux, in the year 1202. Fame came justly to
him, for he was learned in the antique literature, and a gifted Latin
poet, while as thinker and theologian he made skilful and catholic use of
his thorough knowledge of whatever the first half of the twelfth century
had achieved in thought and system. Elsewhere he has been considered as a
poet;[519] here we merely observe his position and accomplishment in
matters of salvation and philosophy.[520]

Alanus possessed imagination, language, and a faculty of acute exposition.
His sentences, especially his definitions, are pithy, suggestive, and
vivid. He projected much thought as well as fantasy into his poem,
_Anticlaudianus_, and his _cantafable_, _De planctu naturae_. He showed
himself a man of might, and insight too, in his _Contra haereticos_. His
suggestive pithiness of diction lends interest to his encyclopaedia of
definitions, _Distinctiones dictionum theologicalium_; and his keen power
of reasoning succinctly from axiomatic premises is evinced in his _De arte
fidei catholicae_.

The intellectual activities of Alanus fell in the latter decades of the
twelfth century, when mediaeval thought seemed for the moment to be
mending its nets, and preparing for a further cast in the new waters of
Aristotelianism. Alanus is busy with what has already been won; he is
unconscious of the new greater knowledge, which was preparing its
revelations. He is not even a man of the transition from the lesser to the
greater intellectual estate; but is rather a final compendium of the
lesser. Himself no epoch-making reasoner, he uses the achievements of
Abaelard and Hugo, of Gilbert de la Porrée and William of Conches, and
others. Neither do his works unify and systematize the results of his
studies. He is rather a re-phraser. Yet his refashioning is not a mere
thing of words; it proceeds with the vitalizing power of the man’s plastic
and creative temperament. One may speak of him as keen and acquisitive
intellectually, and creative through his temperament.

Alanus shows a catholic receptivity for all the mingled strains of
thought, Platonic, Aristotelian, Neo-Platonic and Pythagorean, which fed
the labours of his predecessors. He has studied the older sources, the
_Timaeus_ fragment, also Apuleius and Boëthius of course. His chief
blunder is his misconception of Aristotle as a logician and confuser of
words (_verborum turbator_)--a phrase, perhaps, consciously used with
poetic license. For he has made use of much that came originally from the
Stagirite. Within his range of opportunity, Alanus was a universal reader,
and his writings discover traces of the men of importance from
Pseudo-Dionysius and Eriugena down to John of Salisbury and Gundissalinus.

These remarks may take the place of any specific presentation of Alanus’s
work in logic, of his view of universals, of his notions of physics, of
nature, of matter and form, of man’s mind and body, and of the Triune
Godhead.[521] In his cosmology, however, we may note his imaginatively
original employment of the conception or personification of Nature. God is
the Creator, and Nature is His creature, and His vice-regent or vicarious
maker, working the generation and decay of things material and
changeable.[522] This thought, imaginatively treated, makes a good part of
the poetry of the _De planctu_ and the _Anticlaudianus_. The conception
with him is full of charming fantasy, and we look back through Bernardus
Silvestris and other writers to Plato’s divine fooling in the _Timaeus_,
not as the specific, but generic, origin of such imaginative views of the
contents and generation of the world. Such imaginings were as fantasy to
science, when compared with the solid and comprehensive consideration of
the material world which was to come a few years after Alanus’s death
through the encyclopaedic Aristotelian knowledge presented in the works of
Alexander of Hales and Albertus Magnus.



CHAPTER XXXVII

THE UNIVERSITIES, ARISTOTLE, AND THE MENDICANTS


Intellectually, the thirteenth century in western Europe is marked by
three closely connected phenomena: the growth of Universities, the
discovery and appropriation of Aristotle, and the activities of Dominicans
and Franciscans. These movements were universal, in that the range of none
of them was limited by racial or provincial boundaries. Yet a line may
still be drawn between Italy, where law and medicine were cultivated, and
the North, where theology with logic and metaphysics were supreme.
Absorption in these subjects produced a common likeness in the
intellectual processes of men in France, England, and Germany, whose
writings were to be no longer markedly affected by racial idiosyncrasies.
This was true of the logical controversy regarding universals, so
prominent in the first part of the twelfth century. It was very true of
the great intellectual movement of the later twelfth and the thirteenth
centuries, to wit, the coming of Aristotle to dominance, in spite of the
counter-currents of Platonic Augustinianism.

The men who followed the new knowledge had slight regard for ties of home,
and travelled eagerly in search of learning. So, even as from far and wide
those who could study Roman law came to Bologna, the study of theology and
all that philosophy included drew men to Paris. Thither came the
keen-minded from Italy and from England; from the Low Countries and from
Germany; and from the many very different regions now covered by the name
of France. Wherever born and of whatever race, the devotees of philosophy
and theology at some period of their career reached Paris, learned and
taught there, and were affected by the universalizing influence of an
international aggregate of scholarship. So had it been with Breton
Abaelard, with German Hugo, and with Lombard Peter; so with English John,
hight of Salisbury. And in the following times of culmination, Albertus
Magnus comes in his maturity from Germany; and his marvellous pupil
Thomas, born of noble Norman stock in southern Italy, follows his master,
eventually to Paris. So Bonaventura of lowly mid-Italian birth likewise
learns and teaches there; and that unique Englishman, Roger Bacon, and
after him Duns Scotus. These few greatest names symbolize the centralizing
of thought in the crowded and huddled lecture-rooms of the City on the
Seine.

The origins of the great mediaeval Universities can scarcely be
accommodated to simple statement. Their history is frequently obscure, and
always intricate; and the selection of a specific date or factor as
determining the inception, or distinctive development, of these mediaeval
creations is likely to be but arbitrary. They had no antique prototype:
nothing either in Athens or Rome ever resembled these corporations of
masters and students, with their authoritative privileges, their fixed
curriculum, and their grades of formally certified attainment. Even the
Alexandria of the Ptolemies, with all the pedantry of its learned
litterateurs and their minute study of the past, has nothing to offer like
the scholastic obsequiousness of the mediaeval University, which sought to
set upon one throne the antique philosophy and the Christian revelation,
that it might with one and the same genuflection bow down before them
both. It behoves us to advert to the conditions influencing the growth of
Universities, and give a little space to those which were chief among
them.

The energetic human advance distinguishing the twelfth century in western
Europe exhibits among its most obvious phenomena an increased mobility in
all classes of society, and a tendency to gather into larger communities
and form strong corporate associations for profit or protection. New towns
came into being, and old ones grew apace. Some of them in the north of
Europe wrested their freedom from feudal lords; and both in the north and
south, municipalities attained a more complex organization, while within
them groups of men with common interests formed themselves into powerful
guilds. As strangers of all kinds--merchants, craftsmen, students--came
and went, their need of protection became pressing, and was met in various
ways.

No kind of men were more quickly touched by the new mobility than the
thousands of youthful learners who desired to extend their knowledge, or,
in some definite field, perfect their education. In the eleventh century,
such would commonly have sought a monastery, near or far. In the twelfth
and then in the thirteenth, they followed the human currents to the
cities, where knowledge flourished as well as trade, and tolerable
accommodation might be had for teachers and students. Certain towns, some
for more, some for less, obvious reasons, became homes of study. Bologna,
Paris, Oxford are the chief examples. Irnerius, famed as the founder of
the systematic study of the Roman law, and Gratian, the equally famous
orderer of the Canon law, taught or wrote at Bologna when the twelfth
century was young. Their fame drew crowds of laymen and ecclesiastics, who
desired to equip themselves for advancement through the business of the
law, civil or ecclesiastical. At the same time, hundreds, which grew to
thousands, were attracted to the Paris schools--the school of Notre Dame,
where William of Champeaux held forth; the school of St. Victor, where he
afterwards established himself, and where Hugo taught; and the school of
St. Geneviève, where Abaelard lectured on dialectic and theology. These
were palpable gatherings together of material for a University. What first
brought masters and students to Oxford a few decades later is not so
clear. But Oxford had been an important town long before a University
lodged itself there.

In the twelfth century, citizenship scarcely protected one beyond the city
walls. A man carried but little safety with him. Only an insignificant
fraction of the students at Bologna, and of both masters and students at
Paris and Oxford, were citizens of those towns. The rest had come from
everywhere. Paris and Bologna held an utterly cosmopolitan, international,
concourse of scholar-folk. And these scholars, turbulent enough
themselves, and dwelling in a turbulent foreign city, needed affiliation
there, and protection and support. Organization was an obvious necessity,
and if possible the erection of a _civitas_ within a _civitas_, a
University within a none too friendly town. This was the primal situation,
and the primal need. Through somewhat different processes, and under
different circumstances, these exigencies evoked a University in Bologna,
Paris, and Oxford.[523]

In Italy, where the instincts of ancient Rome never were extinguished,
where some urban life maintained itself through the early helpless
mediaeval centuries, where during the same period an infantile humanism
did not cease to stammer; where “grammar” was studied and taught by
laymen, and the “ars dictaminis” practised men in the forms of legal
instruments, it was but natural that the new intellectual energies of the
twelfth century should address themselves to the study of the Roman law,
which, although debased and barbarized, had never passed into desuetude.
And inasmuch as abstract theology did not attract the Italian temperament
or meet the conditions of papal politics in Italy, it was likewise natural
that ecclesiastical energies should be directed to the equally useful and
closely related canon law. Such studies with their practical ends could
best be prosecuted at some civic centre. In the first part of the twelfth
century, Irnerius lectured at Bologna upon the civil law; a generation
later, Gratian published his _Decretum_ there. The specific reasons
inducing the former to open his lectures in that city are not known; but a
large and thrifty town set at the meeting of the great roads from central
Italy to the north and east, was an admirable place for a civil doctor and
his audience, as the event proved. Gratian was a monk in a Bologna
convent, and may have listened to Irnerius. The publication of his
_Decretum_ from Bologna, by that time (cir. 1142) famous for
jurisprudence, lent authority to this work, whose universal recognition
was to enhance in turn Bologna’s reputation.

From the time of this inception of juristic studies, the talents of the
doctors, and the city’s fame, drew a prodigious concourse of students from
all the lands of western Europe. The Doctors of the Civil and Canon Laws
organized themselves into one, and subsequently into two, Colleges.
Apparently they had become an efficient association by the third quarter
of the twelfth century. But the University of Bologna was to be
constituted _par excellence_, not of one or more colleges of doctors, but
of societies of students. The persons who came for legal instruction were
not boys getting their first education in the Arts. They were men studying
a profession, and among them were many individuals of wealth and
consequence, holding perhaps civil or ecclesiastic office in the places
whence they came. The vast majority had this in common, that they were
foreigners, with no civil rights in Bologna. It behoved them to organize
for their protection and mutual support, and for the furtherance of the
purposes for which they had come. That a body of men in a foreign city
should live under the law of their own home, or the law of their own
making, did not appear extraordinary in the twelfth century. It was not so
long since the principle that men carried the law of their home with them,
had been widely recognized, and in all countries the clergy still lived
under the law of the Church. The gains accruing from the presence of a
great number of foreign students might induce the authorities of Bologna
to permit them to organize as student guilds, and regulate their affairs
by rules of their own, even as was done by other guilds in most Italian
cities. At Bologna the power of Guelf and Ghibeline clubs, and of
craftsmen’s guilds, rivalled that of the city magistrates.

There is some indirect evidence that these students first divided
themselves into four _Nationes_. If so, the arrangement did not last. For
by the middle of the thirteenth century they are found organized in two
_Universitates_, or corporations, a _Universitas Citramontanorum_ and a
_Universitas Ultramontanorum_; each under its own _Rector_. These two
corporations of foreign students constituted the University. The
Professors did not belong to them, and therefore were not members of the
University. Indeed they fought against the recognition of this University
of students, asserting that the students were but their pupils. But the
students prevailed, strong in their numbers, and in the weapon which they
did not hesitate to use, that of migration to another city, which cut off
the incomes of the Professors and diminished the repute and revenue of
Bologna. So great became the power of the student body, that it brought
the Professors to complete subjection, paying them their salaries,
regulating the time and mode of lecturing, and compelling them to swear
obedience to the Rectors. The Professors protested, but submitted. To make
good its domination over them, and its independence as against the city,
the student University migrated to Arezzo in 1215 and to Padua in
1222.[524]

In origin as well as organization, the University of Paris differed from
Bologna. It was the direct successor of the cathedral school of Notre
Dame. This had risen to prominence under William of Champeaux. But
Abaelard drew to Paris thousands of students for William’s hundreds (or at
least hundreds for William’s tens); and Abaelard at the height of his
popularity taught at the school of St. Geneviève, across the Seine.
Therefore this school also, although fading out after Abaelard’s time,
should be regarded as a causal predecessor of the Paris University. So,
for that matter, should the neighbouring school of St. Victor, founded by
the discomfited William; for its reputation under Hugo and Richard drew
devout students from near and far, and augmented the scholastic fame of
Paris.

It was both the privilege and duty of the Chancellor of Notre Dame to
license competent Masters to open schools near the cathedral. In the
course of time, these Masters formed an Association, and assumed the right
to admit to their Society the licentiates of the Chancellor, to wit, the
new Masters who were about to begin to teach. In the decades following
Abaelard’s death, the Masters who lectured in the vicinity of Notre Dame
increased in number. They spread with their schools beyond the island, and
taught in houses on the bridges. They were Masters, that is, teachers, in
the Arts. As the twelfth century gave way to the thirteenth, interest in
the Arts waned before the absorbing passion for metaphysical theology.
This was a higher branch of study, for which the Arts had come to be
looked on as a preparation. So the scholars of the schools of Arts became
impatient to graduate, that is, to reach the grade of Master, in order to
pass on to the higher study of theology. A result was that the course of
study in the Arts was shortened, while Masters multiplied in number. Their
Society seems to have become a definite and formal corporate body or
guild, not later than the year 1175. Herein was the beginning of the Paris
University. It had become a _studium generale_, like Bologna, because
there were many Masters, and students from everywhere were admitted to
study in their schools.

Gradually the University came to full corporate existence. From about
1210, written statutes exist, passed by the Society of Masters; at the
same date a Bull of Innocent III. recognizes the Society as a Corporation.
Then began a long struggle for supremacy, between the Masters and the
Chancellor: it was the Chancellor’s function to grant the licence to
become a Master; but it was the privilege of the Society to admit the
licentiate to membership. The action of both being thus requisite, time
alone could tell with whom the control eventually should rest. Was the
self-governing University to prevail, or the Chancellor of the Cathedral?
The former won the victory.

The Masters in Arts constituted _par excellence_ the University, because
they far outnumbered the Masters in the upper Faculties of Theology, Law,
and Medicine. They were the dominant body; what they decided on, the other
Faculties acquiesced in. These Masters in Arts, besides being numerous,
were young, not older than the law students at Bologna. With their still
younger students,[525] they made the bulk of the entire University, and
were the persons who most needed protection in their lawful or unlawful
conduct. At some indeterminate period they divided themselves into the
four _Nationes_, French, Normans, Picards, and English. They voted by
_Nationes_ in their meetings; but from a period apparently as early as
their organization, a Rector was elected for all four _Nationes_, and not
one Rector for each. There were, however, occasional schisms or failures
to agree. It was to be the fortune of the Rector thus elected to supplant
the Chancellor of the Cathedral as the real head of the University.

The vastly greater number of the Masters in Arts were actually _students_
in the higher Faculties of Theology, Law,[526] or Medicine, for which
graduation in the Arts was the ordinary prerequisite. The Masters or
Doctors of these three higher Faculties, at least from the year 1213,
determined the qualifications of candidates in their departments.
Nevertheless the Rector of the Faculty of Arts continued his advance
toward the headship of the whole University. The oath taken by the
Bachelors in the Arts, of obedience to that Faculty and its Rector, was
strengthened in 1256, so as to bind the oath-taker so long as he should
continue a member of the University.

The University had not obtained its privileges without insistence, nor
without the protest of action as well as word. Its first charter of
privileges from the king was granted in 1200, upon its protests against
the conduct of the Provost of Paris in attacking riotous students. Next,
in combating the jurisdiction of the Chancellor, it obtained privileges
from the Pope; and in 1229, upon failure to obtain redress for an attack
from the Provost’s soldiers, ordered by the queen, Blanche of Castile, the
University dispersed. Thus it resorted to the weapon by which the
University of Bologna had won the confirmation of its rights. In the year
1231 the great Papal Bull, _Parens scientiarum_, finally confirmed the
Paris University in its contentions and demands: the right to suspend
lectures was sanctioned, whenever satisfaction for outrage had been
refused for fifteen days; likewise the authority of the University to
make statutes, and expel members for a breach of them. The Chancellor of
Notre Dame and the Bishop of Paris were both constrained by the same Bull.

A different struggle still awaited the University, in which it was its
good fortune not to be altogether successful; for it was contending
against instruments of intellectual and spiritual renovation, to wit, the
Mendicant Orders. The details are difficult to unravel at this distance of
time. But the Dominicans and Franciscans, in the lifetime of their
founders, established themselves in Paris, and opened schools of theology.
Their Professors were licensed by the Chancellor, and yet seem to have
been unwilling to fall in with the customs of the University, and, for
example, cease from teaching and disperse, when it saw fit to do so. The
doctors of the theological Faculty became suspicious, and opposed the
admission of Mendicants to the theological Faculty. The struggle lasted
thirty years, until the Dominicans obtained two chairs in that Faculty,
and the Franciscans perhaps the same number, on terms which looked like a
victory for the Orders, but in fact represented a compromise; for the
Mendicant doctors in the end apparently submitted to the statutes of the
University.[527]

The origin of Oxford University was different, and one may say more
adventitious than that of Paris or Bologna. For Oxford was not the capital
of a kingdom, nor is it known to have been an ancient seat of learning.
The city was not even a bishop’s seat, a fact which had a marked effect
upon the constitution of the University. The old town lay at the edge of
Essex and Mercia, and its position early gave it importance politically,
or rather strategically, and as a place of trade. How or whence came the
nucleus of Masters and students that should grow into a University is
unknown. An interesting hypothesis[528] is that it was a colony from
Paris, shaken off by some academic or political disturbance. This surmise
has been connected with the year 1167. Some evidence exists of a school
having existed there before. Next comes a distinct statement from the year
1185, of the reading of a book before the Masters and students.[529]
After this date the references multiply. In 1209, one has a veritable
“dispersion,” in protest against the hanging of some scholars. A charter
from the papal legate in 1214 accords certain privileges, among others
that a clerk arrested by the town should be surrendered on demand of the
Bishop of Lincoln[530] or the Archdeacon, or the Chancellor, whom the
Bishop shall set over the scholars. This document points to the beginning
of the chancellorship. The title probably was copied from Paris; but in
Oxford the office was to be totally different. The Paris Chancellor was
primarily a functionary of a great cathedral, who naturally maintained its
prerogatives against the encroachments of university privilege. But at
Oxford there was no cathedral; the Chancellor was the head of the
University, probably chosen from its Masters, and had chiefly its
interests at heart.

Making allowance for this important difference in the Chancellor’s office,
the development of the University closely resembled that of Paris. Its
first extant statute, of the year 1252, prescribes that no one shall be
licensed in Theology who has not previously graduated in the Arts. To the
same year belongs a settlement of disputes between the Irish and northern
scholars. The former were included in the _Australes_ or southerners, one
of the two _Nationes_ composing the Faculty of Arts. The _Australes_
included the natives of Ireland, Wales, and England south of the Trent;
the other _Natio_, the _Boreales_, embraced the English and Scotch coming
from north of that river. But the division into _Nationes_ was less
important than in the cosmopolitan University of Paris, and soon ceased to
exist. The Faculty of Arts, however, continued even more dominant than at
Paris. There was no serious quarrel with the Mendicant Orders, who
established themselves at Oxford--the Dominicans in 1221, and the
Franciscans three years later.

The curriculum of studies appears much the same at both Universities, and,
as followed in the middle of the thirteenth century, may be thus
summarized. For the lower degree of Bachelor of Arts, four or five years
were required; and three or four years more for the Master’s privileges.
The course of study embraced grammar (Priscian), also rhetoric, and in
logic the entire _Organon_ of Aristotle, preceded by Porphyry’s _Isagoge_,
and with the _Sex principia_ of Gilbert de la Porrée added to the course.
The mathematical branches of the Quadrivium also were required:
arithmetic, music, geometry, and astronomy. And finally a goodly part of
the substantial philosophy of Aristotle was studied, with considerable
choice permitted to the student in his selection from the works of the
philosopher. At Oxford he might choose between the _Physics_ or the _De
coelo et mundo_, or the _De anima_ or the _De animalibus_. The
_Metaphysics_ and _Ethics_ or _Politics_ were also required before the
Bachelor could be licensed as a Master.

In Theology the course of study was extremely lengthy, especially at
Paris, where eight years made the minimum, and the degree of Doctor was
not given before the candidate had reached the age of thirty-five. The
chief subjects were Scripture and the _Sentences_ of Peter Lombard.
Besides which, the candidate had to approve himself in sermons and
disputations. The latter might amount to a trial of nerve and endurance,
as well as proficiency in learning, since the candidate was expected to
_militare in scholis_, against a succession of opponents from six in the
morning till six in the evening, with but an hour’s refreshment at
noon.[531]

In spite of the many resemblances of Oxford to Paris in organization and
curriculum, the intellectual tendencies of the two Universities were not
altogether similar. At Paris, speculative theology, with metaphysics and
other branches of “philosophy,” regarded as its adjuncts, were of
absorbing interest. At Oxford, while the same matters were perhaps
supreme, a closer scholarship in language or philology was cultivated by
Grosseteste, and his pupils, Adam of Marsh and Roger Bacon. The genius of
observation was stirring there; and a natural science was coming into
being, which was not to repose solely upon the authority of ancient books,
but was to proceed by the way of observation and experiment. Yet Roger
Bacon imposed upon both his philology and his natural science a certain
ultimate purpose: that they should subserve the surer ascertainment of
divine and saving truth, and thus still remain handmaids of theology, at
least in theory.

       *       *       *       *       *

The year 1200 may be taken to symbolize the middle of a period notable for
the enlargement of knowledge. If one should take the time of this increase
to extend fifty years on either side of the central point, one might say
that the student of the year 1250 stood to his intellectual ancestor of
the year 1150, as a man in the full possession and use of the
_Encyclopaedia Britannica_ would stand toward his father who had saved up
the purchase money for the same. The most obvious cause of this was an
increasing acquaintance with the productions of the so-called Arabian
philosophy, and more especially with the works of Aristotle, first through
translations from the Arabic, and then through translations from the
Greek, which were made in order to obviate the insufficiency of the
former.

It would need a long _excursus_ to review the far from simple course of
so-called Arabian thought, philosophic and religious. It begins in the
East, and follows the setting sun. Even before the Hegira (622) the Arabs
had rubbed up against the inhabitants of Syria, Christian in name, eastern
or Hellenic in culture and proclivity. Then in a century or two, when the
first impulsion of Mohammedan conquest was spent, the works of Aristotle
and his later Greek commentators were translated into Arabic from Syrian
versions, under the encouragement of the rulers of Bagdad. The Syrian
versions, as we may imagine, were somewhat eclecticized and, more
especially, Neo-Platonized. So it was not the pure Aristotle that passed
on into Arabic philosophy, but the Aristotelian substance interpreted
through later phases of Greek and Oriental thought. Still, Aristotle was
the great name, and his system furnished the nucleus of doctrine
represented in this Peripatetic eclecticism which was to constitute, _par
excellence_, Arabic philosophy. Also Greek mathematical and medical
treatises were translated into Arabic from Syrian versions. El-Farabi (d.
950) and Avicenna (980-1036) were the chief glories of the Arabic
philosophy of Bagdad. These two gifted men were commentators upon the
works of the Stagirite, and authors of many interesting lucubrations of
their own.[532] Arabian philosophy declined in the East with Avicenna’s
death; but only to revive in Mussulman Spain. There its great
representative was Averroes, whose life filled the last three quarters of
the twelfth century. So great became his authority as an Aristotelian,
with the Scholastics, that he received the name of Commentator, _par
excellence_, even as Aristotle was _par excellence_, Philosophus. We need
not consider the ideas of these men which were their own rather than the
Stagirite’s; nor discuss the pietistic and fanatical sects among the
Mussulmans, who either sought to harmonize Aristotle with the Koran, or
disapproved of Greek philosophy. One readily perceives that in its task of
acquisition and interpretation, with some independent thinking, and still
more temperamental feeling, Arabic philosophy was the analogue of
Christian scholasticism, of which it was, so to speak, the collateral
ancestor.[533]

And in this wise. The Commentaries of Averroes, for example, were
translated into Latin; and, throughout all the mediaeval centuries, the
Commentary tended to supplant the work commented on, whether that work was
Holy Scripture or a treatise of Aristotle. By the middle of the thirteenth
century all the important works of Averroes had been translated into
Latin, and he had many followers at Paris; and before then, from the
College of Toledo, had come translations of the principal works of the
other chief Arabian philosophers. Of still greater importance for the
Christian West was the work of Jews and Christians in Spain and Provence,
in translating the Arabic versions of Aristotle into Latin, sometimes
directly, and sometimes first into Hebrew and then into Latin. They
attempted a literal translation, which, however, frequently failed to give
the significance even of the Arabic version. These Arabic-Latin
translations were of primary importance for the first introduction of
Aristotle to the theologian philosophers of Christian Europe.

They were not to remain the only ones. In the twelfth century, a number of
Western scholars made excursions into the East; and the capture of
Constantinople by the Crusaders in 1204 enlarged their opportunities of
studying the Greek language and philosophy. Attempts at direct translation
into Latin began. One of the first translators was the sturdy Englishman,
Robert Grosseteste. He was born in Suffolk about 1175; studied at Lincoln,
then at Oxford, then at Paris, whence he returned to become Chancellor of
the University of Oxford. He was made Bishop of Lincoln in 1236, and died
seventeen years later. It was he who laid the foundation of the study of
Greek at Oxford, and Roger Bacon was his pupil. But the most important and
adequate translations were the work of two Dominicans, the Fleming,
William of Moerbeke, and Henry of Brabant, who translated the works of
Aristotle at the instance of Thomas Aquinas, possibly all working together
at Rome, in 1263 and the years following. Aquinas recognized the
inadequacy of the older translations, and based his own Aristotelian
Commentaries upon these made by his collaborators, learned in the Greek
tongue. The joint labour of translation and commentary seems to have been
undertaken at the command of Pope Urban IV., who had renewed the former
prohibitions put upon the use of Aristotle at the Paris University, in the
older, shall we say, Averroistic versions.

If these prohibitions, which did not touch the logical treatises, were
meant to be taken absolutely, such had been far from their effect. In 1210
and again in 1215, an interdict was put upon the _naturalis philosophia_
and the _methafisica_ of the Stagirite. It was not revoked, but rather
provisionally renewed, in 1231, until those works should be properly
expurgated. A Commission was appointed which accomplished nothing; and the
old interdict still hung in the air, unrescinded, yet ignored in practice.
So Pope Urban referred to it as still effective--which it was not--in
1263. For Aristotle had been more and more thoroughly exploited in the
Paris University, and by 1255 the Faculty of Arts formally placed his
works upon the list of books to be studied and lectured upon.[534]

So the founding of Universities and the enlarged and surer knowledge
brought by a study of the works of Aristotle were factors of power in the
enormous intellectual advance which took place in the last half of the
twelfth and the first half of the thirteenth century. Yet these factors
could not have operated as they did, but for the antecedent intellectual
development. Before the first half of the twelfth century had passed, the
patristic material had been mastered, along with the current notions of
antique philosophy, for the most part contained in it. Strengthened by
this discipline, men were prepared for an extension and solidifying of
their knowledge of the universe and man. Not only had they appropriated
what the available sources had to offer, but, when we think of Abaelard
and Hugo of St. Victor, we see that organic restatements had been made of
what had been acquired. Still, men really knew too little. It is very well
to exploit logic, and construct soul-satisfying schemes of cosmogonic
symbolism, in order to represent the deepest truth of the material world.
But the evident sense-realities of things are importunate. The minds even
of spiritual men may, in time, crave explanation of this side of their
consciousness. Abaelard seems to have been oblivious to natural phenomena;
Hugo recognizes them in order to elicit their spiritual meaning; and
Alanus de Insulis, a generation and more afterwards, takes a poet’s view
of Nature. Other men had a more hard-headed interest in these phenomena;
but they knew too little to attempt seriously to put them together in
some sense-rational scheme. The natural knowledge presented by the
writings of the Church Fathers was little more than foolishness; the early
schoolmen were their heirs. They observed a little for themselves; but
very little.

There is an abysmal difference in the amount of natural knowledge
exhibited by any writing of the twelfth century, and the works of Albertus
Magnus belonging say to the middle of the thirteenth. The obvious reason
of this is, that the latter had drawn upon the great volume of natural
observation and hypothesis which for the preceding five hundred years had
been actually closed to western Europe, and for five hundred years before
that had been spiritually closed, because of the ineptitude of men to read
therein. That volume was of course the encyclopaedic Natural Philosophy of
Aristotle, completed, and treated in its ultimate causal relationships, by
his Metaphysics. The Metaphysics, the First Philosophy, gave completeness
and unity to the various provinces of natural knowledge expounded in his
special treatises. For this reason, one finds in the works of Albertus a
fund of natural knowledge solid with the solidity of the earth upon which
one may plant his feet, and totally unlike the beautiful dreaming which
drew its prototypal origins from the skyey mind of Plato.

The utilization of Aristotle’s philosophy by the Englishman, Alexander of
Hales, who became a Franciscan near the year 1230, when he had already
lectured for some thirty years at Paris; its far more elaborate and
complete exposition by the very Teutonic Dominican, Albertus Magnus; and
its even closer exposition and final incorporation within the sum of
Christian doctrine, by Thomas,--this three-staged achievement is the great
mediaeval instance of return to a genuine and chief source of Greek
philosophy. These three schoolmen went back of the accounts and views of
Greek philosophy contained in the writings of the Fathers. And in so doing
they also went back of what was transmitted to the Middle Ages by Boëthius
and other “transmitters.”[535]

But the achievement of these schoolmen had other import. Their work
represents the culmination of the third stage of mediaeval thought: that
of systematic and organic restatement of the substance of the patristic
and antique, with added elements; for there can be no organic restatement
which does not hold and present something from him who achieves it. The
result, attained at least by Thomas, was even more than this. Based upon
the data and assumptions of scholasticism, it was a complete and final
statement of the nature of God so far as that might be known, of the
creature world, corporeal and incorporeal, and especially of man, his
nature, his qualities, his relationship to God and final destiny. And
herein, in its completeness, it was satisfying. The human mind in seeking
explanation of the phenomena of its consciousness--presumably a reflex of
the universe without--tends to seek a unity of explanation. A unity of
explanation requires a completeness in the mental scheme of what is to be
explained. Thoughtful men in the Middle Ages craved a scheme of life
complete even in detail, which should educe life’s currents from a primal
Godhead, and project them compacted, with none left straying or pointing
nowhither, on toward universal fulfilment of His will.

Mediaeval thought had been preceded by whole views, entire schemes of
life. Greek philosophy had held only such from the time when Thales said
that water was the cause of all things. Plato’s view or scheme also was
beautiful in its ideally pyramided structure, with the Idea of the Good at
the apex. For Aristotle, knowledge was to be a syllogistic, or at least
rational and jointed, encyclopaedia, rounded, unified, complete. After the
pagan times, another whole scheme was that of Augustine, or again, that of
Gregory the Great, though barbarized and hardened. Thus as patterns for
their own thinking, mediaeval men knew only of entire schemes of thought.
Their creed was, in every sense, a symbol of a completed scheme. And no
mediaeval philosopher or theologian suspected himself of fragmentariness.
Yet, in fact, at first they did but select and compile. After a century
and more of this, they began to make organic statements of parts of
Christian doctrine. So we have Anselm’s _Proslogium_ and _Cur Deus Homo_.
Abaelard’s _Theologia_ is far more complete; and so is Hugo’s _De
sacramentis_, which offers an entire scheme, symbolical, sacramental,
Christian, of God and the world and man. Hugo’s scheme might be ideally
satisfying; but little concrete knowledge was represented in it. And when
in the generations following his death, the co-ordinated Aristotelian
encyclopaedia was brought to light and studied, then and thereafter any
whole view of the world must take account of this new volume of argument
and concrete knowledge. Alexander of Hales begins the labour of using it
in a Christian _Summa_; Albertus makes prodigious advance, at least in the
massing and preparation of the full Aristotelian material. Both try for
whole views and comprehensive results. Then Thomas, most highly favoured
in his master Albert, and gifted with a genius for acquisition and
synthetic exposition, incorporates Aristotle, and Aristotle’s whole views,
into the whole view presented by the Catholic Faith.

Thomas’s view, to be satisfying, had to be complete. It was knowledge
united and amalgamated into a scheme of salvation. But a scheme of
salvation is a chain, which can hold only in virtue of its completeness;
break one link, and it snaps; leave one rivet loose, and it may also snap.
A scheme of salvation must answer every problem put to it; a single
unanswered problem may imperil it. The problem, for example, of God’s
foreknowledge and predestination--that were indeed an open link, which
Thomas will by no means leave unwelded. Hence for us modern men also,
whose views of the universe are so shamelessly partial, leaving so much
unanswered and so much unknown, the philosophy of Thomas may be restful,
and charm by its completeness.

It is of great interest to observe the apparently unlikely agencies by
which this new volume of knowledge was made generally available. In fact,
it was the new knowledge and the demand for it that forced these agencies
to fulfil the mission of exploiting it. For they had been created for
other purposes, which they also fulfilled. Verily it _happened_ that the
chief means through which the new knowledge was gained and published were
the two new unmonastic Orders of monks, friars rather we may call them.
Francis of Assisi was born in 1182 and died in 1226; Dominic was born in
1177 and died in 1221. The Orders of Minorites and Preachers were founded
by them respectively in 1209 and 1215. Neither Order was founded to
promote secular knowledge. Francis organized his Minorites that they might
imitate the lives of Christ and His apostles, and preach repentance to the
world. Dominic founded his Order to save souls through preaching: “For our
Order is known from the beginning to have been instituted especially for
preaching and the saving of souls, and our study (_studium nostrum_)
should have as the chief object of its labour to enable us to be useful to
our neighbours’ souls (_ut proximorum animabus possimus utiles
esse_).”[536]

Within an apparent similarity of aim, each Order from the first reflected
the temper of its founder; and the temper of Francis was not that of
Dominic. For our purpose here, the difference may perhaps be symbolized by
the Dominican maxim to preach the Gospel throughout the world equally by
word and example (_verbo pariter et exemplo_); and the Franciscan maxim,
to exhort all _plus exemplo quam verbo_.[537] A generation later St
Bonaventura puts it thus: “Alii (scilicet, Praedicatores) principaliter
intendunt speculationi ... et postea unctioni. Alii (scilicet, Minores)
principaliter unctioni et postea speculationi.”[538]

It is safe to say that St Francis had no thought of secular studies; and
as for the Order of Preachers, the Constitutions of 1228 forbade the
Dominicans to study _libros gentilium and seculares scientias_. They are
to study _libros theologicos_.[539] Francis, also, recognized the
necessity of Scriptural study for those Minorites who were allowed to
preach. In these views the early Franciscans and Dominicans were not
peculiar; but rather represented the attitude of the older monastic Orders
and of the stricter secular clergy. The Gospel teaching of Christ had
nothing to do with secular knowledge--explicitly. But the first centuries
of the Church perceived that its defenders should be equipped with the
Gentile learning, into which indeed they had been born. And while Francis
was little of a theologian, and Dominic’s personality and career remain
curiously obscure, one can safely say that both founders saw the need of
sacred studies, and left no authoritative expression prohibiting their
Orders from pursuing them to the best advantage for the cause of Christ.
Yet we are not called on to suppose that either founder, in founding his
Order for a definite purpose, foresaw all the means which after his death
might be employed to attain that purpose--or some other!

The new Order cometh, the old rusteth. So has it commonly been with
Monasticism. Undoubtedly these uncloistered Orders embodied novel
principles of efficiency for the upholding of the Faith: their soldiers
marched abroad evangelizing, and did not keep within their fastnesses of
holiness. The Mendicant Orders were still young, and fresh from the
inspiration of their founders. In those years they moved men’s hearts and
drew them to the ideal which had been set for themselves. The result was,
that in the first half of the thirteenth century the greater part of
Christian religious energy girded its loins with the cords of Francis and
Dominic.

At the commencement of that century, when the Orders of Minorites and
Preachers were founded, the world of Western thought was prepared to make
its own the new Aristotelian volume of knowledge and applied reason. Once
that was opened and its contents perceived, the old
Augustinian-Neo-Platonic ways of thinking could no longer proceed with
their idealizing constructions, ignoring the pertinence of the new data
and their possible application to such presentations of Christian doctrine
as Hugo’s _De sacramentis_ or the Lombard’s _Sentences_. The new
knowledge, with its methods, was of such insistent import, that it had at
once to be considered, and either invalidated by argument, or accepted,
and perhaps corrected, and then accommodated within an enlarged Christian
Philosophy.

The spiritual force animating a new religious movement attracts the
intellectual energies of the period, and furnishes them a new reality of
purpose. This was true of early Christianity, and likewise true of the
fresh religious impulse which proceeded from Francis’s energy of love and
the organizing zeal of Dominic. From the very years of their foundation,
1209 and 1215, the rapid increase of the two Orders realized their
founders’ visions of multitudes hurrying from among all nations to become
Minorites or Preachers. And more and more their numbers were recruited
from among the clergy. The lay members, important in the first years of
Francis’s labours, were soon wellnigh submerged by the clericals; and the
educated or learned element became predominant in the Franciscan Order as
it was from the first in the Dominican.

Consider for an instant the spread of the former. In 1216, Cardinal
Jacques of Vitry finds the Minorites in Lombardy, Tuscany, Apulia, and
Sicily. The next year five thousand are reported to have assembled at the
general meeting of the Order. Two years later Francis proceeds to carry
out his plan of world-conquest by apportioning the Christian countries,
and sending the brethren into France, Germany, Hungary, Spain, and
throughout Italy.[540] It was a period when in the midst of general
ignorance on the part of the clergy as well as laity, Universities
(_generalia studia_) were rising in Italy, France, and England. The popes,
Innocent III. (died 1216), Honorius III. (died 1221), and Gregory IX.
(died 1241), were seeking to raise the education and even the learning of
the Church. Their efforts found in the zeal of the Mendicants a ready
response which was not forthcoming from the secular clergy. The Mendicants
were zealous for the Faith, and loyal liegemen of the popes, who were
their sustainers and the guarantors of their freedom from local
ecclesiastical interference. What more fitting instruments could be found
to advance the cause of sacred learning at the Universities, and enlarge
it with the new knowledge which must either serve the Faith or be its
enemy. If all this was not evident in the first decades of the century, it
had become so by the middle of it, when the Franciscan Bonaventura and
the Dominicans Albertus and Thomas were the intellectual glories of the
time. And thus, while the ardour of the new Orders drew to their ranks the
learning and spiritual energy of the Church, the intellectual currents of
the time caught up those same Brotherhoods, which had so entrusted their
own salvation to the mission of saving other souls abroad in the world,
where those currents flowed.

The Universities, above all _the_ University _par excellence_, were in the
hands of the secular clergy; and long and intricate is the story of their
jealous endeavours to exclude the Mendicants from Professors’ chairs. The
Dominicans established themselves at Paris in 1217, the Franciscans two
years later. The former succeeded in obtaining one chair of theology at
the University in 1229, and a second in 1231; and about the same time the
Franciscans obtained their first chair, and filled it with Alexander of
Hales. When he died an old man, fifteen years later, they wrote upon his
tomb:

  “Gloria Doctorum, decus et flos Philosophorum,
   Auctor scriptorum vir Alexander variorum,”

closing the epitaph with the words: “primus Doctor eorum,” to wit, of the
Minorites. He was the author of the first _Summa theologiae_, in the sense
in which that term fits the work of Albert and Thomas. And there is no
harm in repeating that this _Summa_ of Alexander’s was the first work of a
mediaeval schoolman in which use was made of the physics, metaphysics, and
natural history, of Aristotle.[541] He died in 1245, when the Franciscans
appear to have possessed two chairs at the University. One of them was
filled in 1248 by Bonaventura, who nine years later was taken from his
professorship, to become Minister-General of his Order. It was indeed only
in this year 1257 that the University itself had been brought by papal
injunctions formally to recognize as _magister_ this most eloquent of the
Franciscans, and the greatest of the Dominicans, Thomas Aquinas. The
latter’s master, Albert, had been recognized as _magister_ by the
University in 1245.

Before the intellectual achievements of these two men, the Franciscan fame
for learning paled. But that Order went on winning fame across the
Channel, which the Dominicans had crossed before them. In 1224 they came
to Oxford, and were received as guests by an establishment of Dominicans:
this was but nine years after the foundation of the preaching Order!
Perhaps the Franciscan glories overshone the Dominican at Oxford, where
Grosseteste belongs to them and Adam of Marsh and Roger Bacon. But
whichever Order led, there can be no doubt that together they included the
greater part of the intellectual productivity of the maturing thirteenth
century. Nevertheless, in spite of the vast work of the Orders in the
field of secular knowledge, it will be borne in mind that the advancement
of _sacra doctrina_, theology, the saving understanding of Scripture, was
the end and purpose of all study with Dominicans and Franciscans, as it
was universally with all orthodox mediaeval schoolmen; although for many
the nominal purpose seems a mere convention. Few men of the twelfth or
thirteenth century cared to dispute the principle that the _Carmina
poetarum_ and the _Dicta philosophorum_ “should be read not for their own
sake, but in order that we may learn holy Scripture to the best advantage:
I say they are to be offered as first-fruits, for we should not grow old
in them, but spring from their thresholds to the sacred page, for whose
sake we were studying them for a while.”[542]

Within the two Orders, especially the Franciscan, men differed sharply as
to the desirability of learning. So did their contemporaries among the
secular clergy, and their mediaeval and patristic predecessors as far back
as Clement of Alexandria and Tertullian. On this matter a large variance
of opinion might exist within the compass of orthodoxy; for Catholicism
did not forbid men to value secular knowledge, provided they did not
cleave to opinions contradicting Christian verity. This was heresy, and
indeed was the sum of what was called Averroism, the chief intellectual
heresy of the thirteenth century. It consisted in a sheer following of
Aristotle and his infidel commentator, wheresoever the opinions of the
Philosopher, so interpreted, might lead. They were not to be corrected in
the interest of Christian truth. A representative Averroist, and one so
important as to draw the fire of Aquinas, as well as the censures of the
Church, was Siger de Brabant. He followed Aristotle and his commentator in
maintaining: The universal oneness of the (human) intelligence, the _anima
intellectiva_, an opinion which involved the denial of an individual
immortality, with its rewards and punishments; the eternity of the visible
world,--uncreated and everlasting; a rational necessitarianism which
precluded freedom of human action and moral responsibility.

It would be hard to find theses more fundamentally opposed to the
Christian Faith. Yet Siger may have deemed himself a Christian. With other
Averroists, he sought to preserve his religious standing by maintaining
that these opinions were true according to philosophy, but not according
to the Catholic Faith: “Dicunt enim ea esse vera secundum philosophiam,
sed non secundum fidem catholicam.”[543] With what sincerity Siger held
this untenable position is hard to say.



CHAPTER XXXVIII

BONAVENTURA


The range and character of the ultimate intellectual interests of the
thirteenth century may be studied in the works of four men: St.
Bonaventura, Albertus Magnus and St. Thomas, and lastly, Roger Bacon. The
first and last were as different as might be; and both were Franciscans.
Albertus and Thomas represent the successive stages of one achievement,
the greatest in the course of mediaeval thought. In some respects, their
position is intermediate between Bonaventura and Bacon. Bonaventura
reflects many twelfth-century ways of thinking; Albert and Thomas embody
_par excellence_ the intellectual movement of the thirteenth century in
which they all lived; and Roger Bacon stands for much, the exceeding
import of which was not to be recognized until long after he was
forgotten. The four were contemporaries, and, with the possible exception
of Bacon, knew each other well. Thomas was Albert’s pupil; Thomas and
Bonaventura taught at the same time in the Faculty of Theology at Paris,
and stood together in the academic conflict between their Orders and the
Seculars. Albertus and Bonaventura also must have known each other,
teaching at the same time in the theological faculty. As for Bacon, he was
likewise at Paris studying and teaching, when the others were there, and
may have known them.[544] Albert and Thomas came of princely stock, and
sacrificed their fortune in the world for theology’s sake. Bacon’s family
was well-to-do; Bonaventura was lowly born.

John of Fidanza, who under the name of Bonaventura was to become
Minister-General of his Order, Cardinal, Saint, and _Doctor Seraphicus_,
saw the light in the Tuscan village of Bagnorea. That he was of Italian,
half Latin-speaking, stock is apparent from his own fluent Latin. Probably
in the year 1238, when seventeen years old, he joined the Franciscan
Order; and four years later was sent to Paris, where he studied under
Alexander of Hales. In 1248 he was licensed to lecture publicly, and
thenceforth devoted himself at Paris to teaching and writing, and
defending his Order against the Seculars, until 1257, when, just as the
University conferred on him the title of Magister, he was chosen
Minister-General of his Order, in the thirty-seventh year of his age. The
greater part of his writings were composed before the burdens of this
primacy drew him from his studies. He was still to become Prince of the
Church, for he was made Cardinal of Albano in 1273, the year before his
death.

For all the Middle Ages the master in theology was Augustine. Either he
was studied directly in his own writings, or his views descended through
the more turbid channels of the works of men he influenced. Mediaeval
theology was overwhelmingly Augustinian until the middle of the thirteenth
century; and since theology was philosophy’s queen, mediaeval philosophy
conformed to that which Augustine employed in his theology. This, if
traced backward to its source, should be called Platonism, or
Neo-Platonism if we turn our mind to the modes in which Augustine made use
of it. His Neo-Platonism was not unaffected by Peripatetic and later
systems of Greek philosophy; yet it was far more Platonic than Stoical or
Aristotelian.

Those first teachers, who in the maturity of their powers became Brothers
Minorites, were Augustinians in theology, and consequently Platonists, in
so far as Platonism made part of Augustine’s doctrines. Thus it was with
the first great teacher at the Minorites school in Oxford, Robert
Grosseteste, and with the first great Minorite teacher at Paris, Alexander
of Hales. Both of these men were promoters of the study of Aristotle; yet
neither became so imbued with Aristotelianism as to revise either his
theological system or the Platonic doctrines which seemed germane to it.
Moreover, in so far as we may imagine St. Francis to have had a theology,
we must feel that Augustine, with his hand on Plato’s shoulder, would have
been more congenial to him than Aristotle. And so in fact it was to be
with his Order. Augustine’s fervent piety, his imagination and religious
temperament, held the Franciscans fast. Surely he was very close to the
soul of that eloquent Franciscan teacher, who called Alexander of Hales
“master and father,” sat at his feet, and never thought of himself as
delivering new teachings. It would have been strange indeed if Bonaventura
had broken from the influences which had formed his soul, this Bonaventura
whose most congenial precursor lived and wrote and followed Augustine far
back in the twelfth century, and bore the name of Hugo of St. Victor.
Bonaventura’s writings did much to fix Augustinianism upon his Order;
rivalry with the Dominicans doubtless helped to make it fast; for the
latter were following another system under the dominance of their two
Titan leaders, who had themselves come to maturity with the new
Aristotelian influences, whereof they were _magna pars_.

But just as Grosseteste and Alexander made use of what they knew of
Aristotle, so Bonaventura had no thought of misprizing him who was
becoming in western Europe “the master of those who know.” In specific
points this wise Augustinian might prefer Aristotle to Plato. For example,
he chose to stand, with the former, upon the _terra firma_ of sense
perception, rather than keep ever on the wing in the upper region of ideal
concepts.

    “Although the _anima_, according to Augustine, is linked to eternal
    principles (_legibus aeternis_), since somehow it does reach the light
    of the higher reason, still it is unquestionable, as the Philosopher
    says, that cognition originates in us by the way of the senses, of
    memory, and of experience, out of which the universal is deduced,
    which is the beginning of art and knowledge (_artis et scientiae_).
    Hence, since Plato referred all certain cognition to the intelligible
    or ideal world, he was rightly criticized by Aristotle. Not because he
    spoke ill in saying that there are _ideas_ and eternal _rationes_; but
    because, despising the world of sense, he wished to refer all certain
    cognition to those Ideas. And thus, although Plato seems to make firm
    the path of wisdom (_sapientiae_) which proceeds according to the
    eternal _rationes_, he destroys the way of knowledge, which proceeds
    according to the _rationes_ of created things (_rationes creatas_). So
    it appears that, among philosophers, the word of wisdom (_sermo
    sapientiae_) was given to Plato, and the word of knowledge
    (_scientiae_) to Aristotle. For that one chiefly looked to the things
    above, and this one considered things below.[545] But both the word of
    wisdom and of knowledge, through the Holy Spirit, was given to
    Augustine, as the pre-eminent declarer of the entire Scripture.”[546]

So there is Aristotelian ballast in Bonaventura’s Platonic-Augustinian
theology. His chief divergence from Albert and Thomas (who, of course,
likewise held Augustine in honour, and drew on Plato when they chose) is
to be found in his temperamental attitude, toward life, toward God, or
toward theology and learning. His Augustinian soul held to the
pre-eminence of the _good_ above the _true_, and tended to shape the
second to the first. So he maintained the primacy of _willing_ over
knowing. Man attains God through goodness of will and through love. The
way of knowledge is less prominent with Bonaventura than with Aquinas.
Surely the latter, and his master Albert, saw the main sanction of secular
knowledge in its ministry to _sacra doctrina_; but their hearts may seem
to tarry with the handmaid. Bonaventura’s position is the same; but his
heart never tarries with the handmaid; for with him heart and mind are
ever constant to the queen, Theology. Yet he recognizes the queen’s need
of the handmaid. Holy Writ is not for babes; the fulness of knowledge is
needed for its understanding: “Non potest intelligi sacra Scriptura sine
aliarum scientiarum peritia.”[547] And without philosophy many matters of
the Faith cannot be intelligently discussed. There is no knowledge which
may not be sanctified to the purpose of understanding Scripture; only let
this purpose really guide the mind’s pursuits.

Bonaventura wrote a short treatise to emphasize these universally admitted
principles, and to show how every form of human knowledge conformed to the
supreme illumination afforded by Scripture, and might be reduced to the
terms and methods of Theology, which is Scripture rightly understood. He
named the tract _De reductione artium ad theologiam_[548] (The leading
back of the Arts to Theology).

    “‘Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the
    Father of lights,’ says James. This indicates the source of all
    illumination, and the streaming of all enlightenment from that fontal
    light. While every illumination is inner knowledge (_omnis illuminatio
    cognitio interna sit_) we may distinguish the external light, (_lumen
    exterius_), to wit, the light of mechanical art; the lower light, to
    wit, the light of sense perception; the interior light, to wit, the
    light of philosophical cognition; the superior light, to wit, the
    light of grace and Holy Scripture. The first illuminates as to the
    arts and crafts; the second as to natural form; the third as to
    intellectual truth; the fourth as to saving truth.”

He enumerates the mechanical arts, drawing from Hugo of St. Victor; then
he follows with Augustine’s explanation of the second _lumen_, as that
which discerns corporeal things. He next speaks of the third _lumen_ which
lightens us to the investigation of truths intelligible, scrutinizing the
truth of words (Logic), or the truth of things (Physics), or the truth of
morals (Ethics). The fourth _lumen_, of Holy Scripture, comes not by
seeking, but descends through inspiration from the Father of lights. It
includes the literal, the spiritual, moral and anagogic signification of
Scripture, teaching the eternal generation and incarnation of Christ, the
way to live, and the union of God and the soul. The first of these
branches pertains to faith, the second to morals, and the third to the aim
and end of both.

“Let us see,” continues Bonaventura, “how the other illuminations have to
be reduced to the light of Holy Scripture. And first as to the
illumination from sense cognition, as to which we consider its means, its
exercise, and its delight (_oblectamentum_).” Its means is the Word
eternally generated, and incarnated in time; its exercise is in the sense
perception of an ordered way of living, following the suitable and
avoiding the nocuous; and as for its object of delight, as every sense
pursues that which delights it, so the sense of our heart should seek the
beautiful, harmonious, and sweet-smelling. In this way divine wisdom
dwells hidden in sense cognition.

Next, as to the illumination of mechanical art, which is concerned with
the production of the works of craft. Herein likewise may be observed
analogies with the light from Holy Scripture, which reveals the Word, the
order of living, and the union of God and the soul. No creature proceeds
from the great Artificer, save through the Word; and the human artificer
works to produce a beautiful, useful, and enduring work; which corresponds
to the Scriptural order of living. Each human artificer makes his work
that it may bring him praise or use or delight; as God made the rational
soul, to praise and serve and take delight in Him, through love.

By similar methods of reasoning Bonaventura next “reduces,” or leads back,
Logic, and Natural and Moral Philosophy to the ways and purposes of
Theology, and shows how “the multiform wisdom of God, which is set forth
lucidly by Scripture, lies hidden in every cognition, and in every nature.
It is also evident that all kinds of knowledge minister to Theology; and
that Theology takes illustrations, and uses phrases, pertaining to every
kind of knowledge (_cognitionis_). It is also plain how ample is the
illuminating path, and how in every thing that is sensed or perceived, God
himself lies concealed.”[549]

Ways of reasoning change, while conclusions sometimes endure.
Bonaventura’s reasoning in the above treatise is for us abstruse and
fanciful; yet many will agree with the conclusion, that all kinds of
knowledge may minister to our thought of God, and of man’s relationship to
Him. And with Bonaventura, all his knowledge, his study of secular
philosophy, his logic and powers of presentation, had theology unfailingly
in view, and ministered to the satisfaction, the actualization (to use
our old word) of his religious nature. He belongs among those
intellectually gifted men--Augustine, Anselm, Hugo of St. Victor--whose
mental and emotional powers draw always to God, and minister to the
conception of the soul’s union with the living spring of its being. The
life, the labours of Bonaventura were as the title of the little book we
have just been worrying with, a _reductio artium ad theologiam_, a
constant adapting of all knowledge and ways of meditation, to the sense of
God and the soul’s inclusion in the love divine. No one should expect to
find among his compositions any independent treatment of secular knowledge
for its own sake. Rather throughout his writings the reasonings of
philosophy are found always ministering to the sovereign theme.

The most elaborate of Bonaventura’s doctrinal works was his Commentary
upon the Lombard’s _Sentences_. In form and substance it was a _Summa
theologiae_.[550] He also made a brief and salutary theological compend,
which he called the _Breviloquium_.[551] The note of devotional piety is
struck by the opening sentence, taken from the Epistle to the Ephesians,
and is held throughout the work:

    “‘I bow my knees unto the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, from whom
    the whole fatherhood in heaven and earth is named, that He would grant
    you according to the riches of His glory to be strengthened by His
    Spirit in the inner man; that Christ may dwell in your hearts through
    faith; that ye, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to
    comprehend with all saints, what is the breadth and length and height
    and depth; and to know the love of Christ which passeth knowledge,
    that ye might be filled in all the fulness of God.’ The great doctor
    of the Gentiles discloses in these words the source, progress, and
    state (_ortus_, _progressus_, _status_) of Holy Scripture, which is
    called Theology; indicating that the _source_ is to be thought upon
    according to the grace (_influentiam_) of the most blessed Trinity;
    the _progress_ with reference to the needs of human capacity; and the
    _state_ or fruit with respect to the superabundance of a superplenary
    felicity.

    “For the _Source_ lies not in human investigation, but in divine
    revelation, which flows from the Father of lights, from whom all
    fatherhood in heaven and earth is named, from whom, through His Son
    Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit flows in us; and through the Holy Spirit
    bestowing, as He wills, gifts on each, faith is given, and through
    faith Christ dwells in our hearts. This is the knowledge of Jesus
    Christ, from which, as from a source, comes the certitude and
    understanding of the whole Scripture. Wherefore it is impossible that
    any one should advance in its knowledge, unless he first has Christ
    infused in him....

    “The _Progress_ of Holy Scripture is not bound to the laws of
    reasonings and definitions, like the other sciences; but, conformably
    to supernatural light, proceeds to give to man the wayfarer (_homini
    viatori_) a knowledge of things sufficing for his salvation, by plain
    words in part, and in part mystically: it presents the contents of the
    universe as in a _Summa_, in which is observed the _breadth_; it
    describes the descent (from above) in which is considered the
    _length_; it describes the goodness of the saved, in which is
    considered the _height_; it describes the misery of the damned, in
    which consists the _depth_ not only of the universe itself but of the
    divine judgment....

    “The _State_ or fruit of Holy Scripture is the plentitude of eternal
    felicity. For the Book containing words of eternal life was written
    not only that we might believe, but that we might have eternal life,
    in which we shall see, we shall love, and all our desires shall be
    filled, whereupon we shall know the love which passeth knowledge, and
    be filled in all the fulness of God....

    “As to the _progress_ of Scripture, first is to be considered the
    _breadth_, which consists in the multitude of parts.... Rightly is
    Holy Scripture divided into the Old and New Testament, and not in
    _theorica_ and _practica_, like philosophy; because since Scripture is
    founded on the knowledge of faith, which is a virtue and the basis of
    morals, it is not possible to separate in Scripture the knowledge of
    things, or of what is to be believed, from the knowledge of morals. It
    is otherwise with philosophy, which handles not only the truth of
    morals, but the true, speculatively considered. Then as Holy Scripture
    is knowledge (_notitia_) moving to good and recalling from evil,
    through fear and love, so it is divided into two Testaments, whose
    difference, briefly, is fear and love....

    “Holy Scripture has also _length_, which consists in the description
    of times and ages from the beginning to the day of Judgment.... The
    progress of the whole world is described by Scripture, as in a
    beautiful poem, wherein one may follow the descent of time, and
    contemplate the variety, manifoldness, equity, order, righteousness,
    and beauty of the multitude of divine judgments proceeding from the
    wisdom of God ruling the world: and as with a poem, so with this
    ordering of the world, one cannot see its beauty save by considering
    the whole....

    “No less has Sacred Scripture _height_ (_sublimitatem_), consisting
    in description of the ranged hierarchies, the ecclesiastical,
    angelic, and divine.... Even as things have _being_ in matter or
    nature, they have also being in the _anima_ through its acquired
    knowledge; they have also _being_ in the _anima_ through grace, also
    through glory; and they have also being in the way of the eternal--in
    _arte aeterna_. Philosophy treats of things as they are in nature, or
    in the _anima_ according to the knowledge which is naturally implanted
    or acquired. But theology as a science (_scientia_) founded upon faith
    and revealed by the Holy Spirit, treats of those matters which belong
    to grace and glory and to the eternal wisdom. Whence placing
    philosophic cognition beneath itself, and drawing from nature (_de
    naturis rerum_) as much as it may need to make a mirror yielding a
    reflection of things divine, it constructs a ladder which presses the
    earth at the base, and touches heaven at the top: and all this through
    that one hierarch Jesus Christ, who through his assumption of human
    nature, is hierarch not in the ecclesiastical hierarchy alone, but
    also in the angelic; and is the medial person in the divine hierarchy
    of the most blessed Trinity.”[552]

The _depth_ (_profunditas_) of Scripture consists in its manifold mystic
meanings. It reveals these meanings of the creature world for the
edification of man journeying to his fatherland. Scripture throughout its
_breadth_, _length_, _height_, and _depth_ uses narrative, threat,
exhortation, and promise all for one end. “For this _doctrina_ exists in
order that we may become good and be saved, which comes not through naked
consideration, but rather through inclination of the will.... Here
examples have more effect than arguments, promises are more moving than
ratiocinations, and devotion is better than definition.” Hence Scripture
does not follow the method and divisions of other sciences, but uses its
own diverse means for its saving end. The Prologue closes with rules of
Scriptural interpretation.[553]

In our plan of following what is of human interest in mediaeval philosophy
or theology, prologues and introductions are sometimes of more importance
than the works which they preface; for they disclose the writer’s intent
and purpose, and the endeavour within him, which may be more intimately
himself, than his performance. So more space has been given to
Bonaventura’s Prologue than the body of the treatise will require. The
order of topics is that of the Lombard’s _Sentences_ or Aquinas’s _Summa_.
Seven successive _partes_ consider the Trinity, the creation, the
corruption from sin, the Incarnation, the grace of the Holy Spirit, the
sacramental medicine, and the Last Judgment. Each _pars_ is divided into
chapters setting forth some special topic. Bonaventura’s method, pursued
in every chapter, is to state first the scriptural or dogmatic
propositions, and then give their reason, which he introduces with such
words as: _Ratio autem ad praedictorum intelligentiam haec est_. The work
is a complete systematic compend of Christian theology; its conciseness
and lucidity of statement are admirable. For an example of its method and
quality, the first chapter of the sixth part may be given, upon the origin
of Sacraments.

    “Having treated of the Trinity of God, of the creation of the world,
    the corruption of sin, the incarnation of the Word, and the grace of
    the Holy Spirit, it is time to treat of the sacramental medicine,
    regarding which there are seven matters to consider: the origin of the
    sacraments, their variation, distinction, appointment, dispensation,
    repetition, and the integrity of each.

    “Concerning[554] the origin of the Sacraments this is to be held, that
    sacraments are sensible signs divinely appointed as medicaments, in
    which under cover of things sensible, divine virtue secretly operates;
    also that from likeness they represent, from appointment they signify,
    from sanctification they confer, some spiritual grace, through which
    the soul is healed from the infirmities of vice; and for this as their
    final end they are ordained; yet they avail for humility, instruction,
    and exercise as for a subsidiary end.

    “The reason and explanation of the aforesaid is this: The reparative
    principle (_principium_), is Christ crucified, to wit, the Word
    incarnate, that directs all things most compassionately because
    divine, and most compassionately heals because divinely incarnate. It
    must repair, heal, and save the sick human race, in a way suited to
    the sick one, the sickness and the occasion of it, and the cure of the
    sickness. The physician is the incarnate Word, to wit, God invisible
    in a visible nature. The sick man is not simply spirit, nor simply
    flesh, but spirit in mortal flesh. The disease is original sin, which
    through ignorance infects the mind, and through concupiscence
    infects the flesh. While the origin of this fault primarily lay in
    reason’s consent, yet its occasion came from the senses of the body.
    Consequently, in order that the medicine should correspond to these
    conditions, it should be not simply spiritual, but should have
    somewhat of sensible signs; for as things sensible were the occasion
    of the soul’s falling, they should be the occasion of its rising
    again. Yet since visible signs of themselves have no efficiency
    ordained for grace, although representative of its nature, it was
    necessary that they should by the author of grace be appointed to
    signify and should be blessed in order to sanctify; so that there
    should be a representation from natural likeness, a signification from
    appointment, and a sanctification and preparedness for grace from the
    added benediction, through which our soul may be cured and made whole.

    “Again, since curative grace is not given to the puffed up, the
    unbelieving, and disdainful, so these sensible signs divinely given,
    ought to be such as not only would sanctify and confer grace, and
    heal, but also would instruct by their signification, humble by their
    acceptance, and exercise through their diversity; that thus through
    exercise despondency (_acedia_) should be shut out from the
    desiderative [nature], through instruction ignorance be shut out from
    the rational [nature], through humiliation pride be shut out from the
    irascible [nature], and the whole soul become _curable_ by the grace
    of the Holy Spirit, which remakes us according to these three
    capacities (_potentias_)[555] into the image of the Trinity and
    Christ. Finally, whereas the grace of the Holy Spirit is received
    through these sensible signs divinely appointed, it is found in them
    as an accident. Hence sacraments of this kind are called the vessels
    and cause of grace: not that grace is of their substance or produced
    by them as by a cause; for its place is in the soul, and it is infused
    by God alone; but because it is ordained by divine decree, that in
    them and through them we shall draw the grace of cure from the supreme
    physician, Christ; although God has not fettered His grace to the
    sacraments.[556]

    “From the premises, therefore, appears not only what may be the origin
    of the sacraments, but also the use and fruit. For their origin is
    Christ the Lord; their use is the act which exercises, teaches, and
    humbles; their fruit is the cure and salvation of men. It is also
    evident that the efficient cause of the sacraments is the divine
    appointment; their material cause is the figurement of the sensible
    sign; their formal cause the sanctification by grace; their final
    cause the medicinal healing of men. And because they are named from
    their form and end they are called sacraments, as it were
    _medicamenta sanctificantia_. Through them the soul is led back from
    the filth of vice to perfect sanctification. And so, although
    corporeal and sensible, they are medicinal, and to be venerated as
    holy because they signify holy mysteries, and make ready for the holy
    gifts (_charismata_) given by most holy God; and they are divinely
    consecrated by holy institution and benediction for the holiest
    worship of God appointed in holy church, so that rightly they should
    be called sacraments.”

The _Breviloquium_ was Bonaventura’s rational compendium of Christian
theology. It offered in brief compass as complete a system as the bulkiest
_Summa_ could carry out to doctrinal elaboration. Quite different in
method and intent was his equally famous _Itinerarium mentis in
Deum_,[557] the praise of which, according to the great Chancellor Gerson,
could not fitly be uttered by mortal mouth. We have seen how in the
_Reductio artium ad theologiam_ Bonaventura conformed all modes of
perception and knowledge to the uses and modes of theology; the final end
of which is man’s salvation, consisting in the union of the soul with God,
through every form of enlightenment and all the power of love. The
_Breviloquium_ has given the sum of Christian doctrine, an intelligent and
heart-felt understanding of which leads to salvation. And now the
_Itinerarium_--well, it is best to let Bonaventura tell how he came to
compose it, and of its purpose and character.

    “Since, after the example of our most blessed father Francis, I pant
    in spirit for the peace which he preached in the manner of our Lord
    Jesus Christ, I a sinner who am the seventh, all unworthy,
    Minister-General of the Brethren,--it happened that by God’s will in
    the thirty-third year after our blessed father’s death, I turned aside
    to the mountain of Alverna, as to a quiet place, seeking the spirit’s
    peace. While I lingered there my mind dwelt on the ascensions of the
    spirit, and, among others, on the miracle which in that very spot came
    to blessed Francis, when he saw the winged Seraph in the likeness of
    the Crucified. And it seemed to me his vision represented the
    suspension of our father in contemplation, and the way by which he
    came to it. For by those six wings may be understood the suspensions
    of the six illuminations, by which the soul, as by steps and journeys,
    through ecstatic outpourings of Christian wisdom, is prepared to pass
    beyond to peace. For the way lies only through love of the
    Crucified, which so transformed Paul carried to the third heaven, that
    he could say: ‘I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet
    not I, but Christ liveth in me.’ So the image of the six seraph’s
    wings represents the six rungs of illumination, which begin with the
    creatures and lead on to God, to whom no one can come save through the
    Crucified....

    “For one is not prepared for the divine contemplations, which lead to
    the rapt visions of the mind, unless he be with Daniel, a man of
    desires.[558] Desires are stirred within us by the cry of prayer and
    the bright light of speculation. I shall invite the reader first to
    the sighings of prayer through Christ crucified, lest perchance he
    believe that study might suffice without unction, or diligence without
    piety, knowledge without charity, zeal without divine grace, or the
    mirror (_speculum_) without the wisdom divinely inspired. Then to
    those humble and devout ones, to whom grace first has come, to those
    lovers of the divine wisdom, who burn with desire of it, and are
    willing to be still, for the magnifying of God, I shall propose
    pertinent speculations, showing how little or nothing is it to turn
    the mirror outward unless the mirror of our mind be rubbed and
    polished.”

Thus Bonaventura writes his prologue to this devotional tract, which will
also hold “pertinent speculations.” Remarkable is the intellectuality and
compacted thought which he fuses in emotional expression. He will write
seven chapters, on the seven steps, or degrees, in the ascent to God,
which is the mind’s true _itinerarium_. Since we cannot by ourselves lift
ourselves above ourselves, prayer is the very mother and source of our
upward struggle. Prayer opens our eyes to the steps in the ascent. Placed
in the universe of things, we find in it the corporeal and temporal
footprint (_vestigium_) leading into the way of God. Then we enter our
mind, which is the everlasting and spiritual image of God; and this is to
enter the truth of God. Whereupon we should rise above us to the eternal
most spiritual first cause; and this is to rejoice in the knowledge of
God’s majesty. This is the threefold illumination, by which we recognise
the triple existence of things, in matter, in the intelligence, and in the
divine way--_in arte divina_. And likewise our mind has three outlooks,
one upon the corporeal world without, which is called sense, another into
and within itself, which is called _spiritus_, and a third above itself,
which is called _mens_. By means of all three, man should set himself to
rising toward God, and love Him with the whole mind, and heart, and soul.

Then Bonaventura makes further analysis of his triple illumination into

    “six degrees or powers of the soul, to wit, sense, imagination,
    reason, intellect, intelligence, and _apex mentis seu synteresis
    scintilla_. These degrees are planted within us by nature, deformed
    through fault, reformed through grace, purged through righteousness,
    exercised through knowledge, perfected through wisdom.... Whoever
    wishes to ascend to God should shun the sins which deform nature, and
    stretch forth his natural powers, in prayer, toward reforming grace,
    in mode of life, toward purifying righteousness, in meditation, toward
    illuminating knowledge, in contemplation toward the wisdom which makes
    perfect. For as no one reaches wisdom except through grace,
    righteousness, and knowledge, so no one reaches contemplation, except
    through meditation, a holy life, and devout prayer.”

Chapter one closes with little that is novel; for we seem to be retracing
the thoughts of Hugo of St. Victor. The second chapter is on the
“Contemplation of God in His Footprints in the Sensible World.” This is
the next grade of speculation, because we shall now contemplate God not
only through His footprints, but in them also, so far as He is in them
through essence, power, or presence. The sensible world, the macrocosmus,
enters the microcosmus, which is the _anima_, through the gates of the
five senses. The author sketches the processes of sense-perception,
through which outer facts are apprehended according to their species, and
delighted in if pleasing, and then adjudged according to the _ratio_ of
their delightfulness, to wit, their beauty, sweetness, salubrity, and
proportion. Such are the footprints in which we may contemplate our God.
All things knowable possess the quality of generating their species in our
minds, through the medium of our perceptions; and thus we are led to
contemplate the eternal generation of the Word--image and Son--from the
Father. Likewise sweetness and beauty point on to their fontal source. And
from speculation on the local, the temporal, and mutable, our reason
carries us to the thought of the immutable, the uncircumscribed and
eternal. Then from the beauty and delightfulness of things, we pass to
the thought of number and proportion, and judge of their irrefragable
laws, wherein are God’s wisdom and power.

    “The creatures of this sensible world signify the invisible things of
    God; in part because God is the source and exemplar and end of every
    creature; in part through their proper likeness; in part from their
    prophetic prefiguring; in part from angelic operations; and in part
    through superadded ordainment. For every creature by nature is an
    effigy of the eternal wisdom; especially whatever creature in
    Scripture is taken by the spirit of prophecy as a type of the
    spiritual; but more especially those creatures in the likeness of
    which God willed to appear by an angelic minister; and most especially
    that creature which he chose to mark as a sacrament.”

From these first grades of speculation, which contemplate the footprints
of God in the world, we are led to contemplate the divine image in the
natural powers of our minds. We find the image of the most blessed Trinity
in our memory, our rational intelligence, and our will; the joint action
of which leads on to the desire of the _summum bonum_. Next we contemplate
the divine image in our minds remade by the gifts of grace upon which we
must enter by the door of the faith, hope, and love of the Mediator of God
and men, Jesus Christ. As philosophy helped us to see the image of God in
the natural qualities of our mind, so Scripture now is needed to bring us
to these three theological virtues (faith, hope, and love), which enable
the mind of fallen man to be repaired and made anew through grace.

From this fourth grade, in which God is still contemplated in his image,
we rise to consider God as pure being, wherein there is neither privation,
nor bound, nor particularity; and next in his goodness, the highest
communicability (_summam communicabilitatem_) of which may be
contemplated, but not comprehended, in the mystery of the most blessed
Trinity. “In whom [the persons of the Trinity] it is necessary because of
the _summa bonitas_ that there should be the _summa communicabilitas_, and
because of the latter, the _summa consubstantialitas_, and because of this
the _summa configurabilitas_, and from these the _summa coaequalitas_, and
through this the _summa coaeternitas_, and from all the preceding the
_summa cointimitas_, by which each is in the other, and one works with the
other through every conceivable indivisibility (_indivisionem_) of the
substance, virtue, and operation of the same most blessed Trinity....”
“And when thou contemplatest this,” adds Bonaventura, “do not think to
comprehend the incomprehensible.”

From age to age the religious soul finds traces of its God in nature and
in its inmost self. Its ways of finding change, varying with the
prevailing currents of knowledge; yet still it ever finds these
_vestigia_, which represent the widest deductions of its reasoning, the
ultimate resultants of its thought, and its own brooding peace. Therefore
may we not follow sympathetically the _Itinerarium_ of Bonaventura’s mind
as it traces the footprints of its God? Thus far the way has advanced by
reason, uplifted by grace, and yet still reason. This reason has
comprehended what it might comprehend of the traces and evidences of God
in the visible creation and the soul of man; it has sought to apprehend
the being of God, but has humbly recognized its inability to penetrate the
marvels of his goodness in the mystery of the most blessed Trinity. There
it stops at the sixth grade of contemplation; yet not baffled, or rendered
vain, for it has performed its function and brought the soul on to where
she may fling forth from reason’s steeps, and find herself again, buoyant
and blissful, in a medium of super-rational contemplation. This makes the
last chapter of the mind’s _Itinerarium_; it is the _apex mentis_, the
summit of all contemplations in which the mind has rest. Henceforth

    “Christ is the way and door, the ladder and the vehicle, as the
    propitiation placed on the Ark of God, and the sacrament hidden from
    the world. He who looks on this propitiation, with his look full fixed
    on him who hangs upon the cross, through faith, hope, and charity, and
    all devotion, he makes his Passover, and through the rod of the cross
    shall pass through the Red Sea, out of Egypt entering the desert, and
    there taste the hidden manna, and rest with Christ in the tomb, dead
    to all without; and shall realize, though as one still on the way, the
    word of Christ to the believing thief: ‘To-day thou shalt be with me
    in Paradise.’ Which was also revealed to the blessed Francis when in
    ecstasy of contemplation on the high mountain, the Seraph with six
    wings, nailed on a cross, appeared to him. There, as we have heard
    from his companion, he passed into God through ecstasy of
    contemplation, and was set as an exemplar of perfect contemplation,
    whereby God should invite all truly spiritual men to this transit and
    ecstasy, by example rather than by word. In this passing over, if it
    be perfect, all the ways of reason are relinquished, and the _apex
    affectus_ is transferred and transformed into God. This is the mystic
    secret known by no one who does not receive it, and received by none
    who does not desire it, and desired only by him whose heart’s core is
    aflame from the fire of the Holy Spirit, whom Christ sent on earth....
    Since then nature avails nothing here, and diligence but little, we
    should give ourselves less to investigation and more to unction;
    little should be given to speech, and most to inner gladness; little
    to the written word, and all to God’s gift the Holy Spirit; little or
    nothing is to be ascribed to the creature, and all to the creative
    essence, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.”

Here Bonaventura loses himself in an untranslatable extract from
Eriugena’s version of the _Areopagite_, and then proceeds:

    “If thou askest how may these things be, interrogate grace and not
    doctrine, desire and not knowledge, the groaning of prayer rather than
    study, the Spouse rather than the teacher, God and not man, mist
    rather than clarity, not light but fire all aflame and bearing on to
    God by devotion and glowing affection. Which fire is God, and the man
    Christ kindles it in the fervour of his passion, as only he perceives
    who says: ‘My soul chooseth strangling and my bones, death.’ He who
    loves this death shall see God. Then let us die and pass into
    darkness, and silence our solicitudes, our desires, and phantasies;
    let us pass over with Christ crucified from this world to the Father;
    that the Father shown us, we may say with Philip: ‘it sufficeth us.’
    Let us hear with Paul: ‘My grace is sufficient for thee.’ Let us exult
    with David, saying: ‘Defecit caro mea et cor meum, Deus cordis mei et
    pars mea Deus in aeternum’.”[559]

It is best to leave the saint and doctor here, and not follow in other
treatises the current of his yearning thought till it divides in
streamlets which press on their tortuous ways through allegory and the
adumbration of what the mind disclaims the power to express directly.
Those more elaborate treatises of his, which are called mystic, are
difficult for us to read. As with Hugo of St. Victor, from whom he drew so
largely, Bonaventura’s expression of his religious yearnings may
interest and move us; but one needs perhaps the cloister’s quiet to follow
on through the allegorical elaboration of this pietism. Bonaventura’s
_Soliloquium_ might weary us after the _Itinerarium_, and we should read
his _De septem itineribus aeternitatis_ with no more pleasure than Hugo’s
_Mystic Ark of Noah_. It is enough to witness the spiritual attitude of
these men without tracking them through the “selva oscura” to their lairs
of meditation.



CHAPTER XXXIX

ALBERTUS MAGNUS


Albert the Great was prodigious in the mass of his accomplishment. Therein
lay his importance for the age he lived in; therein lies his interest for
us. For him, substantial philosophy, as distinguished from the
instrumental rôle of logic, had three parts, set by nature, rather than
devised by man; they are physics, mathematics, and metaphysics. “It is our
intention,” says Albert at the beginning of his exposition of Aristotle’s
_Physics_, “to make all the said parts intelligible to the Latins.” _And
he did._ Perhaps the world has had no greater purveyor of a knowledge not
his own. He is comparable with Boëthius, who gave the Latin world the
Aristotelian _Organon_, a gift but half availed of for many centuries.
Albert gave his Latin world the rest of Aristotle, the _philosophia
realis_. His world was as ready to receive this great donation, as the
time of Boëthius was unready to profit by any intellectual gift demanding
mental energies for its assimilation. Boëthius stood alone in his
undertaking; if his hand failed there was none to take up his task. Fate
stayed his hand; and the purpose that was his, to render the whole of
Plato and Aristotle intelligible to the Latin world, perished with him,
the Latin world being by no means eager for the whole of Aristotle and
Plato, and unfit to receive it had it been proffered. But Albert’s time
was eager; it was importunate for the very enlargement of knowledge which
Albert, more than any other man, was bringing it. An age obtains what it
demands. Albert had fellow-labourers, some preceding, some assisting, and
others following him, to perfect the knowledge in which he worked, and
build it into the scholastic Christian scheme. But in this labour of
purveyorship he overtopped the rest, the giant of them all.

He was born Count of Bollstadt, in Suabia, probably in the year 1193.
Whether his youth was passed in the profession of arms, or in study, is
not quite clear. But while still young he began his years of studious
travel, and at Padua in 1223 he joined the Dominican Order. He became a
miracle of learning, reputed also as one who could explain the phenomena
of nature. From 1228 to 1245 he taught in German cities, chiefly at
Cologne. Then the scene changed to Paris, where he lectured and won fame
from 1245 to 1248. With this period begins the publication of his
philosophical encyclopaedia. Perhaps it was first completed in 1256. But
Albert kept supplementing and revising it until his death. In 1248 he was
remanded to Cologne to establish a school there. His life continued
devoted to study and teaching, yet with interruptions. For he filled the
office of Provincial of his Order for Germany from 1254 to 1257, and was
compelled to be Bishop of Regensburg from 1260 to 1262. Then he insisted
on resigning, and retired to a cloister at Cologne. Naturally he was
engaged in a number of learned controversies, and was burdened with
numerous ecclesiastical affairs. In 1277 for the last time he set his face
toward Paris, to defend the doctrines and memory of his great pupil, who
had died three years before. His own illustrious life closed at Cologne on
the fifteenth of November, 1280. Albert was a man of piety, conforming
strictly to the rules of his Order. It is said that he refused to own even
the manuscripts which he indited; and as Dominican Provincial of Germany
he walked barefoot on his journeys through the vast territory set under
his supervision. Tradition has him exceeding small of stature.

Albert’s labours finally put within reach of his contemporaries the sum of
philosophy and science contained in the works of Aristotle, and his
ancient, as well as Arabian, commentators. The undertaking was grandly
conceived; it was carried out with tireless energy and massive learning.
Let us observe the principles which informed the mind of this mighty
Teuton scholar. He transcribed approvingly the opinion expressed by
Aristotle at the opening of the _Metaphysics_, that the love of knowledge
is natural to man; and he recognized the pleasure arising from knowledge
of the sensible world, apart from considerations of utility.[560] He took
this thought from Aristotle; but the proof that he made it his own with
power lay in those fifty years of intellectual toil which produced the
greatest of all mediaeval storehouses of knowledge.

In his reliance on his sources, Albert is mediaeval; his tendency is to
accept the opinion which he is reproducing, especially when it is the
opinion of Aristotle. Yet he protested against regarding even him as
infallible. “He who believes that Aristotle was God, ought to believe that
he never erred. If one regards him as a man, then surely he may err as
well as we.”[561] Albert was no Averroist to adhere to all the views of
the Philosopher; he pointedly differed from him where orthodoxy demanded
it, maintaining, for instance, the creation of the world in time, contrary
to the opinion of the Peripatetics. Albert, and with him Aquinas, had not
accepted merely the task of expounding Aristotle, but also that of
correcting him where Truth (with a large Christian capital) required it.
Albert held that Aristotle might err, and that he did not know everything.
The development of science was not closed by his death: “Dicendum quod
scientiae demonstrativae non omnes factae sunt, sed plures restant adhuc
inveniendae.”[562] This is not Roger Bacon speaking, but Albertus; and
still more might one think to hear the voice of the recalcitrant
Franciscan in the words: “Oportet experimentum non in uno modo, sed
secundum omnes circumstantias probare.”[563] Yet these words too are
Albert’s, and he is speaking of the observation of nature’s phenomena;
regarding which one shall not simply transcribe the ancient statement; but
observe with his own eyes and mind.

This was in the spirit of Aristotle; Albert recognizes and approves. But
did he make the experimental principle his own with power, as he did the
thought that the desire to know is inborn? This is a fundamental question
as to Albert. No one denies his learning, his enormous book-diligence. But
was he also an observer of natural phenomena? One who sought to test from
his own observation the statements of the books he read? It is best here
to avoid either a categorical affirmation or denial. The standard by which
one shapes one’s answer is important. Are we to compare Albert with a St.
Bernard, whose meditations shut his eyes to mountains, lakes, and woods?
Or are we to apply the standards of a natural science which looks always
to the tested results of observation? There is sufficient evidence in
Albert’s writings to show that he kept his eyes open, and took notice of
interesting phenomena, seen, for instance, on his journeys. But, on the
other hand, it is absurd to imagine that he dreamed of testing the written
matter which he paraphrased, or of materially adding to it, by systematic
observation of nature. Accounts of his observations do not always raise
our opinion of his science. He transcribes the description of certain
worms, and says that they may come from horse-hairs, for he has seen
horse-hairs, in still water, turning into worms.[564] The trouble was that
Albert had no general understanding of the processes of nature.
Consequently, in his _De animalibus_ for instance, he gives the fabulous
as readily as the more reasonable. Nevertheless let no one think that
natural knowledge did not really interest and delight him. His study of
plants has led the chief historian of botany to assert that Albert was the
first real botanist, after the ancient Theophrastus, inasmuch as he
studied for the sake of learning the nature of plants, irrespective of
their medical or agricultural uses.[565]

The writings of Albertus Magnus represent, perhaps more fully than those
of any other man, the round of knowledge and intellectual interest
attracting the attention of western Europe in the thirteenth century. At
first glance they seem to separate into those which in form and substance
are paraphrases of Aristotelian treatises, or borrowed expositions of
Aristotelian topics; and those which are more independent compositions.
Yet the latter, like the _Summa de creaturis_, for example, will be found
to consist largely of borrowed material; the matter is rearranged, and
presented in some new connection, or with a purpose other than that of its
source.

In his Aristotelian paraphrases, which were thickly sown with digressive
expositions, Albert’s method, as he states at the beginning of the
_Physica_, is “to follow the order and opinions of Aristotle, and to give
in addition whatever is needed in the way of explanation and support; yet
without reproducing Aristotle’s text (_tamen quod textus eius nulla fiat
mentio_). And we shall also compose _digressiones_ to expound whatever is
obscure.” The titles of the chapters will indicate whether their substance
is from Aristotle. Thus instead of giving the Aristotelian text, with an
attached commentary, Albert combines paraphrase and supplementary
exposition. Evidently the former method would have presented Aristotle’s
meaning more surely, and would have thus subserved a closer scholarship.
But for this the Aristotelian commentaries of Aquinas must be awaited.

The compass of Albert’s achievement as a purveyor of ancient knowledge may
be seen from a cursory survey of his writings; which will likewise afford
an idea of the quality of his work, and how much there was of Albert in
it.[566] To begin with, he sets forth with voluminous exposition the
entire Aristotelian _Organon_. The preliminary questions as to the nature
of logic were treated in the _De praedicabilibus_,[567] which expanded the
substance of Porphyry’s _Isagoge_. In this treatise Albert expounds his
conclusions as to universals, the universal being that which is in one yet
is fit (_aptum_) to be in many, and is predicable of many. “Et hoc modo
prout ratio est praedicabilitatis, ad logicam pertinet de universali
tractare; quamvis secundum quod est natura quaedam et differentia entis,
tractare de ipso pertineat ad metaphysicam.” That is to say, It pertains
to logic to treat of the universal in respect to its predicability; but in
so far as the question relates to the nature and differences of essential
being, it pertains to metaphysics. This sentence is an example of Albert’s
awkward Latin; but it shows how firmly he distinguishes between the
logical and the metaphysical material. His treatment of logic is
exhaustive, rather than acutely discriminating. He works constantly with
the material of others, and the result is more inclusive than
organic.[568] In his ponderous treatment of logical themes, no possible
consideration is omitted.

The _De praedicabilibus_ is followed by the _De praedicamentis_, Albert’s
treatise on the _Categories_. Next comes his _Liber de sex principiis_,
which is a paraphrasing exposition of the work of Gilbert de la Porrée.
Then comes his _Perihermenias_, which keeps the Greek title of the _De
interpretatione_. These writings are succeeded by elaborate expositions of
the more advanced logical treatises of Aristotle, all of them, of course,
_Analytics_ (_Prior_ and _Posterior_), _Topics_, and _Elenchi_. The total
production is detailed, exhaustive, awful; it is _ingens_ truly, only not
quite _informis_; and Teutonically painstaking and conscientious.

Thus logic makes Tome I. of the twenty-one tomes of Albert’s _Opera_. Tome
II. contains his expository paraphrases of Aristotle’s _Physics_ and
lesser treatises upon physical topics, celestial and terrestrial. From the
opening chapter we have already taken the programme of his large intention
to make known all Aristotle to the Latins. In this chapter likewise he
proceeds to lay out the divisions of _philosophia realis_ into
Aristotelian conceptions of _metaphysica_, _mathematica_, and _physica_.
With chapter two he falls into the first of his interminable digressions,
taking up what were called “the objections of Heracleitus” to any science
of physics. Another digressive chapter considers the proper subject of
physical science, to wit, _corpus mobile_, and another considers its
divisions. After a while he takes up the opinions of the ancients upon the
beginnings (_principia_) of things, and then reasons out the true opinion
in the matter. Liber II. of his _Physica_ is devoted to _Natura_,
considered in many ways, but chiefly as the _principium intrinsecum omnium
eorum quae naturalia sunt_. It is the principle of motion in the mobile
substance. Next he passes to a discussion of causes; and in the succeeding
books he considers movement, place, time, and eternity. Albert’s
paraphrase is replete with logical forms of thinking; it seems like formal
logic applied in physical science. The world about us still furnishes, or
_is_, data for our thoughts; and we try to conceive it consistently, so as
to satisfy our thinking; so did Aristotle and Albertus. But they avowedly
worked out their conceptions of the external world according to the laws
determining the consistency of their own mental processes; and deemed this
a proper way of approach to natural science. Yet the work of Aristotle
represents a real consideration of the universe, and a tremendous mass of
natural knowledge. The achievement of Albertus in rendering it available
to the scholar-world of the thirteenth century was an extension of
knowledge which seems the more prodigious as we note its enormous range.
This continues to impress us as we turn over Albert’s next treatises,
paraphrasing those of Aristotle, as their names indicate: _De coelo et
mundo_; _De generatione et corruptione_; _Libri IV. meteorum_; _De
mineralibus_, which ends Tome II. and the physical treatises proper.

Tome III. introduces us to another region, opening with Albert’s
exhaustive paraphrase, _De anima_. It is placed here because the _scientia
de anima_ is a part of _naturalis scientia_, and comes after minerals and
other topics of physics, but precedes the science of animate
bodies--_corporum animatorum_; for the last cannot be known except through
knowing their _animae_. In this, as well as in other works of Albert,
psychological material is gathered from many sources. One may hardly speak
of the psychology of Albertus Magnus, since his matter has no organic
unity. It is largely Aristotelian, with the thoughts of Arab commentators
taken into it, as in Albert’s Aristotelian paraphrases generally. But it
is also Augustinian, and Platonic and Neo-Platonic. Albert is capable of
defending opposite views in the same treatise; and in spite of best
intentions, he does not succeed in harmonizing what he draws from
Aristotle, with what he takes from Augustine. Hence his works nowhere
present a system of psychology which might be called Albert’s, either
through creation or consistent selection. But at least he has gathered,
and bestowed somewhere, all the accessible material.[569]

Tome III. of Albert’s _Opera_ contains also his Aristotelian paraphrase,
_Metaphysicorum libri XIII._ In this _vera sapientia philosophiae_, he
follows Aristotle closely, save where orthodoxy compels deviation.[570]
Tome IV. contains his paraphrasing expositions, _Ethica_ and _In octo
libros politicorum Aristotelis commentarii_. Tome V. contains paraphrases
of Aristotle’s minor natural treatises,--_parva naturalia_; to wit, the
_Liber de sensu et sensato_, treating problems of sense-perception; next
the _Liber de memoria et reminiscentia_, in which the two are thus
distinguished: “Memoria motus continuus est in rem, et uniformis.
Reminiscibilitas autem est motus quasi interceptus et abscissus per
oblivionem.” Treatises follow: _De somno et vigilia_; _De motibus
animalium_; _De aetate, sive de juventute et senectute_; _De spiritu et
respiratione_; _De morte et vita_; _De nutrimento et nutribile_; _De
natura et origine animae_; _De unitate intellectus contra Averroem_ (a
controversial tract); _De intellectu et intelligibile_ (an important
psychological writing); _De natura locorum_; _De causis proprietatum
elementorum_; _De passionibus aeris, sive de vaporum impressionibus_; and
next and last, saving some minor tracts, Albert’s chief botanical work,
_De vegetabilibus_.

Aristotle’s _Botany_ was lost, and Albert’s work was based on the _De
plantis_ of Nicolas of Damascus, a short compend vulgarly ascribed to
Aristotle, but really made in the first century, and passing through
numerous translations from one language to another, before Albert accepted
it as the composition of the Stagirite. It consisted of two short books;
Albert’s work contained seven long ones, and made the most important work
on botany since the times of Aristotle and his pupil Theophrastus. In
opening, Albert says that generalities applicable to all animate things
have been already presented, and now it is time to consider more
especially and in turn, _vegetabilia_, _sensibilia_, _rationabilia_. In
the first eight chapters of his first book, Albert follows his supposed
Aristotelian source, and then remarks that the translation of the
Philosopher’s treatise is so ignorantly made that he will himself take up
in order the six problems thus far incompetently discussed. So he
considers whether plants have souls; whether plant-souls feel and desire;
whether plants sleep; as to sex in plants; whether without sex they can
propagate their species; and as to their hidden life.

In the second book, having again bewailed the insufficiency of his source,
Albert takes up the classification of plants, and proceeds with a
description of their various parts, then passes on to the shape of leaves,
the generation and nature of flowers, their colour, odour, and shape.
Liber III., still as an independent _digressio_, discusses seeds and
fruit. In Liber IV. Albert returns to his unhappy source, and his matter
declines in interest; but again, in Liber V., he frees himself in a
_digressio_ on the properties and effects of plants, gathered from many
sources, some of which are foolish enough. His sixth book is a description
of trees and other plants in alphabetical order. The last and seventh is
devoted to agriculture.[571]

In the _De vegetabilibus_, Albert, as an expounder of natural knowledge,
is at his best. A less independent and intelligent production is his
enormous treatise _De animalibus libri XXVI._, which fills the whole of
Tome IV. of Albert’s _Opera_. A certain Thomas of Cantimpré, an admiring
pupil of Albert, may have anticipated the above-named work of his teacher
by his own compilation, _De naturis rerum_, which appears to have been
composed shortly before the middle of the thirteenth century. Its
descriptions of animals, although borrowed and uncritical, were at least
intended to describe them actually, and were not merely fashioned for the
moral’s sake, after the manner of the _Physiologus_,[572] and many a
compilation of the early Middle Ages. Yet the work contains moralities
enough, and plenty of the fabulous. But Thomas diligently gathered
information as he might, and from Aristotle more than any other. Thus, in
his lesser way, he, as well as Albert, represents the tendency of the
period to interest itself in the realities, as well as in the symbolisms,
of the natural world.

Albert’s work is not such an inorganic compilation as Thomas’s. He has
paraphrased the ten books of Aristotle’s natural histories, his four books
on the parts of animals, and his five books on their generation. To these
nineteen, he has added seven books on the nature of animal bodies and on
their grades of perfection; and then on quadrupeds, birds, aquatic
animals, snakes, and small bloodless creatures. Besides Aristotle, he
draws on Avicenna, Galen, Ambrose (!), and others, including Thomas of
Cantimpré. Thus, his work is made up mainly of the ancient written
material. Moreover, Albert is kept from a natural view of his subject
through the need he feels to measure animals by the standards of human
capacity, and learn to know them through knowing man. His _digressiones_
usually discuss abstract problems, as, for instance, whether beyond the
four elements, any fifth principle enters the composition of animal
bodies. As for his anatomy, he describes the muscles, and calls the veins
nerves, having no real knowledge of the latter. He corrects few ancient
errors, either anatomical or physiological; and his own observations,
occasionally referred to in his work, scarcely win our respect. Nor does
he exclude fabulous stories, or the current superstitions as to the
medicinal or magical effect of parts of certain animals. On the whole,
Albert’s merit in the province of Zoology lies in his introduction of the
Aristotelian data and conceptions to the mediaeval Latin West.[573]

After Tome IV. of Albert’s _Opera_, follow many portly tomes, the contents
of which need not detain us. There are enormous commentaries on the Psalms
and Prophets, and the Gospels (Tomes VII.-XI.); then a tome of sermons,
then a tome of commentaries on the Hierarchies of Pseudo-Dionysius; and
three tomes of commentaries on the Lombard’s _Sentences_,--commentaries,
that is to say, upon works which stood close to Scripture in authority.
With these we reach the end of Albert’s labours in paraphrase and
commentary, and pass to his more constructive work. Of course, the first
and chief is his _Summa theologiae_, contained in Tomes XVII. and XVIII.
of the _Opera_. With Albert, theology is a science, a branch of systematic
knowledge, the highest indeed, and yet one among others. This science,
says he in the Prologue to his _Summa_,

    “... is of all sciences the most entitled to credence--_certissimae
    credulitatis et fidei_. Other sciences, concerning creatures, possess
    _rationes immobiles_, yet those _rationes_ are _mobiles_ because they
    are in created things. But this science founded in _rationibus
    aeternis_ is immutable both _secundum esse_ and _secundum rationem_.
    And since it is not constituted of the sensible and imaginable, which
    are not quite cleared of the hangings of matter, plainly it, alone or
    supremely, is science: for the divine intellect is altogether
    intellectual, being the light and cause of everything intelligible;
    and from it to us is the divine science.”

Albert’s dialectic is turgid enough, and lacks the lucidity of his pupil.
Yet his reasoning may be weighty and even convincing. Intellect, Reason
and its realm of that which is known through Reason, is higher than sense
perceptions and imaginations springing from them: it affords the surest
knowledge; the science that treats of pure reason, which is in God, is the
surest and noblest of sciences. Albert clearly defines the province and
nature of theology.

    “It is _scientia secundum pietatem_; it is not concerned with the
    knowable (_scibile_) simply as such, nor with the knowable
    universally; but only as it inclines us to Piety. Piety, as Augustine
    says, is the worship of God, perfected by faith, hope, charity,
    prayer, and sacrifices. Thus theology is the science of what pertains
    to salvation; for piety conduces to salvation.”[574]

The _Summa theologiae_ treats of the encyclopaedic matter of the sacred
science, in the order and arrangement with which we are familiar.[575] It
is followed (Tome XIX.) by Albert’s _Summa de creaturis_, a presentation
of God’s creation, omitting the special topics set forth in the _De
vegetabilibus_ and _De animalibus_. It treats of creation, of matter, of
time and eternity, of the heavens and celestial bodies, of angels, their
qualities and functions, and the hierarchies of them; of the state of the
wicked angels, of the works of the six days, briefly; and then of man,
soul and body, very fully; of man’s habitation and the order and
perfection of the universe. Thus the _Summa de creaturis_ treats of the
world and man as God’s creation; but it is not directly concerned with
man’s salvation, which is the distinguishing purpose of a _Summa
theologiae_, however encyclopaedic such a work may be.

Two tomes remain of Albert’s opera, containing much that is very different
from anything already considered. Tome XX. is devoted to the Virgin Mary,
and is chiefly made up of two prodigious tracts: _De laudibus beatae
Mariae Virginis libri XII._, and the _Mariale, sive quaestiones super
evangelium, Missus est angelus Gabriel_. These works--it is disputed
whether Albert was their author--are a glorification, indeed a
deification, of Mary. They are prodigious; they are astounding. The
worship of Mary is gathered up in them, of Mary the chief and best beloved
religious creation of the Middle Ages; only not a creation, strictly
speaking, for the Divine Virgin, equipped with attribute and quality,
sprang from the fecund matrix of the early Church. The works before us
represent a simpler piety than Albert’s _Summa theologiae_. They contain
satisfying, consoling statements, not woven of dialectic. And the end is
all that the Mary-loving soul could wish. “Christ protects the servants of
His genetrix:--and so does Mary, as may be read in her miracles, protect
us from our bodily enemies, and from the seducers of souls.”[576] The
praises of Mary will seem marvellous indeed to anyone turning over the
_tituli_ of books and chapters. There is here a whole mythology, and a
universal symbolism. Symbolically, Mary is everything imaginable; she has
every virtue and a mass of power and privileges. She is the adorable and
chief efficient Goddess mediating between the Trinity and the creature
man.

Tome XXI., last tome of all, has a variety of writings, some of which may
not be Albert’s. Among them is a work of sweet and simple piety, a work
of turning to God as a little child; and one would be loath to take it
away from this man of learning. _De adhaerendo Deo_ is its title, which
tells the story. Albert wished at last to write something presenting man’s
ultimate perfection, so far as that might be realized in this life. So he
writes this little tract of chamber-piety, as to how one should cling to
Christ alone. Yet he cannot disencumber himself of his lifelong methods of
composition. He might conceive and desire; but it was not for him to write
a tract to move the heart. The best he can say is that the end of all our
study and discipline is _intendere et quiescere in Domino Deo intra te per
purissimum intellectum, et devotissimum affectum sine phantasmatibus et
implicationibus_. The great scholar would come home at last, like a little
child, if he only could.



CHAPTER XL

THOMAS AQUINAS

      I. THOMAS’S CONCEPTION OF HUMAN BEATITUDE.

     II. MAN’S CAPACITY TO KNOW GOD.

    III. HOW GOD KNOWS.

     IV. HOW THE ANGELS KNOW.

      V. HOW MEN KNOW.

     VI. KNOWLEDGE THROUGH FAITH PERFECTED IN LOVE.


I

With Albert it seemed most illuminating to outline the masses of his work
of Aristotelian purveyorship and inchoate reconstruction of the Christian
encyclopaedia in conformity with the new philosophy. Such a treatment will
not avail for Thomas. His achievement, even measured by its bulk, was as
great as Albert’s. But its size and encyclopaedic inclusiveness do not
represent its integral excellences. The intellectual qualities of Thomas,
evinced in his work, are of a higher order than those included in
intelligent diligence, however exceptional. They must be disengaged from
out of the vast product of their energies, in order that they may be
brought together, and made to appear in the organic correlation which they
held in the mind of the most potent genius of scholasticism.

We are pleased to find some clue to a man’s genius in the race and place
from which he draws his origin. So for whatever may be its explanatory
value as to Thomas, one may note that he came of Teutonic stocks, which
for some generations had been domiciled in the form-giving Italian land.
The mingled blood of princely Suabian and Norman lines flowed in him; the
nobility of his father’s house, the Counts of Aquinum, was equalled by
his mother’s lineage. Probably in 1225 he was born, in Southern Italy, not
far from Monte Cassino. Thither, as a child, he was sent to school to the
monks, and stayed with them through childhood’s formative period. His
education did not create the mind which it may have had part in directing
to sacred study. Near his tenth year, the extraordinary boy was returned
to Naples, there to study the humanities and philosophy under selected
masters. When eighteen, he launched himself upon the intellectual currents
of the age by joining the Dominican Order. Stories have come down of the
violent, but fruitless opposition of his family. In two years, with true
instinct, Thomas had made his way from Naples to the feet of Albert in
Cologne. Thenceforth the two were to be together, as their tasks
permitted, and the loyal relationship between master and scholar was
undisturbed by the latter’s transcendent genius. Plato had the greatest
pupil, and Aristotle the greatest master, known to fame. That pupil’s work
was a redirecting of philosophy. The work of pupil Thomas perfected
finally the matter upon which his master laboured; and the master’s aged
eyes beheld the finished structure that was partly his, when the pupil’s
eyes had closed. Thomas, dying, left Albert to defend the system that was
to be called “Thomist,” after him who constructed and finished it to its
very turret points, rather than “Albertist,” after him who prepared the
materials.

To return to the time when both still laboured. Thomas in 1245 accompanied
his master to Paris, and three years later went back with him to Cologne.
Thereafter their duties often separated them. We know that in 1252 Thomas
was lecturing at Paris, and that he there received with Bonaventura the
title of _magister_ in 1257. After this he is found south of the Alps; it
was in the year 1263 that Urban IV. at Rome encouraged him to undertake a
critical commentary upon Aristotle, based on a closer rendering into Latin
of the Greek. In 1268, at the height of his academic fame, he is once more
at Paris; which he leaves for the last time in 1272, having been directed
to establish a _studium generale_ at Naples. Two years later he died, on
his way to advise the labours of the Council assembled at Lyons.[577]

Thomas wrote commentaries upon the Aristotelian _De interpretatione_ and
_Posterior Analytics_; the _Physics_, the _De coelo et mundo_, the
_Meteorum_, the _Metaphysics_, _Ethics_, _Politics_, and certain other
Aristotelian treatises. His work shows such a close understanding of
Aristotle as the world had not known since the days of the ancient
Peripatetics. Of course, he lectured on the _Sentences_, and the result
remains in his Commentaries on them. He lectured, and the resulting
Commentaries exist in many tomes, on the greater part of both the Old and
New Testaments. It would little help our purpose to catalogue in detail
his more constructive and original works, wherein he perfected a system of
philosophy and sacred knowledge. Chief among them were the _Summa contra
Gentiles_ and the _Summa theologiae_, the latter the most influential work
of all western mediaeval scholasticism. Many of his more important shorter
treatises are included in the _Quaestiones disputatae_, and the
_Quodlibetalia_. They treat of many matters finally put together in the
_Summa theologiae_. _De malo in communi, de peccatis, etc._; _De anima_;
_De virtutibus in communi, etc._; _De veritate_; _De ideis_; _De
cognitione angelorum_; _De bono_; _De voluntate_; _De libero arbitrio_;
_De passionibus animae_; _De gratia_;--such are titles drawn from the
_Quaestiones_. The _Quodlibetalia_ were academic disputations held in the
theological faculty, upon any imaginable thesis having theological
bearing. Some of them still appear philosophical, while many seem bizarre
to us; for example: Whether an angel can move from one extreme to the
other without passing through the middle. One may remember that such
questions had been put, and put again, from the time of the Church
Fathers. This question answered by Thomas whether an angel may pass from
one extreme to the other without traversing the middle is pertinent to the
conception of angels as completely immaterial beings,--a conception upon
the elaboration of which theologians expended much ingenious thought.

In the earlier Middle Ages, when men were busy putting together the
ancient matter, the personalities of the writers may not clearly appear.
It is different in the twelfth century, and very different in the
thirteenth, when the figures of at least its greater men are thrown out
plainly by their written works. Bonaventura is seen lucidly reasoning, but
with his ardently envisioning piety ever reaching out beyond; the
personality of Albert most Teutonically wrestles itself into salience
through the many-tomed results of his very visible efforts; when we come
to Roger Bacon, we shall find wormwood, and many higher qualities of mind,
flowing in his sentences. And the consummate fashioning faculty, the
devout and intellectual temperament of Thomas, are writ large in his
treatises. His work has unity; it is a system; it corresponds to the
scholastically creative personality, from the efficient concord of whose
faculties it proceeded. The unity of Thomas’s personality lay in his
conception of man’s _summum bonum_, which sprang from his Christian faith,
but was constructed by reason from foundation to pinnacle; and it is
evinced in the compulsion of an intellectual temperament that never let
the pious reasoner’s energies or appetitions stray loitering or aberrant
from that goal. Likewise the unity of his system consists in its purpose,
which is to present that same _summum bonum_, credited by faith,
empowered, if not empassioned, by piety, and constructed by reason. To
fulfil this purpose in its utmost compass, reason works with the material
of all pertinent knowledge; fashioning the same to complete logical
consistency of expression.

Therefore, it is from his conception of this _summum bonum_ as from a
centre of illumination, that we may trace the characteristic qualities
alike of Thomas and his work. His faith, his piety, and his intellectual
nature are revealed in his thought of supreme felicity. Man’s chief good
being the ground of the system, the thought and study which Thomas puts
upon the created universe and upon God, regarded both as Creator and in
the relationships of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, conduce to make large
and sure and ample this same chief good of man. To it likewise conduce the
Incarnation, and the Sacraments springing therefrom; in accord with it,
Thomas accepts or constructs his metaphysics, his psychology, his entire
thought of human capacity and destiny, and sets forth how nearly man’s
reason may bring him to this goal, and where there is need of divine
grace. In this goal, moreover, shall be found the sanction of human
knowledge, and the justification of the right enjoyment of human
faculties; it determines what elements of mortal life may be gathered up
and carried on, to form part of the soul’s eternal beatitude.

Thomas’s intellectual powers work together in order to set his thought of
man’s _summum bonum_ on its surest foundations, and make clear its scope:
his faculty of arrangement, and serious and lucid presentation; his
careful reasoning, which never trips, never overlooks, and never either
hurries or is taken unprepared; his marvellous unforgetfulness of
everything which might remotely bear on the subject; his intellectual
poise, and his just weighing of every matter that should be taken into the
scales of his determination. Observing these, we may realize how he seemed
to his time a new intellectual manifestation of God’s illuminating grace.
There was in him something unknown before; his argument, his exposition,
was new in power, in interest, in lucidity. On the quality of newness the
wretched old biographer rings his reiteration:

    “For in his lectures he put out _new_ topics (_articulos_), inventing
    a _new_ and clear way of drawing conclusions and bringing _new_
    reasons into them, so that no one, who had heard him teach _new_
    doubts and allay them by _new_ arguments, would have doubted that God
    had illumined with rays of _new_ light one who became straightway of
    such sure judgment, that he did not hesitate to teach and write _new_
    opinions, which God had deigned _newly_ to inspire.”[578]

His biographer’s view is justified. Thomas was the greatest of the
schoolmen. His way of teaching, his translucent exposition, came to his
hearers as a new inspiration. Only Bonaventura (likewise Italian-born) may
be compared with him for clearness of exposition--of solution indeed; and
Thomas is more judicial, more supremely intellectual; his way of treatment
was a stronger incitement and satisfaction to at least the minds of his
auditors. Albert, with his mass of but half-conquered material, could not
fail to show, whether he would or not, the doubt-breeding difficulties of
the new philosophy, which was yet to be worked into Christian theology.
Thomas exposed every difficulty and revealed its depths; but then he
solved and adjusted everything with an argumentation from whose careful
inclusiveness no questions strayed unshepherded. Placed with Thomas,
Albert shows as the Titan whose strength assembles the materials, while
Thomas is the god who erects the edifice. The material that Thomas works
with, and many of his thoughts and arguments, are to be found in Albert;
and the pupil knew his indebtedness to the great master, who survived him
to defend his doctrines. But what is not in Albert, is Thomas, Thomas
himself, with his disentangled reasoning, his clarity, his organic
exposition, his final construction of the mediaeval Christian scheme.[579]

In the third book of his _Summa philosophica contra Gentiles_, and in the
beginning of _Pars prima secundae_ of his _Summa theologiae_, Thomas
expounds man’s final end, _ultimus finis_, which is his supreme good or
perfect beatitude. The exposition in the former work, dating from the
earlier years of the author’s academic activities, seems the simpler at
first reading; but the other includes more surely Thomas’s last reasoning,
placed in the setting of argument and relationship which he gave it in his
greatest work. We shall follow the latter, borrowing, however, from the
former when its phrases seem to present the matter more aptly to our
non-scholastic minds. The general position of the topic is the same in
both _Summae_; and Thomas gives the reason in the Prologus to _Pars prima
secundae_ of the _Summa theologiae_. His way of doing this is significant:

    “Man is declared to be made in the image of God in this sense (as
    Damascenus[580] says) that by ‘image’ is meant _intellectual_, _free
    to choose_, and _self-potent to act_. Therefore, after what has been
    said of the Exemplar God, and of those things which proceed from the
    divine power according to its will, there remains for us to consider
    His image, to wit, man, in so far as he is himself the source
    (_principium_) of his acts, possessing free will and power over them.”

Thereupon Thomas continues, opening his first Quaestio:[581]

    “First one must consider the final end (_ultimus finis_) of human
    life, and then those things through which man may attain this end, or
    deviate from it. For one must accept from an end the rationale of
    those things which are ordained to that end.”

Assuming the final end of human life to be beatitude, Thomas considers
wherein man as a rational creature may properly have one final end, on
account of which he wills all that he wills. Quaestio ii. shows that man’s
beatitude cannot consist in riches, honours, fame, power, pleasures of the
body, or in any created good, not even in the soul. Man gains his
beatitude _through_ the soul; but in itself the soul is not man’s final
end. The next Quaestio is devoted to the gist of the matter: what
beatitude is, and what is needed for it. Thomas first shows in what sense
beatitude is something increate (_increatum_). He has already pointed out
that _end_ (_finis_) has a twofold meaning: the thing itself which we
desire to obtain, and the fruition of it.

    “In the first sense, the final end of man is an increate good, to wit
    God, who alone with His infinite goodness can perfectly fulfil the
    wish (_voluntas_) of man. In the second sense the final end of man is
    something created existing in himself; which is nought else than
    attainment or fruition (_adeptio vel fruitio_) of the final end. The
    final end is called beatitude. If then man’s beatitude is viewed as
    cause or object, it is something increate; but if it is considered in
    its beatific essence (_quantum ad ipsam essentiam beatitudinis_) it is
    something created.”

Thomas next shows:

    “... that inasmuch as man’s beatitude is something created existing in
    himself, it is necessary to regard it as action (_operatio_). For
    beatitude is man’s ultimate perfection. But everything is perfect in
    so far as it is actually (_actu_, _i.e._ in realized actuality): for
    potentiality without actuality is imperfect. Therefore beatitude
    should consist in man’s ultimate actuality. But manifestly action
    (_operatio_) is the final actuality of the actor (_operantis_); as the
    Philosopher shows, demonstrating that everything exists for its action
    (_propter suam operationem_). Hence it follows of necessity that man’s
    beatitude is action.”

The next point to consider is whether beatitude is the action of man’s
senses or his intellect. Drawing distinctions, Thomas points out that

    “the action of sense cannot pertain to beatitude essentially; because
    man’s beatitude essentially consists in uniting himself to the
    increate good; to which he cannot be joined through the action of the
    senses. Yet sense-action may pertain to beatitude as an antecedent or
    consequence: as an antecedent, for the imperfect beatitude attainable
    in this life, where the action of the senses is a prerequisite to the
    action of the mind; as a consequence, in that perfect beatitude which
    is looked for in heaven; because, after the resurrection, as Augustine
    says, from the very beatitude of the soul, there may be a certain
    flowing back into the body and its senses, perfecting them in their
    actions. But not even then will the action by which the human mind is
    joined to God depend on sense.”

Beatitude then is the action of man’s intellectual part; and Thomas next
inquires, whether it is an action of the intelligence or will
(_intellectus aut voluntatis_). With this inquiry we touch the pivot of
Thomas’s attitude, wherein he departs from Augustine, in apparent reliance
on the word of John: “This is eternal life that they should know thee, the
one true God.” Life eternal is man’s final end; and therefore man’s
beatitude consists in knowledge of God, which is an act of mind. Thomas
argues this at some length. He refers to the distinction between what is
essential to the existence of beatitude, and what is joined to it _per
accidens_, like enjoyment (_delectatio_).

    “I say then, that beatitude in its essence cannot consist in an act of
    will. For it has appeared that beatitude is the obtaining
    (_consecutio_) of the final end. But obtaining does not consist in any
    act of will; for will attaches to the absent when one desires it, as
    well as to the present in which one rests delighted. It is evident
    that the desire for an end is not an obtaining of it, but a movement
    toward it. Enjoyment attaches to will from the presence of the end;
    but not conversely does anything become present because the will shall
    delight in it. Therefore there must be something besides an act of
    will, through which the end may become present to the will. This is
    plain respecting the ends of sense (_fines sensibiles_). For if to
    obtain money were an act of will, the miser would have obtained it
    from the beginning. And so it comes to pass with respect to an end
    conceived by the mind; we obtain it when it becomes present to us
    through an act of the intellect; and then the delighted will rests in
    the end obtained. Thus, therefore, the essence of beatitude consists
    in an act of mind. But the delight which follows beatitude pertains to
    will, even in the sense in which Augustine says: ‘beatitudo est
    gaudium de veritate,’ because indeed joy is the consummation of
    beatitude.”

The supremely intellectual attitude of the Angelic Doctor, shows at once,
and as it were universally, in his conviction of the primacy of the true
over the good, and of knowledge over will. Sometimes he argues these
points directly; and again, his temperamental attitude appears in the
course of argument upon other points. For example, Quaestio xvi. of _Pars
prima_ has for its subject _Veritas_. And in the first article, which
discusses whether truth is in the thing (_in re_) or only in the mind, he
argues thus:

    “As _good_ signifies that upon which desire (_appetitus_) is bent, so
    _true_ signifies that at which understanding aims. There is this
    difference between desire and understanding or any kind of cognition:
    cognition exists in so far as what is known (_cognitum_) is in the
    knower; but desire is as the desirous inclines toward the desired.
    Thus the end (_terminus_ == _finis_) of desire, which is the _good_,
    is in the desirable thing; but the end of knowing, which is the true,
    is in mind itself.”

In _Articulus 4_, Thomas comes to his point: that the true _secundum
rationem_ (_i.e._ according to its formal nature) is prior to the good.

    “Although both the good and the true have been taken as convertible
    with being, yet they differ in their conception (_ratione_); and that
    the true is prior to the good appears from two considerations: First,
    the true is more closely related to being, which is prior to the good;
    for the true regards being itself, simply and directly; while the
    ratio of the good follows being as in some way perfect, and therefore
    desirable. Secondly, cognition naturally precedes desire. Therefore,
    since the true regards cognition, and the good regards desire, the
    true is prior to the good _secundum rationem_.”

This argument, whatever validity it may have, is significant of its
author’s predominantly intellectual temperament, and consistent with his
conception of man’s supreme beatitude as the intellectual vision of God.
Obviously, moreover, the setting of the true above the good is another way
of stating the primacy of knowledge over will, which is also maintained:
“Will and understanding (_intellectus_) mutually include each other: for
the understanding knows the will; and the will wills that the
understanding should know.”[582] Evidently all rational beings have will
as well as understanding; God wills, the Angels will, man wills. Indeed,
how could knowledge progress but for the will to know? Yet of the two,
considered in themselves, understanding is higher than will--

    “for its object is the _ratio_, the very essential nature, of the
    desired good, while the object of will is the desired good whose
    _ratio_ is in the understanding.... Yet will may be the higher, if it
    is set upon something higher than the understanding.... When the thing
    in which is the good is nobler than the soul itself, in which is the
    rational cognizance (_ratio intellecta_), the will, through relation
    to that thing, is higher than the understanding. But when the thing in
    which is the good, is lower than the soul, then in relation to that
    thing, the understanding is higher than the will. Wherefore the love
    of God is better than the cognizance (_cognitio_); but the cognizance
    of corporeal things is better than the love. Yet taken absolutely, the
    understanding is higher than the will.”[583]

These positions of the Angelic Doctor were sharply opposed in his lifetime
and afterwards. Without entering the lists, let us rather follow him on
his evidently Aristotelian path, which quickly brings him to his next
conclusion: “That beatitude consists in the action of the speculative
rather than the practical intellect, as is evident from three arguments:

    “First, if man’s beatitude is action, it ought to be the man’s best
    (optima) action. But man’s best action is that of his best faculty in
    respect to the best object. The best faculty is intelligence, whose
    best object is the divine good, which is not an object of the
    practical, but of the speculative intelligence. Wherefore, in such
    action, to wit, in contemplation of things divine, beatitude chiefly
    consists. And because _every one seems to be that which is best in
    him_, as is said in the _Ethics_, so such action is most proper to man
    and most enjoyable.

    “Secondly, the same conclusion appears from this, that contemplation
    above all is sought on account of itself. The perfection (_actus_,
    full realization) of the practical intelligence is not sought on
    account of itself, but for the sake of action: the actions themselves
    are directed toward some end. Hence it is evident that the final end
    cannot consist in the _vita activa_, which belongs to the practical
    intelligence.

    “Thirdly, it is plain from this, that in the _vita contemplativa_ man
    has part with those above him, to wit, God and the Angels, unto whom
    he is made like through beatitude; but in those matters which belong
    to the _vita activa_, other animals, however imperfectly, have somehow
    part with him.

    “And so the final and perfect beatitude which is looked for in the
    life to come, in principle consists altogether in contemplation. But
    the imperfect beatitude which may be had here, consists first and in
    principle in contemplation, and secondly in the true operation of the
    practical intellect directing human actions and passions, as is said
    in the tenth book of the _Ethics_.”

It being thus shown that perfect beatitude lies in the action of the
speculative intelligence, Thomas next shows that it cannot consist in
consideration of the speculative sciences--

    “for the consideration of a science does not reach beyond the potency
    (_virtus_) of the principles of that science, seeing that the whole
    science is contained potentially (_virtualiter_) in its principles.
    But the principles of speculative sciences are received through the
    senses, as the Philosopher makes clear. Therefore the entire
    consideration of the speculative sciences cannot be extended beyond
    that to which a cognition of sense-objects (_sensibilium_) is able to
    lead. Man’s final beatitude, which is his perfection, cannot consist
    in the cognition of sense-objects. For no thing is perfected by
    something inferior, except as there may be in the inferior some
    participation in a superior. Evidently the nature (_forma_) of a
    stone, or any other sensible thing, is inferior to man, save in so far
    as something higher than the human intelligence has part in it, like
    the light of reason.... But since there is in sensible forms some
    participation in the similitude of spiritual substances, the
    consideration of the speculative sciences is, in a certain way,
    participation in true and perfect beatitude.”

Neither can perfect beatitude consist in knowledge of the higher, entirely
immaterial, or, as Thomas calls them, separate (_separatae_) substances,
to wit, the Angels. Because it cannot consist in that which is the
perfection of intelligence only from participation. The object of the
intelligence is the true. Whatever has truth only through participation in
something else cannot make the contemplating intelligence perfect with a
final perfection. But the angels have their being (_esse_) as they have
their truth, from the participation of the divine in them. Whence it
remains that only the contemplation of God, Who alone is truth through His
essential being, can make perfectly blessed. “But,” adds Thomas, “nothing
precludes the expectation of some imperfect beatitude from contemplating
the angels, and even a higher beatitude than lies in the consideration of
the speculative sciences.”

So the conclusion is that “the final and perfect beatitude can be only in
the vision of the divine essence. The proof of this lies in the
consideration of two matters: first, that man is not perfectly blessed
(_beatus_) so long as there remains anything for him to desire or seek;
secondly, that the perfection of every capacity (_potentiae_), is adjudged
according to the nature (_ratio_) of its object.” And a patent line of
argument leads to the unavoidable conclusion: “For perfect beatitude it is
necessary that the intellect should attain to the very essence of the
first cause. And thus it will have its perfection through union with God
as its object.”

There are few novel thoughts in Thomas’s conception of man’s supreme
beatitude. But he has taken cognizance of all pertinent considerations,
and put the whole matter together with stable coherency. He continues,
discussing in the succeeding Quaestiones a number of important matters
incidental to his central determination of the nature of man’s supreme
good. Thus he shows how joy (_delectatio_) is a necessary accompaniment of
beatitude, which, however, in principle consists in the action of the
mind, which is _visio_, rather than in the resulting _delectatio_. The
latter consists in a quieting or satisfying of the will, through the
goodness of that in which it is satisfied. When the will is satisfied in
any action, that results from the goodness of the action; and the good
lies in the action itself rather than in the quieting of the will.[584]
Here Thomas’s reasoning points to an active ideal, an ideal of energizing,
rather than repose. But he concludes that for beatitude “there must be a
concurrence of _visio_, which is the perfect cognizance of the
intelligible end; the getting it, which implies its presence; and the joy
or fruition, which implies the quieting of that which loves in that which
is loved.”[585] Thomas also shows how rectitude of will is needed, and
discusses whether a body is essential; his conclusion being that a body is
not required for the perfect beatitude of the life to come; yet he gives
the counter considerations, showing the conduciveness of the perfected
body to the soul’s beatitude even then. Next he follows Aristotle in
pointing out how material goods may be necessary for the attainment of the
imperfect beatitude possible on earth, while they are quite impertinent to
the perfect beatitude of seeing God; and likewise he shows how the society
of friends is needed here, but not essential hereafter, and yet a
concomitant to our supreme felicity.

The course of argument of the Liber iii. of the _Contra Gentiles_ is not
dissimilar. A number of preliminary chapters show how all things tend to
an end; that the end of all is God; and that to know God is the end of
every intellectual being. Next, that human _felicitas_ does not consist in
all those matters, in which the _Summa theologiae_ also shows that
_beatitude_ does not lie; but that it consists in contemplation of God. He
puts his argument simply:

    “It remains that the ultimate felicity of man lies in contemplation of
    truth. For this is the sole action (_operatio_) of man which is proper
    to man alone. This alone is directed to nothing else, as an end; since
    the contemplation of truth is sought for its own sake. Through this
    action, likewise, man is joined to higher substances (_beings_)
    through likeness of action, and through knowing them in some way. For
    this action, moreover, man is most sufficient by himself, needing but
    little external aid. To this also all other human acts seem to be
    directed as to an end. For to the perfection of contemplation,
    soundness of body is needed, to which all the arts of living are
    directed. Also quiet from the disturbance of passions is required, to
    which one comes through the moral virtues, and prudence; and quiet
    also from tumults, to which end all rules of civil life are ordained;
    and so, if rightly conceived, all human business seems to serve the
    contemplation of truth. Nor is it possible for the final felicity of
    man to consist in the contemplation which is confined to an
    intelligence of beginnings (_principiorum_), which is most imperfect
    and general (_universalis_), containing a knowledge of things
    potentially: it is the beginning, not the end of human study. Nor can
    that felicity lie in the contemplation of the sciences, which pertain
    to the lowest things, since felicity ought to lie in the action of the
    intelligence in relationship to the noblest intelligible verities. It
    remains that man’s final felicity consists in the contemplation of
    wisdom pursuant to a consideration of things divine. From which it
    also is evident by the way of induction, what was before proved by
    arguments, that the final felicity of man consists only in
    contemplation of God.”[586]

Having reached this central conclusion of the _Contra Gentiles_, as well
as of the _Summa theologiae_, Thomas proceeds to trim it further, so as
clearly to differentiate that knowledge of God in which lies the ultimate
felicity of intelligent beings from other ways of knowing God, which do
not fully represent this supreme and final bliss. He first excludes the
sort of common and confused knowledge of God, which almost all men draw
from observing the natural order of things; then he shuts out the
knowledge of God derived from logical demonstration, through which,
indeed, one rather approaches a proper knowledge of Him;[587] next, he
will not admit that supreme felicity lies in the cognition of God through
faith; since that is still imperfect. This felicity consists in
seeing[588] the divine essence, an impossibility in this life, when we see
as in a glass. The supreme felicity is attainable only after death.
Hereupon Thomas continues with the very crucial discussion of the capacity
of the rational creature to know God. But instead of following him further
in the _Contra Gentiles_, we will rather turn to his final presentation of
this question in his _Summa theologiae_.


II

The great _Summa_, having opened with an introductory consideration of the
character of _sacra doctrina_,[589] at once fixes its attention upon the
existence and attributes of God. These having been reviewed, Thomas begins
Quaestio xii. by saying, that “as we have now considered what God is in
His own nature (_secundum se ipsum_) it remains to consider what He is in
our cognition, that is, how He is known by creatures.” The first question
is whether any created intelligence whatsoever may be able to see God _per
essentiam_. Having stated the counter arguments, and relying on John’s “we
shall see Him as He is,” Thomas proceeds with his solution thus:

    “Since everything may be knowable so far as it exists in
    actuality,[590] God, who is pure actuality, without any mingling of
    potentiality, is in Himself, most knowable. But what is most knowable
    in itself, is not knowable to every intelligence because of the
    exceeding greatness of that which is to be known (_propter excessum
    intelligibilis supra intellectum_); as the sun, which is most visible,
    may not be seen by a bat, because of the excess of light. Mindful of
    this, some have asserted that no created intelligence could behold the
    essential nature (_essentiam_) of God.

    “But this is a solecism. For since man’s final beatitude consists in
    his highest action, which is the action of the intelligence, if the
    created intelligence is never to be able to see the essential nature
    of God, either it will never obtain beatitude, or its beatitude will
    consist in something besides God: which is repugnant to the faith. For
    the ultimate perfection of a rational creature lies in that which is
    the source or principle (_principium_) of its being. Likewise the
    argument is against reason. For there is in man a natural desire to
    know the cause, when he observes the effect; and from this, wonder
    rises in men. If then the intelligence of the rational creature is
    incapable of attaining to the first cause of things, an inane desire
    must be ascribed to nature.

    “Wherefore it is simply to be conceded that the blessed may see the
    essential nature of God.”

So this general conclusion, or assumption, is based on faith, and also
leaps, as from the head of Jove, the creature of unconquerable human
need, which never will admit the inaneness of its yearnings. And now,
assuming the possibility of seeing God in his true nature, Thomas proves
that He cannot be seen thus through the similitude of any created thing:
in order to behold God’s essence some divine likeness must be imparted
from the seeing power (_ex parte visivae potentiae_), to wit, the light of
divine glory (which is consummated grace) strengthening the intelligence
that it may see God. And he next shows that it is impossible to see God by
the sense of sight, or any other sense or power of man’s sensible nature.
For God is incorporeal. Therefore He cannot be seen through the
imagination, but only through the intelligence. Nor can any created
intelligence through its natural faculties see the divine essence.
“Cognition takes place in so far as the known is in the knower. But the
known is in the knower according to the mode and capacity (_modus_) of the
knower. Whence any knower’s knowledge is according to the measure of his
nature. If then the being of the thing to be known exceeds the measure of
the knowing nature, knowledge of it will be beyond the nature of that
knower.” In order to see God in His essential nature, the created
intellect needs light created by God: _In lumine tuo videbimus lumen_. And
it may be given to one created intellect to see more perfectly than
another.

Do those who see God _per essentiam_, comprehend Him? No.

    “To comprehend God is impossible for any created intelligence. To have
    any true thought of God is a great beatitude.... Since the created
    light of glory received by any created intelligence, cannot be
    infinite, it is impossible that any created intelligence should know
    God infinitely, and comprehend Him.”

Again he reasons; They who shall see God in His essence will see what they
see through the divine essence united to their intelligence; they will see
whatever they see at once, and not successively; for the contents of this
intellectual, God-granted vision are not apprehended by means of the
respective species or general images, but in and through the one divine
essence. But in this life, man may not see God in His essential nature:

    “The mode of cognition conforms to the nature of the knower. But our
    soul, so long as we live in this life, has its existence (_esse_) in
    corporeal matter. Wherefore, by nature, it knows only things that have
    material form, or may through such be known. Evidently the divine
    essence cannot be known through the natures of material things. Any
    cognition of God through any created likeness whatsoever, is not a
    vision of His essence.... Our natural cognition draws its origin from
    sense; it may extend itself so far as it can be conducted (_manuduci_)
    by things of sense (_sensibilia_). But from them our intelligence may
    not attain to seeing the divine essence.... Yet since sensible
    creatures are effects, dependant on a cause, we know from them that
    God exists, and that as first cause He exceeds all that He has caused.
    From which we may learn the difference between Himself and His
    creatures, to wit, that He is not any of those things which He has
    caused....

    “Through grace a more perfect knowledge of God is had than through
    natural reason. For cognition through natural reason needs both images
    (_phantasmata_) received from things of sense, and the natural light
    of intelligence, through whose virtue we abstract intelligible
    conceptions from them. In both respects human cognition is aided
    through the revelation of grace. For the natural light of the
    intellect is strengthened through the infusion of light graciously
    given (_luminis gratuiti_); while the images in the man’s imagination
    are divinely formed so that they are expressive of things divine,
    rather than of what naturally is received through the senses, as
    appears from the visions of the prophets.”[591]

Natural reason stops with the unity of God, and can give no knowledge of
the Trinity of divine Persons. Says Thomas:[592]

    “It has been shown that through natural reason man can know God only
    _from His creatures_. Creatures lead to knowledge of God as effects
    lead to some knowledge of a cause. Only that may be known of God by
    natural reason which necessarily belongs to Him as the source of all
    existences. The creative virtue of God is common to the whole Trinity;
    it pertains to the unity of essence, not to the distinction of
    persons. Through natural reason, therefore, those things concerning
    God may be known which pertain to the unity of essence, but not those
    which pertain to the distinction of persons.... Who strives to prove
    the Trinity of Persons by natural reason, doubly disparages faith:
    first as regards the dignity of faith itself, which concerns invisible
    things surpassing human reason; secondly as derogating from its
    efficiency in drawing men to it. For when any one in order to prove
    the faith adduces reasons which are not cogent, he falls under the
    derision of the faithless; for they think that we use such arguments,
    and that we believe because of them. One shall not attempt to prove
    things of faith save by authorities, and in discussion with those who
    receive the authorities. With others it is enough to argue that what
    the faith announces is not impossible.”

Here Thomas seems rationally to recognize the limits upon reason in
discovering the divine nature. In the regions of faith, reason’s feet lack
the material footing upon which to mount. So Thomas would assert. But will
he stand to his assertion? The shadowy line between reason and faith
wavers with him. At least so it seems to us, for whom ontological
reasoning has lost reality, and who find proofs of God not so much easier
than proofs of the Trinity. But Thomas and the other scholastics dwelt in
the region of the metaphysically ideal. To them it was not only real, but
the most real; and it was so natural to step across the line of faith,
trailing clouds of reason. The feet of such as Thomas are as firmly
planted on the one side of the line as on the other. And now, as it might
also seem, Thomas, having thus formally reserved the realm of faith,
quickly steps across the line, to undertake a tremendous metaphysical
exposition of the Trinity, of the distinctions between its Persons, of
their properties, respective functions, and relationships; and all this is
carried on largely in the categories of Aristotelian philosophy. Yet is he
not still consistent with himself? For he surely did not conceive the
elements of his discussion to lie in the lucubrations or discoveries of
the natural reason; but in the data of revelation, and their explanation
by saintly doctors. And was not he also a vessel of their inspiration, a
son of faith, who might humbly hope for the light of grace, to transfigure
and glorify his natural powers in the service of revealed truth?

Thomas’s ideal is intellectual, and yet ends in faith. His intellectual
interests, by faith emboldened, strengthened, and pointed heavenward, make
on toward the realisation of that intellectual beatitude which is to be
consummate hereafter, when the saved soul’s grace-illumined eye shall
re-awaken where it may see face to face.


III

Knowledge, then, supplemented in this life by faith, is the primary
element of blessedness. We now turn our attention to the forms of
knowledge and modes of knowing appropriate to the three rational
substances: God, angel, man. The first is the absolute incorporeal being,
the primal mover, in whom there is no potentiality, but actuality simple
and perfect. The second is the created immaterial or “separated”
substance, which is all that it is through participation in the uncreate
being of its Creator. The third is the composite creature man, made of
both soul and body, his capacities conditioned upon the necessities of his
dual nature, his sense-perception and imagination being as necessary to
his knowledge, as his rational understanding; for whom alone it is true
that sense-apprehension may lead to the intelligible verities of God:
“etiam sensibilia intellecta manuducunt ad intelligibilia divinorum.”[593]

The earlier Quaestiones of _Pars prima_, on the nature of God, lead on to
a consideration of God’s knowledge and ways of knowing. Those Quaestiones
expounded the qualities of God quite as far as comported with Thomas’s
realization of the limitation of the human capacity to know God in this
life. Quaestio iii. upon the _Simplicitas_ of God, shows that God is not
body (_corpus_); that in Him there is no compositeness of form and
material; that throughout His nature, He is one and the same, and
therefore that He _is_ His _Deitas_, His _vita_, and whatever else may be
predicated of Him. Next it is shown (Qu. iv.) that God is perfect; that in
Him are the _perfectiones_ of all things, since whatever there may be of
perfection in an effect, should be found in the effective cause; and as
God is self-existent being, He must contain the whole perfection of being
in Himself (_totam perfectionem essendi in se_). Next, that God is the
good (_bonum_) and the _summum bonum_; He is infinite; He is in all things
(Qu. viii. Art. 1) not as a part of their essence, but as _accidens_, and
as the doer is in his deeds; and not only in their beginning, but so long
as they exist; He acts upon everything immediately, and nothing is
distant from Him; God is everywhere: as the soul is altogether in every
part of the body, so God entire is in all things and in each. God is in
all things created by Him as the working cause; but He is in the rational
creature, through grace; as the object of action is in the actor, as the
known is in the knower, and the desired in the wishful. God is immutable
(Qu. ix.); for as final actuality (_actus purus_), with no admixture of
potentiality, He cannot change; nor can He be _moved_; since His
infinitude comprehends the plenitude of all perfection, there is nothing
that He can acquire, and no whither for Him to extend. God is eternal (Qu.
x.); for him there is no beginning, nor any succession of time; but an
interminable now, an all at once (_tota simul_), which is the essence of
eternity, as distinguished from the successiveness of even infinite time.
And God is One (Qu. xi.). “One does not add anything to being, save
negation of division. For One signifies nothing else than undivided being
(_ens indivisum_). And from this it follows that One is convertible with
being.” That God is One, is proved by His _simplicitas_; by the
infiniteness of His perfection; and by the oneness of the world.

    “After a consideration,” now says Thomas, “of those matters which
    pertain to the divine substance, we may consider those which pertain
    to its action (_operatio_). And because certain kinds of action remain
    in the doer, while others pass out into external effect, we first
    treat of knowledge and will (for knowing is in the knower and willing
    in him who wills); and then of God’s power, which is regarded as the
    source of the divine action passing out into external effect. Then,
    since knowing is a kind of living, after considering the divine
    knowledge, the divine life will be considered. And because knowledge
    is of the true, there will be need to consider truth and falsity.
    Again since every cognition is in the knower, the _rationes_ (types,
    essential natures) of things as they are in God the Knower (_Deo
    cognoscente_) are called ideas (_ideae_); and a consideration of these
    will be joined to the consideration of knowledge.”[594]

Thus clearly laying out his topic, Thomas begins his discussion of God’s
knowledge (_scientia Dei_); of the modes in which God knows and the
knowledge which He has. In God is the most perfect knowledge. God knows
Himself through Himself; in Him knowledge and Knower (_intellectum_ and
_intellectus_) are the same.[595] He perfectly comprehends Himself; for He
knows Himself so far as He is knowable; and He is absolutely knowable
being utter reality (_actus purus_). Likewise He knows things other than
Himself. For He knows Himself perfectly, which implies a knowledge of
those things to which His power (_virtus_) extends. Moreover, He knows all
things in their special natures and distinctions from each other: for the
perfection, or perfected actuality, of everything is contained in Him; and
therefore God in Himself is able to know all things perfectly, and the
special nature of everything exists through some manner of participation
in the divine perfection. God knows all things in one, to wit, Himself;
and not successively, or by means of discursive reasoning. “God’s
knowledge is the cause of things. It stands to all created beings as the
knowledge of the artificer to the things he makes. God causes things
through His knowledge, since His being is His knowing (_cum suum esse sit
suum intelligere_).” His knowledge causes things when it has the will
joined with it, and, in so far as it is the cause of things, is called
_scientia approbationis_. God knows things which are not actually
(_actu_). Whatever has been or will be, He knows by the knowledge of sight
(_scientia visionis_, which by implication is equivalent to _scientia
approbationis_). For God’s knowing, which is His being, is measured by
eternity; and eternity includes all time, as present, and without
succession; so the present vision (_intuitus_) of God embraces all time
and all things existing at any time, as if present. As for whatever is in
the power of God or creature, but which never has been or will be, God
knows it not as in vision, but simply knows it.

God also knows evil.

    “Whoever knows anything perfectly should know whatever might happen to
    it. There are some good things to which it may happen to be corrupted
    through evils: wherefore God would not know the good perfectly,
    unless He also knew the evil. Everything is knowable so far as it
    _is_; but the being (_esse_) of evil is the privation of good: hence
    inasmuch as God knows good, He knows evil, as darkness is known
    through light.”

Thomas now takes up a point curious perhaps to us, but of importance to
him and Aristotle: does God know individuals (_singularia_), the
particular as opposed to the universal? This point might seem disposed of
in the argument by which Thomas maintained that God knew things in their
special and distinct natures. But he now proves that God knows
_singularia_ by an argument which bears on his contention that man does
not know _singularia_ through the intelligence, but perceives them through
sense; and as we shall see, that the angels have no direct knowledge of
individuals, being immaterial substances.

    “God knows individuals (_cognoscit singularia_). For all perfections
    found in creatures pre-exist in higher mode in God. To know
    (_cognoscere_) individuals pertains to our perfection. Whence it
    follows that God must know them. The Philosopher (Aristotle) holds it
    to be illogical that anything should be known to us, and not to
    God.... But the perfections which are divided in inferior beings,
    exist simply and as one in God. Hence, although through one faculty we
    know universals and what is immaterial, and through another,
    individuals and what is material; yet God simply, through His
    intelligence, knows both.... One must hold that since God is the cause
    of things through His knowledge, the knowledge of God extends itself
    as far as His causality extends. Wherefore, since God’s active virtue
    extends itself not only to forms, from which is received the _ratio_
    of the universal, but also to matter, it is necessary that God’s
    knowledge should extend itself to individuals, which are such through
    matter.”

And replying to a counter-argument Thomas continues:

    “Our intelligence abstracts the intelligible species from the
    individuating principles. Therefore the intelligible species of our
    intelligence cannot be the likeness of the individual principles; and,
    for this reason, our intelligence does not know individuals. But the
    intelligible species of the divine intelligence, which is the essence
    of God, is not immaterial through abstraction, but through itself; and
    exists as the principle of all principles entering the composition of
    the thing, whether principles of species or of the individual.
    Therefore through His essence God knows both universals and
    individuals.”[596]

With these arguments still echoing, Thomas shows that God can know
infinite things; also future contingencies; also whatever may be stated
(_enuntiabilia_). His knowledge, which is His substance, does not change.
It is speculative knowledge, in so far as relating to His own unchangeable
nature, and to whatever He can do, but does not; it is practical knowledge
so far as it relates to anything which He does.

Thomas concludes his direct discussion of God’s knowledge, by an
application of the Platonic theory of _ideas_, in which he mainly follows
Augustine.

    “It is necessary to place _ideas_ in the divine mind. _Idea_ is the
    Greek for the Latin _forma_. Thus through _ideas_ are understood the
    forms of things existing beyond the things themselves. By which we
    mean the prototype (_exemplar_) of that of which it is called the
    form; or the principle of its cognition, in so far as the forms of
    things knowable are said to be in the knower.”

There must be many ideas or (as Augustine phrases it) stable _rationes_ of
things. There is a _ratio_ in the divine mind corresponding to whatever
God does or knows.

    “Ideas were set by Plato as the principles both of the cognition and
    the generation of things, and in both senses they are to be placed in
    the divine mind. So far as _idea_ is the principle of the making of a
    thing, it may be called the prototype (_exemplar_), and pertains to
    practical knowledge (_practicam cognitionem_); but as the principle of
    cognition (_principium cognoscitivum_), it is properly called _ratio_,
    and may also pertain to speculative knowledge. In the signification of
    _exemplar_, it relates to everything created at any time by God: but
    when it means _principium cognoscitivum_, it relates to all things
    which are known by God, although never coming into existence.”[597]

Such are the divine modes of knowledge. Thomas proceeds to discuss other
aspects of the divine nature, the life and power, will and love, which may
be ascribed to God. He then passes on to a discussion of the Persons of
the Trinity. This completed, he turns to the world of created substances;
into which we will follow him so far as to observe the forms of knowledge
and ways of knowing proper to angels and mankind. We shall hereafter have
to speak of the divine and angelic love, and of man’s love of God; but
here, as our field is intellectual, we will simply recall to mind that
Thomas applies a like intellectual conception of beatitude to both God and
His rational creatures:

    “Beatitude, as has been said, signifies the perfect good of the
    intellectual nature; as everything desires its perfection, the
    intellectual [substance] desires to be _beata_. That which is most
    perfect in every intellectual nature, is the intellectual operation
    wherein, in a measure, it grasps all things. Wherefore the beatitude
    of any created intellectual nature consists in knowing (_in
    intelligendo_).”[598]


IV

Thomas regards the creation as a _processio_, a going out of all creatures
from God. Every being (_ens_) that in any manner (_quocumque modo_) is, is
from God.

    “God is the _prima causa exemplaris_ of all things.... For the
    production of anything, there is needed a prototype (_exemplar_), in
    order that the effect may follow a determined form.... The
    determination of forms must be sought in the divine wisdom. Hence one
    ought to say that in the divine wisdom are the _rationes_ of all
    things: these we have called _ideas_, to wit, prototypal forms
    existing in the divine mind. Although such may be multiplied in
    respect to things, yet really they are not other than the divine
    essence, according as its similitude can be participated in by divers
    things in divers ways. Thus God Himself is the first _exemplar_ of
    all. There may also be said to be in created things certain
    _exemplaria_ of other things, when they are made in the likeness of
    such others, or according to the same species or after the analogy of
    some resemblance.”[599]

God not only is the efficient and exemplary cause, but also the final
cause of all things (_Divina bonitas est finis omnium rerum_). “The
emanation (_emanatio_) of all being from the universal cause, which is
God, we call creation.”[600] God alone may be said to create. The function
pertains not to any Person, but to the whole Trinity in common. And there
is found some image of the Trinity in rational creatures in whom is
intelligence and will; and in all creatures may be found some vestiges of
the creator.

Thomas, after a while, takes up the distinction between spiritual and
corporeal creatures, and considers first the purely spiritual, called
Angels. We enter with him upon the contemplation of these conceptions,
which scholasticism did not indeed create, but elaborated with marvellous
logic, and refined to a consistent intellectual beauty. None had larger
share in perfecting the logical conception of the angelic nature, as
immaterial and essentially intellectual, than our Angelic Doctor. A volume
might well be devoted to tracing the growth of these beings of the mind,
from their not unmilitant career in the Old Testament and the Jewish
Apocrypha, their brief but classically beautiful mention in the Gospels,
and their storm-red action in the Apocalypse; then through their treatment
by the Fathers, to their hierarchic ordering by the great
Pseudo-Areopagite; and so on and on, through the earlier Scholastics, the
Lombard’s _Sentences_, and Hugo of St. Victor’s appreciative presentation;
up to the gathering of all the angelic matter by Albertus Magnus, its
further encyclopaedizing by Vincent of Beauvais, and finally its perfect
intellectual disembodiment by Thomas;--while all the time the people’s
mythopoeic love went on endowing these guardian spirits with heart and
soul, and fashioning responsive stories of their doings. For men loved and
feared them, and looked to them as God’s peculiar messengers. Thus they
flash past us in the _Divina Commedia_; and their forms become lovely in
Christian art.

As we enter upon the contemplation of the angelic nature, let us not as of
course regard angels simply as imaginative conceptions of Scripture and of
the patristic and mediaeval mind. Thomas will show his reasons for their
necessary existence, which may not convince us. Yet we may believe in
angels, inasmuch as any real conception of the world’s governance by God
requires the fulfilling of His thoughts through media that bring them down
to move and live and realize themselves with each of us. Who, in striving
to express, can do more than symbolize, the ways of God? What symbols
truer than angels have been devised?

    “It is necessary,” opens Thomas,[601] “to affirm (_ponere_) that there
    are incorporeal creatures. For in created things God chiefly intends
    the good, which consists in assimilation to Him. Perfect assimilation
    of the effect to the cause is seen when the effect resembles the cause
    in that through which the cause produces the effect. God produces the
    creature through intelligence and will. Consequently the perfection of
    the universe requires that there should be intellectual creatures. To
    know cannot be the act (_actus_) of the body or of any corporeal
    faculty (_virtus_); because all body is limited to here and now.
    Therefore it is necessary, in order that the universe may be perfect,
    that there should be incorporeal creatures.”[602]

Thomas then argues that the intellectual substance is entirely immaterial.
“Angelic substances are above our understanding. So our understanding
cannot attain to apprehending them as they are in themselves; but only in
its own fashion as it apprehends composite things.” These immaterial
substances exist in exceeding great number, and each is a species, because
there cannot be several immaterial beings of one species, any more than
there could be separate whitenesses or many humanities. Angels in their
nature are imperishable. For nothing is corrupted save as its form is
separated from its matter. But these immaterial substances are not
composed of matter and form, being themselves subsisting forms and
indestructible. Brass may have and lose a circular shape; but the circular
shape cannot be separated from the circle, which it is.

Thomas next shows (_Pars prima_, Qu. li.) that angels have no bodies by
nature joined to them. Body is not of the _ratio_ of intellectual
substances. These (when perfect and not like the human soul) have no need
to acquire knowledge through sensation. But though angels are intellectual
substances, separate (_separatae_) from bodies, they sometimes assume
bodies. In these they can perform those actions of life which have
something in common with other kinds of acts; as speech, a living act, has
something in common with inanimate sounds. Thus far only can physical acts
be performed by angels, and not when such acts essentially belong to
living bodies. Angels may appear as living men, but are not; neither are
they sentient through the organs of their assumed bodies; they do not eat
and digest food; they move only _per accidens_, incidentally to the
inanimate motion of their assumed bodies; they do not beget, nor do they
really speak; “but it is something like speech, when these bodies make
sounds in the air like human voices.”

Dropping the sole remark, that scholasticism has no sense of humour, we
pass on to Thomas’s careful consideration of the angelic relations to
space or locality (Qu. lii. and liii.). “Equivocally only may it be said
that an angel is in a place (_in loco_): through application of the
angelic virtue to some corporeal spot, the angel may be said in some sense
to be there.” But, as angels are finite, when one is said, in this sense,
to be in a place, he is not elsewhere too (like God). Yet the place where
the angel is need not be an indivisible point, but may be larger or
smaller, as the angel wills to apply his virtue to a larger or smaller
body. Two angels may not be in the same place at the same time, “because
it is impossible that there should be two complete immediate causes of one
and the same thing.” Angels are said, likewise equivocally, to move, in a
sense analogous to that in which they are said to be in a place. Such
equivocal motion may be continuous or not. If not continuous, evidently
the angel may pass from one place to another without traversing the
intervening spaces. The angelic movement must take place in time; there
must be a before and after to it, and yet not necessarily with any period
intervening.

Now as to angelic knowledge: _De cognitione Angelorum_. Knowing is no easy
thing for man; and we shall see that it is not a simple matter to know,
without the senses to provide the data and help build up knowledge in the
mind. The function of sense, or its absence, conditions much besides the
mere acquisition of the elements from which men form their thoughts.
Thomas’s exposition of angelic knowledge and modes of knowing is a logical
and consistent presentation of a supersensual psychology and theory of
knowledge.

Entering upon his subject, Thomas shows (Qu. liv.) that knowing
(_intelligere_) is not the _substantia_ or the _esse_ of an angel. Knowing
is _actio_, which is the actuality of faculty, as being (_esse_) is the
actuality of substance. God alone is _actus purus_ (absolute realized
actuality), free from potentiality. His _substantia_ is His being and His
action (_suum esse_ and _suum agere_). “But neither in an angel, nor in
any creature, is _virtus_ or the _potentia operativa_ the same as the
creature’s _essentia_,” or its _esse_ or _substantia_. The difficult
scholastic-Aristotelian categories of _intellectus agens_ and _possibilis_
do not apply to angelic cognition (for which the reader and the angels may
be thankful). The angels, being immaterial intelligences, have no share in
those faculties of the human soul, like sight or hearing, which are
exercised through bodily organs. They possess only intelligence and will.
“It accords with the order of the universe that the supreme intellectual
creature should be intelligent altogether, and not intelligent in part,
like our souls.”

Quaestio lv., concerning the _medium cognitionis angelicae_, is a
scholastic discussion scarcely to be rendered in modern language. The
angelic intelligence is capable of knowing all things; and therefore an
angel does not know through the medium of his _essentia_ or _substantia_,
which are limited. God alone knows all things through His _essentia_. The
angelic intellect is made perfect for knowing by means of certain forms or
ideas (_species_). These are not received from things, but are part of the
angelic nature (_connaturales_). The angelic intelligence (_potentia
intellectiva_) is completed through general concepts, of the same nature
with itself (_species intelligibiles connaturales_). These come to angels
from God at the same time with their being. Such concepts or ideas cover
everything that they can know by nature (_naturaliter_). And Thomas proves
that the higher angels know through fewer and more universal concepts than
the lower.

    “In God an entire plenitude of intellectual cognition is held _in
    one_, to wit, in the divine essence through which God knows all
    things. Intelligent creatures possess such cognition in inferior mode
    and less simply. What God knows through one, inferior intelligences
    know through many; and this many becomes more as the inferiority
    increases. Hence the higher angel may know the sum total of the
    intelligible (_universitatem intelligibilium_) through fewer ideas or
    concepts (_species_); which, however, are more universal since each
    concept extends to more [things]. We find illustration of this among
    our fellows. Some are incapable of grasping intelligible truth, unless
    it be set forth through particular examples. This comes from the
    weakness of their intelligence. But others, of stronger mind, can
    seize many things from a few statements” (Qu. lv. Art. 3).

Through this argument, and throughout the rest of his exposition of the
knowledge of God, angel, and man, we perceive that, with Thomas, knowledge
is superior and more delightful, as it is abstract in character, and
universal in applicability. By knowing the abstract and the universal we
become like to God and the angels; knowledge of and through the particular
is but a necessity of our half-material nature.

Thomas turns now to consider the knowledge had by angels of immaterial
beings, _i.e._ themselves and God (Qu. lvi.): “An angel, being immaterial,
is a subsisting form, and therefore intelligible actually (_actu_, _i.e._
not potentially). Wherefore, through its form, which is its substance, it
knows itself.” Then as to knowledge of each other: God from the beginning
impressed upon the angelic mind the likenesses of things which He created.
For in Him, from the beginning, were the _rationes_ of all things, both
spiritual and corporeal. Through the impression of these _rationes_ upon
the angelic mind, an angel knows other angels as well as corporeal
creatures. Their natures also yield them some knowledge of God. The
angelic nature is a mirror holding the divine similitude. Yet without the
illumination of grace the angelic nature knows not God in His essence,
because no created likeness may represent that.

As for material things (Qu. lvii.), angels have knowledge of them through
the intelligible species or concepts impressed by God on the angelic mind.
But do they know particulars--_singularia_? To deny it, says Thomas,
would detract from the faith which accords to angels the ministration of
affairs. This matter may be thought thus:

    “Things flow forth from God both as they subsist in their own natures
    and as they are in the angelic cognition. Evidently what flowed from
    God in things pertained not only to their universal nature, but to
    their principles of individuation.... And as He causes, so He also
    knows.... Likewise the angel, through the concepts (_species_) planted
    in him by God, knows things not only according to their universal
    nature, but also according to their singularity, in so far as they are
    manifold representations of the one and simple essence.”

One observes that the whole scholastic discussion of universals lies back
of arguments like these.

The main principles of angelic knowledge have now been set forth; and
Thomas pauses to point out to what extent the angels know the future, the
secret thoughts of our hearts, and the mysteries of grace. He has still to
consider the mode and measure of the angelic knowledge from other points
of view. Whatever the angels may know through their implanted natures,
they know perfectly (_actu_); but it may be otherwise as to what is
divinely revealed to them. What they know, they know without the need of
argument. And the discussion closes with remarks on Augustine’s phrase and
conception of the _matutina_ and _vespertina_ knowledge of angels: the
former being the knowledge of things as they are in the Word; the latter
being the knowledge of things as they are in their own natures.[603]


V

That the abstract and the universal is the noble and delectable, we learn
from this exposition of angelic knowledge. We may learn the same from
Thomas’s presentation of the modes and contents of human understanding.
The _Summa theologiae_ follows the Scriptural order of presentation;[604]
which is doubtless the reason why Thomas, instead of passing from
immaterial creatures to the partly immaterial creature man, considers
first the creation of physical things--the Scriptural work of the six
days. After this he takes up the last act of the Creation--man. In the
_Summa_ he considers man so far as his composite nature comes within the
scope of theology. Accordingly the principal topic is the human soul
(_anima_); and the body is regarded only in relation to the soul, its
qualities and its fate. Thomas will follow Dionysius (Pseudo-Areopagite)
in considering first the nature (_essentia_) of the soul, then its
faculties (_virtus sive potentiae_), and thirdly, its mode of action
(_operatio_).

Under the first head he argues (_Pars prima_, Qu. lxxv.) that the soul,
which is the _primum principium_ of life, is not body, but the body’s
consummation (_actus_) and _forma_. Further, inasmuch as the soul is the
_principium_ of mental action, it must be an incorporeal principle
existing by itself. It cannot properly be said to be the man; for man is
not soul alone, but a composite of soul and body. But the soul, being
immaterial and intellectual, is not a composite of form and matter. It is
not subject to corruption. Concerning its union with the body (Qu.
lxxvi.), “it is necessary to say that the mind (_intellectus_), which is
the principle of intellectual action, is the _form_ (_forma_) of the human
body.” One and the same intellectual principle does not pertain to all
human bodies: there is no common human soul, but as many souls as there
are men.[605] Yet no man has a plurality of souls. “If indeed the _anima
intellectiva_ were not united to the body as form, but only as _motor_ (as
the Platonists affirm), it would be necessary to find in man another
substantial form, through which the body should be set in its being. But
if, as we have shown, the soul is united to the body as substantial form,
there cannot be another substantial form beside it” (Qu. lxxvi. Art. 4).
The human soul is fitly joined to its body; for it holds the lowest grade
among intellectual substances, having no knowledge of truth implanted in
it, as the angels have; it has to gather knowledge _per viam sensus_. “But
nature never omits what is necessary. Hence the _anima intellectiva_ must
have not only the faculty of knowing, but the faculty of feeling
(_sentiendi_). Sense-action can take place only through a corporeal
instrument. Therefore the _anima intellectiva_ ought to be united to such
a body, which should be to it a convenient organ of sense” (Art. 5).
Moreover, “since the soul is united to the body as form, it is altogether
in any and every part of the body” (Art. 8).

It is a cardinal point (Qu. lxxvii.) with Thomas that the soul’s
_essentia_ is not its _potentia_: the soul is not its faculties. That is
true only of God. In Him there is no diversity. There is some diversity of
faculty in an angel; and more in man, a creature on the confines of the
corporeal and spiritual creation, in whom concur the powers of both. There
is order and priority among the powers of the soul: the _potentiae
intellectivae_ are higher than the _potentiae sensitivae_, and control
them; while the latter are above the _potentiae nutritivae_. Yet the order
of their generation is the reverse. The highest of the sensitive faculties
is sight. The _anima_ is the subject in which are the powers of knowing
and willing (_potentiae intellectivae_); but the subject in which are the
powers of sensation is the combination of the soul and body. All the
powers of the soul, whether the subject be soul alone or soul and body,
flow from the essence of the soul, as from a source (_principium_).

Thomas follows (Qu. lxxviii.) Aristotle in dividing the powers of the soul
into vegetative, sensitive, appetitive, motor, and intellectual. In taking
up the last, he points out (Qu. lxxix.) that intelligence (_intellectus_)
is a power of the soul, and not the soul itself. He then follows the
Philosopher in showing how intelligence (_intelligere_) is to be regarded
as a passive power, and he presents the difficult Aristotelian device of
the _intellectus agens_, and argues that memory and reason are not to be
regarded as powers distinct from the intelligence (_intellectus_).

How does the soul, while united to the body (the _anima conjuncta_), (1)
know corporeal things which are beneath it? (2) how does it know itself
and what is in itself? and (3) how does it know immaterial substances
which are above it? The exposition of these problems is introduced by (Qu.
lxxxiv.) a historical discussion of the _primi philosophi_ who thought
there was nothing but body in the world. Then came Plato, seeking “to save
some certain cognition of truth” by means of his theory of Ideas. But
Plato seems to have erred in thinking that the form of the known must be
in the knower as it is in the known. This is not necessary. In
sense-perception the form of the thing is not in sense as it is in the
thing. “And likewise the intelligence receives the _species_ (Ideas) of
material and mobile bodies immaterially and immutably, after its own mode;
for the received is in the recipient after the mode of the recipient.
Hence it is to be held that the soul through the intelligence knows bodies
by immaterial, universal, and necessary cognition.”

Thomas sets this matter forth in a manner very illuminating as to his
general position regarding knowledge:

    “It follows that material things which are known must exist in the
    knower, not materially, but immaterially. And the reason of this is
    that the act of cognition extends itself to those things which are
    outside of the knower. For we know things outside of us. But through
    matter, the form of the thing is limited to what is single (_aliquid
    unum_). Hence it is plain that the _ratio_ (proper nature) of
    cognition is the opposite of the _ratio_ of materiality. And therefore
    things, like plants, which receive forms only materially, are in no
    way _cognoscitivae_, as is said in the second book of _De anima_. The
    more immaterially anything possesses the form of the thing known, the
    more perfectly it knows. Wherefore the intelligence, which abstracts
    the species (Idea) not only from matter, but also from individualizing
    material conditions, knows more perfectly than sense, which receives
    the form of the thing known without matter indeed, but with material
    conditions. Among the senses themselves, sight is the most
    _cognoscitivus_, because least material. And among intelligences, that
    is the more perfect which is the more immaterial” (Qu. lxxxiv. Art.
    2).

Then Thomas again differs from Plato, and holds with Aristotle, that the
intelligence through which the soul knows has not its ideas written upon
it by nature, but from the first is capable of receiving them all (sed est
in principio in potentia ad hujusmodi species omnes). Hereupon, and with
further arguments, Thomas shows “that the _species intelligibiles_, by
which our soul knows, do not arise from separate forms” or ideas.

To the converse question, whether intelligent cognition comes from things
of sense, Thomas answers, following Aristotle: “One cannot say that sense
perception is the whole cause of intellectual cognition, but rather in a
certain way is the matter of the cause (_materia causae_).” On the other
hand,

    “it is impossible that the mind, in the state of the present life,
    wherein it is joined to the passive body (_passibili corpori_), should
    know anything actually (_actu_) except by turning itself to images
    (_phantasmata_). And this appears from two arguments. In the first
    place, since the mind itself is a power (_vis_) using no bodily organ,
    its action would not be interrupted by an injury to any bodily organ,
    if for its action there was not needed the action of some faculty
    using a bodily organ. Sense and imagination use a bodily organ. Hence
    as to what the mind knows actually (_actu_), there is needed the
    action of the imagination and other faculties, both in receiving new
    knowledge and in using knowledge already acquired. For we see that
    when the action of the imaginative faculty is interrupted by injury to
    an organ, as with the delirious, the man is prevented from actually
    knowing those things of which he has knowledge. Secondly (as any one
    may observe in himself), whenever he attempts to know (_intelligere_)
    anything, he forms images by way of example, in which he may
    contemplate what he is trying to know. And whenever we wish to make
    any one else understand, we suggest examples, from which he may make
    for himself images to know by.

    “The reason of this is that the knowing faculty is suited to the
    knowable (_potentia cognoscitiva proportionatur cognoscibili_). The
    appropriate object of the intelligence of an angel, who is separate
    from all body, is intelligible immaterial substance (_substantia
    intelligibilis a corpore separata_); through this kind of intelligible
    he cognizes also material things. But the appropriate object of the
    human mind, which is joined to a body, is the essence or nature
    (_quidditas sive natura_) existing in material body; and through the
    natures of visible things of this sort it ascends to some cognition of
    invisible things. It belongs to the idea (_ratio_) of this nature that
    it should exist in some individual having corporeal matter, as it is
    of the concept (_ratio_) of the nature of stone or horse that it
    should be in _this_ stone or _this_ horse. Hence the nature of a stone
    or any material thing cannot be known completely and truly, unless it
    is known as existing in some particular [instance]. We apprehend the
    particular through sense and imagination; and so it is necessary, in
    order that the mind should know its appropriate object, that it should
    turn itself to images, in order to behold the universal nature
    existing in the particular. If, indeed, the appropriate object of our
    intelligence were the separate form, or if the form of sensible
    things did not subsist in the particular [instances], as the
    Platonists say, our mind in knowing would have no need always to turn
    itself to images” (Qu. lxxxiv. Art. 7).

It is next queried whether the judgment of the mind is impeded through
binding (_per ligamentum_) the senses. In view of the preceding argument
the answer is, that since “all that we know in our present state, becomes
known to us through comparison with sensible things, it is impossible that
there should be in us perfect mental judgment when the senses are tied,
through which we take cognizance of sensible things” (Qu. lxxxiv. Art. 8).

This entire argument shows in what firm Aristotelian manner,
scholasticism, in the person of Thomas, set itself upon a basis of sense
perception; through which it still pressed to a knowledge of the
supersensible and abstract. In this argument we also see, as always with
Thomas, that knowledge is perfect and blessed, the more immaterial and
abstract are its modes. All of which will continue to impress us as we
follow Thomas, briefly, through his exposition of the _modus_ and _ordo_
of knowing (_intelligendi_) (Qu. lxxxv.).

The first question is whether our mind knows corporeal things by
abstracting the species from the images--the type from the particular.
There are three grades of the cognizing faculty (_virtutis
cognoscitivae_). The lowest is sensation, which is the act of a bodily
organ. Its appropriate object is form as existing in matter. And since
matter is the principle of individuation (_i.e._ the particularizing
principle from which results the particular or individual), sense
perception is confined to the particular. The highest grade of the
cognitient faculty is that which is independent of bodily organs and
separate from matter, as the angelic intelligence; and its object is form
subsisting without matter. For though angels know material things, they
view them only in the immaterial, to wit, themselves or God. Between the
two is the human mind, which

    “is the _forma_ of the body. So it naturally knows form existing
    individually in corporeal matter, and yet not as form is in such
    matter. But to know form, which is in concrete matter, and yet know it
    not as it is in such matter, is to abstract it from this particular
    matter which the images represent. It follows that our intelligence
    knows material things by abstracting them from images; and through
    reflecting on these material abstractions we reach some cognition of
    the immaterial, just as conversely the angels know the material
    through the immaterial” (Qu. lxxxv. Art. 1).

It is next proved that the soul, through the intelligible species or forms
abstracted from particulars, knows things which are outside the soul. In a
way, intellection arises from sense perception; therefore the sense
perception of the particular precedes the intellectual knowledge of
universals. But, on the other hand, the intelligence, in coming to perfect
cognition, proceeds from the undistinguished to the distinguished, from
the more to the less general, and so knows _animal_ before it knows
_homo_, and _homo_ before it knows Socrates. The next conclusion reads
very neatly in scholastic Latin, but is difficult to paraphrase: it is
that the intelligence may know many things at once (_simul_) _per modum
unius_, but not _per modum multorum_; that is to say, the mind may grasp
at once whatever it may grasp under one species, but cannot know a number
of things at once which fall under different species.

Next as to what our mind knows in material things (Qu. lxxxvi.). It does
not know the particular or singular (_singularia_) in them directly; for
the principle of singularity in material things is the particular matter.
But our mind _knows_ by abstracting from such the species, that is, the
universal. This it knows directly. But it knows _singularia_ indirectly,
inasmuch as, when it has abstracted the intelligible species, it must
still, in order to know completely (_actu_), turn itself to the images in
which it knows the species.

How does the _anima intellectiva_ know itself, and those things which are
in it (Qu. lxxxvii.)? Everything is knowable in so far as it is actually
(_in actu_) and not merely potentially. So the human intelligence knows
itself not through its essence, which is still but potential, but in so
far as it has actually realized itself; knows itself, that is, through its
actuality. The permanent qualities (_habitus_) of the soul exist in a
condition between potentiality and actuality. The mind knows them when
they are actually present or operative.

Does the human intelligence know its own act--know that it knows? In God,
knowing and being are one. Although this is not true of the angelic
intelligence, nevertheless with an angel the prime object of knowledge is
his own essence. With one and the same act an angel knows that it knows,
and knows its essence. But the primal object of the human intelligence is
neither its knowledge (knowing, _intelligere_) nor its essence, but
something extrinsic, to wit, the nature of the material thing. Hence that
is the first object known by the human intelligence; and next is known its
own _actus_, by which that first object is known. Likewise the human
intelligence knows the acts of will. An act of will is nothing but a
certain inclination toward some form of the mind (_formam intellectam_) as
natural appetite is an inclination toward a natural form. The act of will
is in the knowing mind and so is known by it.

So far as to how the soul knows material things, which are below it, and
its own nature and qualities. It is another question whether the soul
knows those things which are above it, to wit, the immaterial substances.
Can the soul in the state of the present life know the angels in
themselves? With lengthy argument, differing from Plato and adhering to
Aristotle, Thomas proves the negative: that in the present life we cannot
know _substantias separatas immateriales secundum seipsas_. Nor can we
come to a knowledge of the angelic substances through knowing material
things.

    “For immaterial substances are altogether of another nature (_ratio_)
    from the whatnesses (_quidditates_) of material things; and however
    much our intelligence abstracts from matter the essence (_quidditas_)
    of the material thing, it will never arrive at anything like an
    immaterial substance. And so, through material substances, we cannot
    know immaterial substances perfectly” (Qu. lxxxviii. Art. 2).

Much less can we thus know God.

The discussion hitherto has been confined to the intellectual capacities
of souls united to their bodies. As to the knowledge which the “separated”
soul may have, other considerations arise akin to those touching the
knowledge possessed by the separated substances called angels. Is the
separated soul able to know? Thomas has shown that so long as the soul is
joined to the body it cannot know anything except by turning itself to
images. If this were a mere accident of the soul, incidental to its
existence in the body, then with that impediment removed, it would return
to its own nature and know simply. But if, as we suppose, this turning to
images is of the nature of the soul, the difficulty grows. Yet the soul
has one mode of existence when united to the body, and another when
separated, but with its nature remaining. Souls united to bodies may know
through resort to images of bodies, which are in the bodily organs; but
when separated, they may know by turning to that which is intelligible
simply, as other separate substances do. Yet still this raises doubt; for
why did not God appoint a nobler way for the soul to know than that which
is natural to it when joined to the body? The perfection of the universe
required that there should be diverse grades among intellectual
substances. The soul is the lowest of them. Its feeble intelligence was
not fit to receive perfect knowledge through universal conceptions, save
when assisted by concrete examples. Without these, souls would have had
but a confused knowledge. Hence, for their more perfect knowledge of
things, they are naturally united to bodies, and so receive a knowledge
from things of sense proper to their condition; just as rude men can be
led to know only through examples. So it was for a higher end that the
soul was united to the body, and knows through resort to images; yet, when
separated, it will be capable of another way of knowing.[606]

Separated from the body, the soul can know itself through itself. It can
know other separated souls perfectly, but the angels, who are higher
natures, only imperfectly, at least through the knowledge which the
separated soul has from its nature; but that may be increased through
grace and glory. The separated soul will know natural objects through the
species (ideas) received from the inflowing divine light; yet less
perfectly than the angels. Likewise, less universally than angels, will
separated souls, by like means of species received from the divine light,
know particular things, and only such as they previously knew, or may know
through some affection or aptitude or the divine decree. For the habit and
aptitude of knowledge, and the knowledge already acquired, will remain in
the separated soul, so far as relates to the knowledge which is in the
intellect, and no longer in the lower perceptive faculties. Neither will
distance from the object affect the soul’s knowledge, since it will know
through the influx of forms (_species_) from the divine light.

    “Yet through the cognition belonging to their nature, separated souls
    do not know what is doing here below. For such souls know the
    particular and concrete (_singularia_) only as from the traces
    (_vestigia_) of previous cognition or affection, or by divine
    appointment. And the souls of the dead by divine decree, and in
    accordance with their mode of existence, are separated from the
    intercourse of the living and joined to the society of spiritual
    substances. Therefore they are ignorant of those things which are done
    among us.”

Nevertheless, it would seem, according to the opinions of Augustine and
Gregory, “that the souls of the saints who see God know all that is done
here. Yet, perfectly joined to the divine righteousness, they are not
grieved, nor do they take part in the affairs of the living, save as the
divine disposition requires.”

    “Still the souls of the dead are able to care for the affairs of the
    living, although ignorant of their condition; just as we have care for
    the dead, though ignorant of their state, by invoking the suffrages of
    the Church. And the souls of the dead may be informed of the affairs
    of the living from souls lately departed hence, or through angels or
    demons, or by the revealing spirit of God. But if the dead appear to
    the living, it is by God’s special dispensation, and to be reckoned as
    a divine miracle” (Qu. lxxxix. Art. 8).


VI

We have thus traced Thomas’s view of the faculty of knowledge, the primary
constituent of beatitude in God, and in angels and men. There are other
elements which not only supplement the faculty of knowledge, but even flow
as of necessity from a full and true conception of that faculty and its
perfect energizing. These needful, yet supplementary, factors are the
faculties of will and love and natural appetite; though the last does not
exist in God or angel or in “separated soul.” The composite creature man
shares it with brutes: it is of enormous importance, since it may affect
his spiritual progress in this life, and so determine his state after
death. Let us observe these qualities in God, in the immaterial substances
called angels, and in man.

In God there is volition as well as intelligence; for _voluntas
intellectum consequitur_; and as God’s _being_ (_esse_) is His knowing
(_intelligere_), so likewise His being is His will (_velle_).[607]
Essentially alike in God and man and angel are the constituents of
spiritual beatitude and existence--knowing, willing, loving. From Creator
down to man, knowledge differs in mode and in degree, yet is essentially
the same. The like is true of will. As to love, because passion is of the
body, love and every mode of turning from or to an object is passionless
in God and the angels. Yet man through love, as well as through willing
and through knowing, may prove his kinship with angels and with God.

God is love, says John’s Epistle. “It is necessary to place love in God,”
says Thomas. “For the first movement of will and any appetitive faculty
(_appetitivae virtutis_) is love (_amor_).” It is objected that love is a
passion; and the passionless God cannot love. Answers Thomas, “Love and
joy and delight are passions in so far as they signify acts (or
actualities, _actus_) of the _appetitus sensitivi_; but they are not
passions when they signify the _actus_ of the _appetitus intellectivi_;
and thus are they placed in God” (_Pars prima_, Qu. xx. Art. 1).

God loves all existences. Now all existences, in so far as they are, are
good. For being itself (_esse_) is in a sense the _good_ of any thing, and
likewise its perfection. It has been shown that God’s will is the cause of
all things; and thus it is proper that a thing should have being, or good,
in so far as it is willed by God. God wills some good to every existent
thing. And since to love is nothing else than to will good to something,
it is evident that God loves all things that are, yet not in the way we
love. For since our will is not the cause of the goodness of things, but
is moved by it as by an object, our love by which we will good to anything
is not the cause of its goodness; but its goodness calls forth the love by
which we wish to preserve and add to the good it has; and for this we
work. But God’s love imparts and creates goodness in things.

The divine love embraces all things in one and the same act of will; but
inasmuch as His love creates goodness, there could be no greater goodness
in one thing than in another unless He willed greater good to one than to
the other: in this sense He may be said to love one creature more than
another; and in this way He loves the better things more. Besides love,
the order of the universe proves God’s _justitia_; an attribute which is
to be ascribed to Him, as Dionysius says, in that He grants to all things
what is appropriate, according to the dignity of the existence of each,
and preserves the nature of each in its own order and virtue. Likewise
_misericordia_ is to be ascribed to God, not as if He were affected by
pitying sadness, but in that He remedies the misery or defects of others.

Thus far as to will and love in God. Next, as to these qualities in
Angels. Have angels will? (_Pars prima_, Qu. lix.). Thomas argues: All
things proceed from the divine will, and all _per appetitum_ incline
toward good. In plants this is called natural appetite. Next above them
come those creatures who perceive the particular good as of the senses;
their inclination toward it is _appetitus sensitivus_. Still above them
are such as know the _ratio_ of the good universally, through their
intelligence. Such are the angels; and in them inclination toward the good
is will. Moreover, since they know the nature of the good, they are able
to form a judgment as to it; and so they have free will: _ubicumque est
intellectus, est liberum arbitrium_. And as their knowledge is above that
of men, so in them free will exists more excellently.

The angels have only the _appetitus intellectivus_ which is will; they are
not irascible or concupiscent, since these belong to the _appetitus
sensitivus_. Only metaphorically can _furor_ and evil concupiscence be
ascribed to demons, as anger is to God--_propter similitudinem effectus_.
Consequently _amor_ and _gaudium_ do not exist as passions in angels. But
in so far as these qualities signify solely an act of will, they are
intellectual. In this sense, to love is to will good to anything, and to
rejoice (_gaudere_) is to rest the will in a good obtained. Similarly,
_caritas_ and _spes_, in so far as they are virtues, lie not in appetite,
but in will; and thus exist in angels. With man the virtues of temperance
and fortitude may relate to things of sense; but not so with angels, who
have no passions to be bridled by these virtues. Temperance is ascribed to
them when they temper their will according to the will divine, and
fortitude, when they firmly execute it (Qu. lix. Art. 4).

In a subsequent portion of _Pars prima_ (Qu. cx.) Thomas has occasion to
point out that, as in human affairs, the more particular power is governed
by the more universal, so among the angels.

    “The higher angels who preside over the lower have more universal
    knowledge. It is likewise clear that the _virtus_ of a body is more
    particular than the _virtus_ of a spiritual substance; for every
    corporeal form is form particularized (_individuata_) through matter,
    and limited to the here and now. But immaterial forms are
    unconditioned and intelligible. And as the lower angels, who have
    forms less universal, are ruled by the higher angels, so all corporeal
    things are ruled by angels. And this is maintained not only by the
    holy Doctors, but by all philosophers who have recognized incorporeal
    substances.”

Next Thomas considers the action of angels upon men, and shows that men
may have their minds illumined by the lower orders of angels, who present
to men _intelligibilem veritatem sub similitudinibus sensibilium_. God
sends the angels to minister to corporeal creatures; in which mission
their acts proceed from God as a cause (_principio_). They are His
instruments. They are sent as custodians of men, to guide and move them to
good. “To every man an angel is appointed for his guard: of which the
reason is, that the guardianship (_custodia_) of the angels is an
execution of divine providence in regard to men.” Every man, while as
_viator_ he walks life’s _via non tuta_, has his guardian angel. And the
archangels have care of multitudes of men (Qu. cxiii.).

Thus Thomas’s, or rather, say the Christian doctrine as to angels, becomes
a corollary necessary to Christian theism, and true at least symbolically.
But--and this is the last point as to these ministering spirits--do the
angels who love without passion, grieve and suffer when those over whom
they minister are lost?

    “Angels grieve neither over the sins nor the punishment of men. For,
    as says Augustine, sadness and grief arise only from what contravenes
    the will. But nothing happens in the world that is contrary to the
    will of the angels and other blessed ones. For their will is entirely
    fixed (_totaliter inhaeret_) in the order of the divine righteousness
    (_Justitiae_); and nothing takes place in the world, save what takes
    place and is permitted by the same. And so, in brief, nothing takes
    place in the world contrary to the will of the blessed” (Qu. cxiii.
    Art. 7).

We come to man. He has will, and free will or choice, as the angels have.
Will is part of the intellectual nature: it is as the _intellectivus
appetitus_. But man differs from the angels in possessing appetites which
belong to his sense-nature and do not perceive the good in its common
aspects; because sense does not apprehend the universal, but only the
particular.[608] Sometimes Thomas speaks of _amor_ as including every form
of desire, intellectual or pertaining to the world of sense. “The first
movement of will and of any appetitive faculty (_virtus_) is amor.”[609]
So in this most general signification _amor_ “is something belonging to
appetite; for the object of both is the good.”

    “The first effect of the desirable (_appetibilis_) upon the
    _appetitus_, is called _amor_; thence follows _desiderium_, or the
    movement toward the desirable; and at last the _quies_ which is
    _gaudium_. Since then _amor_ consists in an effect upon the
    _appetitus_, it is evidently _passio_; most properly speaking when it
    relates to the yearning element (_concupiscibile_), but less properly
    when it relates to will” (_Pars prima_, Qu. xxvi. Art. 2).

Further distinguishing definitions are now in order:

    “Four names are applied to what pertains to the same: _amor_,
    _dilectio_, _caritas_, _et amicitia_. Of the three first, _amor_ has
    the broadest meaning. For all _dilectio_ or _caritas_ is _amor_; but
    not conversely. _Dilectio_ adds to _amor_ a precedent choice
    (_electionem praecedentem_) as its name indicates. Hence _dilectio_ is
    not in the concupiscent nature, but in the will, and therefore in the
    rational nature. _Caritas_ adds to _amor_ a certain _perfectionem
    amoris_, inasmuch as what is loved, is esteemed as very precious, as
    the name shows” (_Ibid._ Art. 3).

Moreover, _amor_ may be divided into _amor amicitiae_, whereby we wish
good to the _amicus_, and _amor concupiscentiae_, whereby properly we
desire a good to ourselves.

The Good is the object and, in that sense, the cause, of _amor_ (Qu.
xxvii.).

    “But love requires a cognition of the good which is loved. Therefore
    the Philosopher says, that bodily sight is the cause of _amoris
    sensitivi_. Likewise contemplation of spiritual beauty or goodness is
    the cause of _amoris spiritualis_. Thus, therefore, cognition is the
    cause of love, inasmuch as the good cannot be loved unless known.”

From this broad conception of _amor_ the argument rises to _amor_ in its
purest phases, which correspond to the highest modes of knowledge man is
capable of. They are considered in their nature, in their causes, and
effects. It is evident whither we are travelling in this matter.

    “Love (_amor_) may be perfect or imperfect. Perfect love is that by
    which some one is loved for himself, as a man loves a friend.
    Imperfect love is that by which some one loves a thing, not for
    itself, but in order that that good may come to him, as a man loves
    the thing he desires. The first love pertains to _caritas_ which
    cleaves to God (_inhaeret Deo_) for Himself (_secundum
    seipsum_).”[610]

_Caritas_ is one of the theological virtues, and as such Thomas treats it.
To it corresponds the “gift” of _sapientia_, likewise a virtue bestowed by
God, but more particularly regarded as the “gift” of the Holy Spirit.
_Caritas_ is set not in the _appetitus sensitivus_, but in the will. Yet
as it exceeds our natural faculties, “it is not in us by nature, nor
acquired through our natural powers; but through the infusion of the Holy
Spirit, who is the _amor Patris et Filii_.” He infuses _caritas_ according
to His will; and it will increase as we draw near to God; nor is there any
bound to its augmentation. May _caritas_ be perfect in this life? In one
sense it never can be perfect, because no creature ever can love God
according to His infinite lovableness.

    “But on the part of him who wills to love (_ex parte diligentis_),
    _caritas_ is perfect when he loves as much as he is able. Which may be
    taken in three ways. In one way, as the whole heart of man is always
    borne toward God; and this is the perfection of the love of home
    (_caritas patriae_), unattainable here, where because of this life’s
    infirmities it is impossible always actually to think upon God, and be
    drawn toward Him by voluntary love (_dilectione_). In another way, as
    a man may strive to keep himself free for God and things divine,
    laying other matters aside, save as life’s need requires: and that is
    the perfection of _caritas_, possible in this life, yet not for all
    who have _caritas_. And the third way, when any one habitually sets
    his heart on God, so that he thinks and wills nothing that is contrary
    to the divine love: this perfection is common to all who have
    _caritas_.”[611]

The _caritas_ with which we love God, extends to our neighbours, and even
to our enemies, for God’s sake; also to ourselves, including our bodies;
it embraces sinners, but not their sinfulness. It embraces the angels.
There is order and grade in _caritas_, according to its relationship to
God, the source of beatitude and voluntary love (_dilectionis_). God is to
be loved _ex caritate_ above all; for He is loved as the cause of
beatitude, while our neighbour is loved as a participant with us in the
beatitude from God. We should love God more than ourselves; because
beatitude is in God as in the common and fontal source of all things that
participate in beatitude.

    “But, after God, man should love himself, in so far as he is spirit
    (_secundum naturam spiritualem_), more than any one else. This is
    plain from the very reason of loving. God is loved as the principle of
    good, on which the _dilectio caritatis_ is based. Man loves himself
    _ex caritate_ for the reason that he is a participator in that good.
    He loves his neighbour because of his association (_societas_) in that
    good.... Participation in the divine good is a stronger reason for
    loving, than association in this participation. Therefore, man _ex
    caritate_ should love himself more than his neighbour; and the mark
    (_signum_) of this is, that man should not commit any sin barring his
    participation in this beatitude, in order to free his neighbour from
    sin.... But one should love his neighbour’s salvation more than his
    own _body_.”[612]

We may love some of our neighbours more than others; for those bound to us
by natural ties and proximity can be loved more and in more actual ways.
The order and grades of love will endure when our natures are perfected in
glory.

Love (_caritas_) is the supreme theological virtue. It comes to us in this
life through grace; it can be perfected only when grace is consummated in
glory. Likewise the highest knowledge possible in this life comes through
grace, to be perfected in glory. All is from God, and that which, of all
the rest, seems most freely given is the divine influence disposing the
intelligence and will toward good, and illuminating these best God-given
faculties. This, as _par excellence_, through the exceeding bounty of its
free bestowal, is called _gratia_ (grace). It is a certain habitual
disposition of the soul; it is not the same as _virtus_, but a divinely
implanted disposition, in which the virtues must be rooted; it is the
imparted similitude of the divine nature, and perfects the nature of the
soul, so far as that has part in likeness to the divine: it is the medial
state between nature and that further consummation of the grace-illumined
nature, which is glory; and so it is the beginning, the _inchoatio_, of
our glorified beatitude. Clearly, grace is no part of our inborn nature,
and does not belong to our natural faculties. It is a divinely bestowed
increment, directing our natural faculties toward God and uplifting them
to higher capacities of knowing and loving.

To follow Thomas’s exposition of grace a little more closely:[613] man,
through his natural powers, may know truth, but not the highest; and
without grace, our fallen nature cannot will all the good belonging to it
(_connaturale_), nor love God above all else, nor merit eternal life.
“Grace is something supernatural in man coming from God.” It

    “is not the same as virtue; and its subject (_i.e._ its possessor,
    that in which it is set) cannot be a faculty (_potentia_) of the soul;
    for the soul’s faculties, as perfected, are conceived to be virtues.
    Grace, which is prior to virtue, is set, not in the faculties, but in
    the essence of the soul. Thus, as through his faculty of knowing
    (_potentiam intellectivam_), man shares the divine knowledge by the
    virtue of faith, and through the faculty of will shares the divine
    love by the virtue of _caritas_, so by means of a certain similitude
    he shares in the divine nature through some regeneration or
    recreation” (_Pars_ I. ii., Qu. cx. Art. 4).

Grace may be conceived either as “divine aid, moving us to willing and
doing right, or as a formative and abiding (_habituale_) gift, divinely
placed in us” (Qu. cxi. Art. 2). “The gift of grace exceeds the power of
any created nature; and is nothing else than a sharing (_participatio_) of
the divine nature” (Qu. cxii. Art. 1).

So it is clear that without grace man cannot rise to the highest knowledge
and the purest love of which he is capable in this life; far less can he
reach that final and perfected blessedness which is expected hereafter.
For this he must possess the virtue of Faith, which comes not without
grace.

    “The perfection of the rational creature consists not only in that
    which may be his, in accordance with his nature; but also in that
    which may come to him from some supernatural sharing in the divine
    goodness. The final beatitude of man consists in some supernatural
    vision of God. Man can attain to that only through some mode of
    learning from God the Teacher, and he must believe God as a disciple
    believes his master” (_Pars_ II. ii., Qu. ii. Art. 3).

Within the province of the Christian Faith “it is necessary that man
should accept _per modum fidei_ not only what is above reason, but also
what may be known through reason.” (Art. 4). He must believe explicitly
the _prima credibilia_, that is to say, the Articles of Faith; it is
enough if he believes other _credibilia_ implicitly, by holding his mind
prepared to accept whatever Scripture teaches (Art. 5).

    “To believe is an act of the intellect (_actus intellectus_) as moved
    by will to assenting. It proceeds from the will and from the
    intellect.... Yet it is the immediate act of the intellect, and
    therefore faith is in the intellect as in a subject [_i.e._
    possessor]” (Qu. iv. Art. 2).

And Thomas, having shown the function of will in any act of faith, passes
on by the same path to connect _fides_ with _caritas_:

    “Voluntary acts take their _species_ from the end which is the object
    of volition. That from which anything receives its species, occupies
    the place held by _form_ in material things. Hence, as it were, the
    _form_ of any voluntary act is the end to which it is directed
    (_ordinatur_). Manifestly, an act of faith is directed to the object
    willed (which is the good) as to an end. But good which is the end of
    faith, to wit, the divine good, is the proper object of _caritas_. And
    so _caritas_ is called the _form_ of faith, in so far as through
    _caritas_ the act of faith is perfected and given form” (Qu. iv. Art.
    3).

Thomas makes his conclusion more precise:

    “As faith is the consummation of the intellect, that which pertains to
    the intellect, pertains, _per se_, to faith. What pertains to will,
    does not, _per se_, pertain to faith. The increment making the
    difference between the faith which has form and faith which lacks it
    (_fides formata_, _fides informis_), consists in that which pertains
    to will, to wit, to _caritas_, and not in what pertains to intellect”
    (Qu. iv. Art. 4).

Only the _fides_ which is formed and completed in _caritas_ is a virtue
(Art. 5). And Thomas says concisely (Qu. vi. Art. 1) what in many ways has
been made evident before: For Faith, it is necessary that the _credibilia_
should be propounded, and then that there should be assent to them; but
since man, in assenting to those things which are of the Faith, is lifted
above his nature, his assent must proceed from a supernatural principle
working within him, which is God moving him through grace.

It is not hard to see why two gifts (_dona_) of the Holy Spirit should
belong to the virtue Faith, to wit, understanding and knowledge,
_intellectus et scientia_. Thomas gives the reasons in an argument germane
to his Aristotelian theory of cognition:

    “The object of the knowing faculty is _that which is_.... Many kinds
    of things lie hidden within, to which the _intellectus_ of man should
    penetrate. Beneath the _accidens_ the substantial nature of the thing
    lies hidden; beneath words lie their meanings; beneath similes and
    figures, lies the figured truth--_veritas figurata_ (for things
    intelligible are, as it were, within things sensible); and in causes
    lie hidden the effects, and conversely. Now, since human cognition
    begins with sense, as from without, it is clear that the stronger the
    light of the intellect, the further it will penetrate to the inmost
    depths. But the light of our natural intellect is of finite virtue,
    and may reach only to what is limited. Therefore man needs the
    supernatural light, in order to penetrate to the knowledge which
    through the natural light he is not able to know; and that
    supernatural light given to man is called the _donum intellectus_”
    (Qu. viii. Art. 1).

This gift follows grace. Grace is more perfect than nature. It does not
abrogate, but perfects the natural faculties. Nor does it fail in those
matters in which man’s natural power is competent (Qu. ix. Art. 1). So,
besides the _donum intellectus_, to Faith belongs the _donum scientiae_
also, which brings and guides knowledge of human things (Art. 2).

And now we shall not be surprised to find _sapientia_, the very highest
gift of the Spirit, attached to the grace-given virtue caritas. For
_caritas_ is the informing principle of Faith, and the highest virtue of
the grace-illumined will. The will, be it remembered, belongs to man’s
intellectual nature; its object is the good which is known by the mind
(_bonum intellectum_). “_Sapientia_ (wisdom, right knowledge as to the
highest cause, which is God) signifies rectitude of judgment in accordance
with the _rationes divinae_,” the ideas and reasons which exist in God.
Rectitude of judgment regarding things divine may arise from rational
inquiry; in which case it pertains to the _sapientia_ which is an
intellectual virtue. But it may also spring from affinity to those things
themselves; and then it is a gift of the Holy Spirit (II. ii., Qu. xlv.
Art. 2).

Says Thomas:

    “By the name _beatitude_ is understood the final perfection of the
    rational or intellectual nature. This consists for this life in such
    contemplation as we may have here of the highest intelligible good,
    which is God; but above this felicity is that other felicity which we
    expect when we shall see God as He is” (_Pars_ I., Qu. lxii Art 1).

But mark: the perfection of the intellectual nature does not consist
merely in knowing, narrowly taken. The right action of will is also
essential, of the will directed toward the highest good, which is God: and
this is _caritas_, of which the corresponding gift from the Spirit is
wisdom. In accord with this full consummation of human nature, comprising
the perfection of cognition and will, Thomas outlines his conception of
the _vita contemplativa_, the life of most perfect beatitude attainable on
earth:

    “The _vita contemplativa_ is theirs whose resolve is set upon the
    contemplation of truth. Resolve is an act of will; because resolve is
    with respect to the end, which is the object of will. Thus the _vita
    contemplativa_, according to the essence of its action, is of the
    intelligence; but so far as it pertains to what moves us to engage in
    such action, it is of the will, which moves all the other faculties,
    including the intelligence, to act. Appetitive energy (_vis
    appetitiva_) moves toward contemplating something, either sensibly or
    intellectually: sometimes from love of the thing seen, and sometimes
    from love of the knowledge itself, which arises from contemplation.
    And because of this, Gregory sets the _vita contemplativa_ in the love
    of God--_in caritate Dei_--to wit, inasmuch as some one, from a
    willing love (_dilectio_) of God burns to behold His beauty. And
    because any one is rejoiced when he attains what he loves, the _vita
    contemplativa_ is directed toward _dilectio_[614] which lies in affect
    (_in affectu_); by which _amor_ also is intended” (II. ii., Qu. clxxx.
    Art. 1).

The moral virtues, continues Thomas, do not pertain _essentially_ to this
_vita_. But they may promote it, by regulating the passions and quieting
the tumult of outside affairs. In principle it is fixed upon the
contemplation of truth, which here we see but in a glass darkly; and so we
help ourselves along by contemplating the effects of the divine cause in
the world.

Thus final beatitude, and its mortal approach in the _vita contemplativa_
of this earth, is of the mind, both in its knowledge and its love.
Immateriality, spirituality, is with Thomas primarily intellectual. Yet
his beatitude is not limited to the knowing faculties. It embraces will
and love. The grace of God and the gifts of the Holy Spirit touch love as
well as knowledge, raising one and both to final unison of aim. Thus far
in this life, while in the life to come, these grace-uplifted qualities of
knowledge, and that choosing love (_dilectio_) which rises from knowledge
of the good, are perfected _in gloria_.

Further than this we shall not go with Thomas, nor follow him, for
example, through his exposition of the means of salvation--the Incarnation
and the sacraments. Nor need we further mark the prodigious range of his
theology, or his metaphysics, logic, or physics. To all this many books
have been devoted. We are but seeking to realise his intellectual
interests and qualities, in such way as to bring them within the compass
of our sympathy. A more encyclopaedic and systematic presentation of his
teaching is proper for those who would trace, or perhaps attach themselves
to, particular doctrines; or would find in scholasticism, even in Thomas,
some special authoritativeness. For us these doctrines have but the
validity of all human striving after truth. Moreover, perhaps a truer view
of Thomas, the theologian and philosopher, is gained from following a few
typical forms of his teaching presented in his own exposition, than by
analyzing his thought with later solvents which he did not apply, and
presenting his matter classified as he would not have ordered it, and in
modern phrases, which have as many meanings foreign to scholasticism as
scholasticism has thoughts not to be translated into modern ways of
thinking.



CHAPTER XLI

ROGER BACON


Of all mediaeval men, Thomas Aquinas achieved the most organic and
comprehensive union of the results of human reasoning and the data of
Christian theology. He may be regarded as the final exponent of
scholasticism, perfected in method, universal in scope, and still integral
in purpose. The scholastic method was soon to be impugned and the
scholastic universality broken. The premature attack upon the method came
from Roger Bacon;[615] the fatal breach in the scholastic wholeness
resulted from the constructive, as well as critical, achievements of Duns
Scotus and Occam.

Bacon is a perplexing personality. With other mediaeval thinkers one
quickly feels the point of view from which to regard them. Not so with
this most disparate genius of the Middle Ages. Reading his rugged
statements, and trying to form a coherent thought of him, we are puzzled
at the contradictions of his mind. One may not say that he was not of his
time. Every man is of his time, and cannot raise himself very far out of
the mass of knowledge and opinion furnished by it, any more than a swimmer
can lift himself out of the water that sustains him. Yet personal temper
and inclination may aline a man with less potent tendencies, which are
obscured and hampered by the dominant intellectual interests of the
period. Assuredly, through all the Middle Ages, there were men who noticed
such physical phenomena as bore upon their lives, even men who cared for
the dumb beginnings of what eventually might lead to natural science. But
they were not representative of their epoch’s master energies; and in the
Middle Ages, as always, the man of evident and great achievement will be
one who, like Aquinas, stands upon the whole attainment of his age. Roger
Bacon, on the contrary, was as one about whose loins the currents of his
time drag and pull; they did not aid him, and yet he could not extricate
himself. It was his intellectual misfortune that he was held by his time
so fatally, so fatally, at least, for the proper doing of the work which
was to be his contribution to human enlightenment, a contribution well
ignored while he lived, and for long afterward.

Bacon accepted the dominant mediaeval convictions: the entire truth of
Scripture; the absolute validity of the revealed religion, with its
dogmatic formulation; also (to his detriment) the universally prevailing
view that the end of all the sciences is to serve their queen, theology.
Yet he hated the ways of mediaeval natural selection and survival of the
mediaeval fittest, and the methods by which Albert or Thomas or Vincent of
Beauvais were at last presenting the sum of mediaeval knowledge and
conviction. Well might he detest those ways and methods, seeing that he
was Roger Bacon, one impelled by his genius to critical study, to
observation and experiment. He was impassioned for linguistics, for
mathematics, for astronomy, optics, chemistry, and for an experimental
science which should confirm the contents of all these, and also enlarge
the scope of human ingenuity. Yet he was held fast, and his thinking was
confused, by what he took from his time. Especially he was obsessed by the
idea that philosophy, including every branch of knowledge, must serve
theology, and even in that service find its justification. But what has
chemistry to do with theology? What has mathematics? And what has the
physical experimental method? By maintaining the utility of these for
theology, Bacon saved his mediaeval orthodoxy, and it may be, his skin
from the fire. But it wrecked the working of his genius. His writings
remain, such of them as are known, astounding in their originality and
insight, and almost as remarkable for their inconsistencies; they are
marked by a confusion of method and a distortion of purpose, which sprang
from the contradictions between Bacon’s genius and the current views which
he adopted.

The career of Bacon was an intellectual tragedy, conforming to the old
principles of tragic art: that the hero’s character shall be large and
noble, but not flawless, inasmuch as the fatal consummation must issue
from character, and not happen through chance. He died an old man, as in
his youth, so in his age, a devotee of tangible knowledge. His pursuit of
a knowledge which was not altogether learning had been obstructed by the
Order of which he was an unhappy and rebellious member; quite as fatally
his achievement was deformed from within by the principles which he
accepted from his time. But he was responsible for his acceptance of
current opinions; and as his views roused the distrust of his brother
Friars, his intractable temper drew their hostility (of which we know very
little) on his head. Persuasiveness and tact were needed by one who would
impress such novel views as his upon his fellows, or, in the thirteenth
century, escape persecution for their divulgence. Bacon attacked dead and
living worthies, tactlessly, fatuously, and unfairly. Of his life scarcely
anything is known, save from his allusions to himself and others; and
these are insufficient for the construction of even a slight consecutive
narrative. Born; studied at Oxford; went to Paris, studied, experimented;
is at Oxford again, and a Franciscan; studies, teaches, becomes suspect to
his Order, is sent back to Paris, kept under surveillance, receives a
letter from the pope, writes, writes, writes,--his three best-known works;
is again in trouble, confined for many years, released, and dead, so very
dead, body and fame alike, until partly unearthed after five centuries.

Inference and construction may fill out this sombre outline. England was
the land of Bacon’s birth, and Ilchester is said to have been the natal
spot. The approximate date may be guessed at from his reference to himself
as _senex_ in 1267, and his remark that he had then been studying forty
years. His family seems to have been wealthy. Besides the letter of Pope
Clement, hereafter to be quoted, there is one contemporary reference to
him. Mathew Paris has a story of a certain _clericus de curia, scilicet
Rogerus Bacum_, speaking up with bold wit to King Henry III. at Oxford in
1233. Bacon when a young man studied there under Robert Grosseteste and
Adam of Marsh. He frequently refers to both, and always with respect. His
chief enthusiasm is for the former. For years this admirable man was
chancellor of Oxford; until made bishop of Lincoln in 1235. Although never
a Franciscan, he was the Order’s devoted friend, and lectured in its house
at Oxford. Grosseteste founded the study of Greek at Oxford, and collected
treatises upon Greek grammar. Bacon, following him, wrote a Greek grammar.
Grosseteste, before Bacon, devoted himself to physics and mathematics, and
all that these many-branched sciences might include. Besides a taste for
these studies Bacon may have had from him the idea that they were useful
for theology. “No one,” says Bacon, “knew the sciences save Lord Robert,
Bishop of Lincoln, from his length of life and experience, and
studiousness and industry, and because he knew mathematics and optics, and
was able to know all things; and he knew enough of the languages to
understand the saints and philosophers of antiquity; but not enough to
translate them, unless towards the end of his life when he invited Greeks,
and had books of Greek grammar gathered from Greece and elsewhere.”[616]
There is evidence that others at Oxford, besides Grosseteste, were
interested in the study of Greek and natural science.

From Oxford Bacon went to Paris, where apparently he remained for a number
of years; he was made a doctor there, and afterwards became a Franciscan.
Since a monk could own nothing, one may perhaps infer that Bacon did not
join the Order until after the lapse of certain twenty years of scientific
research, in which he spent much money, as he says in 1267, in an
often-quoted passage of the _Opus tertium_:

    “For now I have laboured from my youth in the sciences and languages,
    and for the furtherance of study, getting together much that is
    useful. I sought the friendship of all wise men among the Latins, and
    caused youth to be instructed in languages, and geometric figures, in
    numbers and tables and instruments, and many needful matters. I
    examined everything useful to the purpose, and I know how to proceed,
    and with what means, and what are the impediments: but I cannot go on
    for lack of the funds which are needed. Through the twenty years in
    which I laboured specially in the study of wisdom, careless of the
    crowd’s opinion, I spent more than two thousand pounds in these
    pursuits on occult books (_libros secretos_) and various experiments,
    and languages and instruments, and tables and other things.”[617]

After his first stay at Paris Bacon returned to Oxford. There he doubtless
continued his researches, and divulged them, or taught in some way. For he
roused the suspicions of his Order, and in the course of time was sent or
conducted back to Paris, where constraint seems to have been put upon his
actions and utterances. Like the first, this second, possibly enforced,
stay was a long one; he speaks of himself in the first chapter of the
_Opus tertium_ as “for ten years an exile.” Yet here as always, one is not
quite certain how literally to take Bacon’s personal statements, either
touching himself or others.

A short period of elation was at hand. He had evidently been forbidden to
write, or spread his ideas; he had been disciplined at times with a diet
of bread and water. All this had failed to sweeten his temper, or conform
his mind to current views. In 1265, an open-minded man who had been a
jurist, a warrior, and the counsellor of a king, before becoming an
ecclesiastic, was made Pope Clement IV. While living in Paris he had been
interested in Bacon’s work. Soon after the papal election our
sore-bestead philosopher managed to communicate with him, as appears by
the pope’s reply, written from Viterbo, in July 1266:

    “To our beloved son, Brother Roger, called Bacon, of the Order of
    Brothers Minorites. We have received with pleasure the letter of thy
    devotion; and we have well considered what our beloved son called
    Bonecor, Knight, has by word of mouth set forth to us, with fidelity
    and prudence. So then, that we may understand more clearly what thou
    purposest, it is our will, and we command thee by our Apostolic
    mandate that, notwithstanding the prohibition of any prelate, or any
    constitution of thy Order, thou sendest to us speedily in good script
    that work which, while we held a minor office, we requested thee to
    communicate to our beloved son Raymond, of Laudunum. Also, we command
    thee to set forth in a letter what remedies thou deemest should be
    applied to those matters which thou didst recently speak of as fraught
    with such peril. Do this as secretly as possible without delay.”[618]

Poor Bacon! The pope’s letter roused him to ecstasy, then put him in a
quandary, and elicited elaborate apologies, and the flood of persuasive
exposition which he poured forth with tremulous haste in the eighteen
months following. Delight at being solicited by the head of Christendom
breaks out in hyperbole, not to be wondered at: he is uplifted and cast
prone; that his littleness and multiple ignorance, his tongue-tied mouth
and rasping pen, and himself unlistened to by all men, a buried man
delivered to oblivion, should be called on by the pope’s wisdom for
wisdom’s writings (_sapientales scripturas_)!

    “The Saviour’s vicar, the ruler of the orb, has deigned to solicit me,
    who am scarcely to be numbered among the particles of the
    world--_inter partes universae_! Yet, while my weakness is oppressed
    with the glory of this mandate, I am raised above my own powers; I
    feel a fervour of spirit; I rise up in strength. And indeed I ought to
    overflow with gratitude since your beatitude commands what I have
    desired, what I have worked out with sweat, and gleaned through great
    expenditures.”[619]

The word “expenditures” touches one horn of Bacon’s dilemma. He is a
Franciscan; therefore penniless; and, besides that, apparently under the
restraining ban of his own Order. The pope has enjoined secrecy; therefore
Bacon cannot set up the papal mandate against the probable interference of
his own superiors. The pope has sent no funds; sitting _in culmine mundi_
he was too busy with high affairs to think of that.[620] And now comes the
chief matter for Bacon’s apologies: his Beatitude misapprehends, has been
misinformed: the work is not yet written; it is still to be composed.

In spite of these obstacles the friendless but resourceful philosopher
somehow obtained opportunity to write, and the means needed for the fair
copy. And then in those great eighteen, or perhaps but fifteen, months,
what a flood of enlightenment, of reforming criticism, of plans of study
and methods of investigation, of examples and sketches of the matter to be
prepared or discovered, is poured forth. Four works we know of,[621] and
they may have made the greater part of all that Bacon ever actually wrote.
With variations of emphasis, of abridgement and elaboration, the four have
the one purpose to convince the pope of the enormous value of Bacon’s
scheme of useful and saving knowledge. To a great extent they set forth
the same matters; indeed the _Opus tertium_ was intended to convey the
substance of the _Opus majus_, should that fail to reach the pope. So
there is much repetition and some disorder in these eager, hurried works,
defects which emphasise the dramatic situation of the impetuous genius
whose pent-up utterance was loosed at last. The _Opus minus_ and the
_Vatican Fragment_ are as from a man overpowered by the eagerness to say
everything at once, lest the night close in before he have chance of
speech. And when the _Opus majus_ was at last sent forth, accompanied by
the _Opus minus_, as a battleship by a light armed cruiser, the _Opus
tertium_ was despatched after them, filled with the same militant
exposition, for fear the former two should perish _en voyage_.

Did they ever reach the pope? We may presume so. Did he read any one of
them? Here there is no information. Popes were the busiest men in Europe,
and death was so apt to cut short their industry. Clement died the next
year, and so far as known, no syllable of acknowledgement from him ever
reached the feverishly expectant philosopher.

A few words will tell the rest. In 1271, apparently, Bacon wrote his
_Compendium studii philosophiae_, taking the occasion to denounce the
corruptions of Church and society in unmeasured terms. He rarely measured
his vituperation! His life was setting on toward its long last trial. In
1277, Jerome of Ascoli, the General of the Franciscan Order, held a
Chapter at Paris, and Bacon was condemned to imprisonment (_carceri
condempnatus_) because of his teachings, which contained _aliquas
novitates suspectas_.[622] Jerome became Pope Nicholas IV. At a Chapter of
the Order held in Paris in 1292, just after his death, certain prisoners
condemned in 1277, were set free. Roger Bacon probably was among the
number. If so, it was in the year of his liberation that he wrote a tract
entitled _Compendium theologiae_; for that was written in 1292. This is
the last we hear of him. But as he must now have been hard on to eighty,
probably he did not live much longer.

There seems to have been nothing exceptional in Bacon’s attitude toward
Scripture and the doctrines of the Church. He deemed, with other mediaeval
men, that Scripture held, at least implicitly, the sum of knowledge useful
or indeed possible for men. True, neither the Old Testament nor the New
treats of grammar, or physics, or of minerals, or plants, or animals.
Nevertheless, the statements in these revealed writings are made with
complete knowledge of every topic or thing considered or referred
to--bird, beast, and plant, the courses of the stars, the earth and its
waters, yea, the arts of song or agriculture, and the principles of every
science. Conversely (and here Bacon even gave fresh emphasis and novel
pointings to the current view) all knowledge whatsoever, every art and
science, is needed for the full understanding of Scripture, _sacra
doctrina_, in a word, theology. This opinion may hold large truth; but
Bacon’s advocacy of it sometimes affects us as a _reductio ad absurdum_,
especially when he is proceeding on the assumption that the patriarchs and
prophets had knowledge of all sciences, including astrology and the
connection between the courses of the stars and the truth of Christianity.

There was likewise nothing startling in Bacon’s view of the Fathers, and
their knowledge and authoritativeness. Thomas did not regard them as
inspired. Neither did Bacon; he respects them, yet discerns limitations to
their knowledge; by reason of their circumstances they may have neglected
certain of the sciences; but this is no reason why we should.[623]

As for the ancient philosophers, Bacon holds to their partial inspiration.
“God illuminated their minds to desire and perceive the truths of
philosophy. He even disclosed the truth to them.”[624] They received their
knowledge from God, indirectly as it were, through the prophets, to whom
God revealed it directly. More than once and with every detail of baseless
tradition, he sets forth the common view that the Greek philosophers
studied the prophets, and drew their wisdom from that source.[625] But
their knowledge was not complete; and it behoves us to know much that is
not in Aristotle.[626]

    “The study of wisdom may always increase in this life, because nothing
    is perfect in human discoveries. Therefore, we later men ought to
    supplement the defects of the ancients, since we have entered into
    their labours, through which, unless we are asses, we may be incited
    to improve upon them. It is most wretched always to be using what has
    been attained, and never reach further for one’s self.”[627]

It may be that Bacon was suspected of raising the philosophers too near
the Christian level; and perhaps his argument that their knowledge had
come from the prophets may have seemed a vain excuse. Says he, for
example:

    “There was a great book of Aristotle upon civil science,[628] well
    agreeing with the Christian law; for the law of Aristotle has precepts
    like the Christian law, although much is added in the latter excelling
    all human science. The Christian law takes whatever is worthy in the
    civil philosophical law. For God gave the philosophers all truth, as
    the saints, and especially Augustine, declare.... And what noble
    thoughts have they expressed upon God, the blessed Trinity, the
    Incarnation, Christ, the blessed Virgin, and the angels.”[629]

Possibly one is here reminded of Abaelard, and his thought of Christianity
as _reformatio legis naturalis_. Yet Christ had said, He came not to
destroy, but to fulfil; and the chief Christian theologians had followed
Augustine in “despoiling the Egyptians” as he phrased it; the very process
which in fact was making the authority of Aristotle supreme in Bacon’s
time. So there was little that was peculiar or suspicious in Bacon’s
admiration of the philosophers.

The trouble with Bacon becomes clearer as we turn to his views upon the
state of knowledge in his time, and the methods of contemporary doctors in
rendering it worse, rather than better. These doctors were largely engaged
upon _sacra doctrina_; they were primarily theologians and expounders of
the truth of revelation. Bacon’s criticism of their methods might
disparage that to which those methods were applied. His caustic
enumeration of the four everlasting causes of error, and the seven vices
infecting the study of theology, will show reason enough why his
error-stricken and infected contemporaries wished to close his mouth. The
anxiousness of some might sour to enmity under the acerbity of his attack;
nor would their hearts be softened by Bacon’s boasting that these various
doctors, of course including Albert, could not write in ten years what he
is sending to the pope.[630] Bacon declares that there is at Paris a great
man (was it Albert? was it Thomas?), who is set up as an authority in the
schools, like Aristotle or Averroes; and his works display merely
“infinite puerile vanity,” “ineffable falsity,” superfluous verbiage, and
the omission of the most needful parts of philosophy.[631] Bacon is not
content with abusing members of the rival Dominican Order; but includes in
his contempt the venerable Alexander of Hales, the defunct light of the
Franciscans. “_Nullum ordinem excludo_,” cries he, in his sweeping
denunciation of his epoch’s rampant sins. As for the seculars, why, they
can only lecture by stealing the copy-books of the “boys” in the
“aforesaid Orders.”[632] “Never,” says Bacon in the _Compendium studii_
from which the last phrases are taken, “has there been such a show of
wisdom, nor such prosecution of study in so many faculties through so many
regions as in the last forty years. Doctors are spread everywhere,
especially in theology, in every city, castle, and burg, chiefly through
the two student Orders. Yet there was never so great ignorance and so much
error--as shall appear from this writing.”[633]

Bacon never loses a chance of stating the four causes of the error and
ignorance about him. These causes preyed upon his mind--he would have said
they preyed upon the age. They are elaborately expounded in pars i. of the
_Opus majus_:[634]

    “There are four principal stumbling blocks (_offendicula_) to
    comprehending truth, which hinder well-nigh every one: the example of
    frail and unworthy authority, long-established custom, the sense of
    the ignorant crowd (_vulgi sensus imperiti_), and the hiding of one’s
    own ignorance under the pretence of wisdom. In these, every man is
    involved and every state beset. For in every act of life, or business,
    or study, these three worst arguments are used for the same
    conclusion: this was the way of our ancestors, this is the custom,
    this is the common view: therefore should be held. But the opposite
    of this conclusion follows much better from the premises, as I will
    prove through authority, experience, and reason. If these three are
    sometimes refuted by the glorious power of reason, the fourth is
    always ready, as a gloss for foolishness; so that, though a man know
    nothing of any value, he will impudently magnify it, and thus,
    soothing his wretched folly, defeat truth. From these deadly pests
    come all the evils of the human race; for the noblest and most useful
    documents of wisdom are ignored, and the secrets of the arts and
    sciences. Worse than this, men blinded by the darkness of these four
    do not see their ignorance, but take every care to palliate that for
    which they do not find the remedy; and what is the worst, when they
    are in the densest shades of error, they deem themselves in the full
    light of truth.”[635]

Therefore they think the true the false, and spend their time and money
vainly, says Bacon with many strainings of phrase.

“There is no remedy,” continues Bacon, “against the first three causes of
error save as with all our strength we set the sound authors above the
weak ones, reason above custom, and the opinions of the wise above the
humours of the crowd; and do not trust in the triple argument: this has
precedent, this is customary, this is the common view.” But the fourth
cause of error is the worst of all. “For this is a lone and savage beast,
which devours and destroys all reason,--this desire of seeming wise, with
which every man is born.” Bacon arraigns this cause of evil, through
numerous witnesses, sacred and profane. It has two sides: display of
pretended knowledge, and excusing of ignorance. Infinite are the verities
of God and the creation: let no one boast of knowledge. It is not for man
to glory in his wisdom; faith goes beyond man’s knowledge; and still much
is unrevealed. In forty years we learn no more than could be taught youth
in one. I have profited more from simple men “than from all my famous
doctors.”

Bacon’s four universal causes of ignorance indicate his general attitude.
More specific criticisms upon the academic methods of his time are
contained in his _septem peccata studii principalis quod est theologiae_.
This is given in the _Opus minus_.[636] Bacon, it will be remembered, says
again and again that all sciences must serve theology, and find their
value from that service: the science of theology includes every science,
and should use each as a handmaid for its own ends. Accordingly, when
Bacon speaks of the seven vices of the _studium principale quod est
theologia_, we may expect him to point out vicious methods touching all
branches of study, yet with an eye to their common service of their
mistress.

    “Seven are the vices of the chief study which is theology; the first
    is that philosophy in practice dominates theology. But it ought not to
    dominate in any province beyond itself, and surely not the science of
    God, which leads to eternal life.... The greater part of all the
    quaestiones in a _Summa theologiae_ is pure philosophy, with arguments
    and solutions; and there are infinite quaestiones concerning the
    heavens, and concerning matter and being, and concerning species and
    the similitudes of things, and concerning cognition through such; also
    concerning eternity and time, and how the soul is in the body, and how
    angels move locally, and how they are in a place, and an infinitude of
    like matters which are determined in the books of the philosophers. To
    investigate these difficulties does not belong to theologians,
    according to the main intent and subject of their work. They ought
    briefly to recite these truths as they find them determined in
    philosophy. Moreover, the other matter of the quaestiones which
    concerns what is proper to theology, as concerning the Blessed
    Trinity, the Incarnation, the Sacraments, is discussed principally
    through the authorities, arguments, and distinctions of philosophy.”

Evidently, this first vice of theological study infected the method of
Albert and Thomas, and of practically all other theologians! Its
correction might call for a complete reversal of method. But the reversal
desired by Bacon would scarcely have led back to Gospel simplicity, as may
be seen from what follows.

    “The second vice is that the best sciences, which are those most
    clearly pertinent to theology, are not used by theologians. I refer to
    the grammar of the foreign tongues from which all theology comes. Of
    even more value are mathematics, optics, moral science, experimental
    science, and alchemy. But the cheap sciences (_scientiae viles_) are
    used by theologians, like Latin grammar, logic, natural philosophy in
    its baser part, and a certain side of metaphysics. In these there is
    neither the good of the soul, nor the good of the body, nor the good
    things of fortune. But moral philosophy draws out the good of the
    soul, as far as philosophy may. Alchemy is experimental and, with
    mathematics and optics, promotes the good of the body and of
    fortune.... While the grammar of other tongues gives theology and
    moral philosophy to the Latins.... Oh! what madness is it to neglect
    sciences so useful for theology, and be sunk in those which are
    impertinent!

    “The third vice is that the theologians are ignorant of those four
    sciences which they use; and therefore accept a mass of false and
    futile propositions, taking the doubtful for certain, the obscure for
    evident; they suffer alike from superfluity and the lack of what is
    necessary, and so stain theology with infinite vices which proceed
    from sheer ignorance.” For they are ignorant of Greek and Hebrew and
    Arabic, and therefore ignorant of all the sciences contained in these
    tongues; and they have relied on Alexander of Hales and others as
    ignorant as themselves. The fourth vice is that they study and lecture
    on the _Sentences_ of the Lombard, instead of the text of Scripture;
    and the lecturers on the _Sentences_ are preferred in honour, while
    any one who would lecture on Scripture has to beg for a room and hour
    to be set him.

    “The fifth fault is greater than all the preceding. The text of
    Scripture is horribly corrupt in the Vulgate copy at Paris.”

Bacon goes at some length into the errors of the Vulgate, and gives a good
account of the various Latin versions of the Bible. Next, the “_sextum
peccatum_ is far graver than all, and may be divided into two _peccata
maxima_: one is that through these errors the literal sense of the Vulgate
has infinite falsities and intolerable uncertainties, so that the truth
cannot be known. From this follows the other _peccatum_, that the
spiritual sense is infected with the same doubt and error.” These errors,
first in the literal meaning, and thence in the spiritual or allegorical
significance, spring from ignorance of the original tongues, and from
ignorance of the birds and beasts and objects of all sorts spoken of in
the Bible. “By far the greater cause of error, both in the literal and
spiritual meaning, rises from ignorance of things in Scripture. For the
literal sense is in the natures and properties of things, in order that
the spiritual meaning may be elicited through convenient adaptations and
congruent similitudes.” Bacon cites Augustine to show that we cannot
understand the precept, _Estote prudentes sicut serpentes_, unless we know
that it is the serpent’s habit to expose his body in defence of his head,
as the Christian should expose all things for the sake of his head, which
is Christ. Alack! is it for such ends as these that Bacon would have a
closer scholarship fostered, and natural science prosecuted? The text of
the _Opus minus_ is broken at this point, and one cannot say whether Bacon
had still a seventh _peccatum_ to allege, or whether the series ended with
the second of the vices into which he divided the sixth.

Bacon’s strictures upon the errors of his time were connected with his
labours to remedy them, and win a firmer knowledge than dialectic could
supply. To this end he advocated the study of the ancient languages, which
he held to be “the first door of wisdom, and especially for the Latins,
who have not the text, either of theology or philosophy, except from
foreign languages.”[637] His own knowledge of Greek was sufficient to
enable him to read passages in that tongue, and to compose a Greek
grammar.[638] But he shows no interest in the classical Greek literature,
nor is there evidence of his having studied any important Greek
philosopher in the original. He was likewise zealous for the study of
Hebrew, Chaldee, and Arabic, the other foreign tongues which held the
learning so inadequately represented by Latin versions. He spoke with some
exaggeration of the demerits of the existing translations;[639] but he
recognised the arduousness of the translator’s task, from diversity of
idiom and the difficulty of finding an equivalent in Latin for the
statements, for example, in the Greek. The Latin vocabulary often proved
inadequate; and words had to be taken bodily from the original tongue.
Likewise he saw, and so had others, though none had declared it so
clearly, that the translator should not only be master of the two
languages, but have knowledge of the subject treated by the work to be
translated.[640]

After the languages, Bacon urged the pursuit of the sciences, which he
conceived to be interdependent and corroborative; the conclusions of each
of them susceptible of proof by the methods and data of the others.

    “Next to languages,” says Bacon in chapter xxix. of the _Opus
    tertium_, “I hold mathematics necessary in the second place, to the
    end that we may know what may be known. It is not planted in us by
    nature, yet is closest to inborn knowledge, of all the sciences which
    we know through discovery and learning (_inventionem et doctrinam_).
    For its study is easier than all other sciences, and boys learn its
    branches readily. Besides, the laity can make diagrams, and calculate,
    and sing, and use musical instruments. All these are the _opera_ of
    mathematics.”

Thus, with antique and mediaeval looseness, Bacon conceived this science.
He devotes to it the long _Pars quarta_ of the _Opus majus_: saying at the
beginning that of--

    “the four great sciences the gate and key is mathematics, which the
    saints found out (_invenerunt_) from the beginning of the world, and
    used more than all the other sciences. Its neglect for the past thirty
    or forty years has ruined the studies (_studium_) of the Latins. For
    whoso is ignorant of it cannot know the other sciences, nor the things
    of this world. But knowledge of this science prepares the mind and
    lifts it to the tested cognition (_certificatam cognitionem_) of all
    things.”

Bacon adduces authorities to prove the need of mathematics for the study
of grammar and logic; he shows that its processes reach indubitable
certitude of truth; and “if in other sciences we would reach certitude
free from doubt, and truth without error, we must set the foundations of
cognition in mathematics.”[641] He points out its obvious necessity in the
study of the heavens, and in everything pertaining to speculative and
practical _astrologia_; also for the study of physics and optics. Thus his
interest lay chiefly in its application. As human science is nought unless
it may be applied to things divine, mathematics must find its supreme
usefulness in its application to the matters of theology. It should aid us
in ascertaining the position of paradise and hell, and promote our
knowledge of Scriptural geography, and more especially, sacred chronology.
Next it affords us knowledge of the exact forms of things mentioned in
Scripture, like the ark, the tabernacle, and the temple, so that from an
accurate ascertainment of the literal sense, the true spiritual meaning
may be deduced. It should not be confused with its evil namesake
magic,[642] yet the true science is useful in determining the influence of
the stars on the fortunes of states. Moreover, mathematics, through
astrology, is of great importance in the certification of the faith,
strengthening it against the sect of Antichrist;[643] then in the
correction of the Church’s calendar; and finally, as all things and
regions of the earth are affected by the heavens, astrology and
mathematics are pertinent to a consideration of geography. And Bacon
concludes _Pars quarta_ with an elaborate description of the regions,
countries, and cities of the known world.

Bacon likewise was profoundly interested in optics, the _scientia
perspectiva_, which he sets forth elaborately in _Pars quinta_ of the
_Opus majus_. Much space would be needed to discuss his theories of light
and vision, and the propagation of physical force, treated in the _De
multiplicatione specierum_. He knew all that was to be learned from Greek
and Arabic sources, and, unlike Albert, who compiled much of the same
material, he used his knowledge to build with. Bacon had a genius for
these sciences: his _Scientia perspectiva_ is no mere compilation, and no
work used by him presented either a theory of force or of vision,
containing as many adumbrations of later theorizing.[644] Yet he fails to
cast off his obsession with the “spiritual meaning” and the utility of
science for theology. He discussed the composition of Adam’s body while in
a state of innocence,[645] a point that may seem no more tangible than
Thomas’s reasonings upon the movements of Angels, which Bacon ridicules.
Again in his _Optics_, after an interesting discussion of refraction and
reflection, he cannot forego a consideration of the spiritual
significations of refracted rays.[646] Even his discussion of experimental
science has touches of mediaevalism, which are peculiarly dissonant in
this most original and “advanced” product of Bacon’s genius, which now
must be considered more specifically.

The speculative intellect of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was so
widely absorbed with the matter and methods of the dominant scholasticism,
that no one is likely to think of the eminent scholastics as isolated
phenomena. Plainly they were but as the highest peaks which somewhat
overtop the other mountains, through whose aggregation and support they
were lifted to their supreme altitude. But with Bacon the danger is real
lest he seem separate and unsupported; for the influences which helped to
make him are not over-evident. Yet he did not make himself. The directing
of his attention to linguistics is sufficiently accounted for by the
influence of Grosseteste and others, who had inaugurated the study of
Greek, and perhaps Hebrew at Oxford. As for physics or optics, others also
were interested--or there would have been no translations of Greek and
Arabic treatises for him to use;[647] and in mathematics there was a
certain older contemporary, Jordanus Nemorarius (not to mention Leonardo
Fibonacci), who far overtopped him. It is safe to assume that in the
thirteenth, as in the twelfth and previous centuries, there were men who
studied the phenomena of nature. But they have left scant record. A period
is remembered by those features of its main accomplishment which are not
superseded or obliterated by the further advance of later times. Nothing
has obliterated the work of the scholastics for those who may still care
for such reasonings; and Aquinas to-day holds sway in the Roman Catholic
Church. On the other hand, the sparse footprints of the mediaeval men who
essayed the paths of natural science have long since been trodden out by
myriad feet passing far beyond them, along those ways. Yet there were
these wayfarers, who made little stir in their own time, and have long
been well forgotten. Had it not been for the letter from Pope Clement,
Bacon himself might be among them; and only his writings keep from utter
oblivion the name of an individual who, according to Bacon, carried the
practice of “experimental science” further than he could hope to do. It
may be fruitful to approach Bacon’s presentation of this science, or
scientific method, through his references to this extraordinary Picard,
named Peter of Maharncuria, or Maricourt.

In the _Opus tertium_, Bacon has been considering optics and mathematics,
and has spoken of this Peter as proficient in them; and thus he opens
chapter xiii., which is devoted to the _scientia experimentalis_:

    “But beyond these sciences is one more perfect than all, which all
    serve, and which in a wonderful way certifies them all: this is called
    the experimental science, which neglects arguments, since they do not
    make certain, however strong they may be, unless at the same time
    there is present the _experientia_ of the conclusion. Experimental
    science teaches _experiri_, that is, to test, by observation or
    experiment, the lofty conclusions of all sciences.” This science none
    but Master Peter knows.

By following the text further, we may be able to appreciate what Bacon
will shortly say of him:

    “Another dignity of this science is that it attests these noble truths
    in terms of the other sciences, which they cannot prove or
    investigate: like the prolongation of human life; for this truth is in
    terms of medicine, but the art of medicine never extends itself to
    this truth, nor is there anything about it in medical treatises. But
    the _fidelis experimentator_ has considered that the eagle, and the
    stag, and the serpent, and the phoenix prolong life, and renew their
    youth, and knows that these things are given to brutes for the
    instruction of men. Wherefore he has thought out noble plans (_vias
    nobiles_) with this in view, and has commanded alchemy to prepare a
    body of like constitution (_aequalis complexionis_), that he may use
    it.”

It may be pertinent to our estimate of Bacon’s experimental science to
query where the _experimentator_ ever observed an eagle or a phoenix
renewing its youth, outside of the _Physiologus_?

    “The third dignity of this science is that it does not accept truths
    in terms of the other sciences, yet uses them as handmaids.... And
    this science attests all natural and artificial data specifically and
    in the proper province, _per experientiam perfectam_; not through
    arguments, like the purely speculative sciences, and not through weak
    and imperfect _experientias_, like the operative sciences (_scientiae
    operativae_).[648] So this is the mistress of all, and the goal of all
    speculation. But it requires great expenditures for its prosecution;
    Aristotle, by Alexander’s authority, besides those whom he used at
    home _in experientia_, sent many thousands of men through the world to
    examine (_ad experiendum_) the natures and properties of all things,
    as Pliny tells. And certainly to set on fire at any distance would
    cost more than a thousand marks, before adequate glasses could be
    prepared; but they would be worth an army against the Turks and
    Saracens. For the perfect experimenter could destroy any hostile force
    by this combustion through the sun’s rays. This is a marvellous thing,
    yet there are many other things more wonderful in this science; but
    very few people are devoted to it, from lack of money. I know but one,
    who deserves praise for the prosecution of its works; he cares not for
    wordy controversies, but prosecutes the works of wisdom, and in them
    rests. So what others as purblind men try to see, like bats in the
    twilight, he views in the full brightness of day, because he is
    _dominus experimentorum_. He knows natural matters _per experientiam_,
    and those of medicine and alchemy, and all things celestial and below.
    He is ashamed if any layman, or old woman, or knight, or rustic, knows
    what he does not. He has studied everything in metal castings, and
    gold and silver work, and the use of other metals and minerals; he
    knows everything pertaining to war and arms and hunting; he has
    examined into agriculture and surveying; also into the experiments and
    fortune-tellings of old women, knows the spells of wizards; likewise
    the tricks and devices of jugglers. In fine, nothing escapes him that
    he ought to know, and he knows how to expose the frauds of magic.”

It is impossible to complete philosophy, usefully and with certitude,
without Peter; but he is not to be had for a price; he could have had
every honour from princes; and if he wished to publish his works, the
whole world of Paris would follow him. But he cares not a whit for honours
or riches, though he could get them any time he chose through his wisdom.
This man has worked at such a burning-glass for three years, and soon will
perfect it by the grace of God.

There is a great deal of Roger Bacon in these curious passages; much of
his inductive genius, much of his sanguine hopefulness, not to say
inventive imagination; and enough of his credulity. No one ever knew or
could perform all he ascribes to this astounding Peter, from whom,
apparently, there is extant a certain intelligent treatise upon the
magnet.[649] And as for those burning-glasses, or possibly reflectors, by
which distant fleets and armies should be set afire--did they ever exist?
Did Archimedes ever burn with them the Roman ships at Syracuse? Were they
ever more than a myth? It is, at all events, safe to say that no device
from the hand and brain of Peter of Maharncuria ever threatened Turk or
Saracen.

It is knowledge that gives insight. Modern critical methods amount chiefly
to this, that we know more. Bacon did not have such knowledge of animal
physiology as would assure him of the absurdity of the notion that an
eagle or any animal could renew its youth. Nor did he know enough to
realise the vast improbability of Greek philosophers drawing their
knowledge from the books of Hebrew prophets. And one sees how loose must
have been the practice, or the dreams, of his “experimental science.” His
fundamental conception seems to waver: _Scientia experimentalis_, is it a
science, or is it a means and method universally applicable to all
scientific investigation? The sciences serve it as handmaids, says Bacon;
and he also says, that it alone can test and certify, make sure and
certain, the conclusions of the other sciences. Perhaps he thought it the
master-key fitting all the doors of knowledge; and held that all sciences,
so far as possible, should proceed from experience, through further
observation and experiment. But he has not said quite this.

He is little to be blamed for his vagueness, and greatly to be admired for
having reached his possibly inconsistent conception. Observation and
experiment were as old as human thought upon human experience. And Albert
the Great says that the conclusions of all sciences should be tested by
them. But he evinces no formal conception of either an experimental
science or method; though he has much to say as to logic, and ponderously
considers whether it is a science or the means or method of all
sciences.[650] Herein he is discussing consciously with respect to logic,
the very point as to which Bacon, in respect to experimental science,
rather unconsciously wavers: is it a science, and almost the queen? Or is
it the true scientific method to be followed by all sciences when
applicable?[651] Bacon had no high regard for the study of logic, deeming
that the thoughts of untaught men naturally followed its laws.[652] This
was doubtless true, and just as true, moreover, of experimental science
as of logic. The one and the other were built up from the ways of the
common man and universal processes of thought. Yet the logic of the
trained mind is the surer; and so experimental science may reach out
beyond the crude observations of unscientific men.

Manifestly with Roger Bacon the _scientia experimentalis_ held the place
which logic held with Albert, or queenly dialectic with Abaelard. He
repeats himself continually in stating its properties and prerogatives,
yet without advancing to greater clearness of conception. _Pars sexta_ of
the _Opus majus_ is devoted to it: and we may take one last glance to see
whether the statements there throw any further light upon the matter.

    “The roots of the wisdom of the Latins having been placed and set in
    Languages, Mathematics, and Perspective, I now wish to re-examine
    these _radices_ from the side of _scientia experimentalis_; because,
    without _experientia_ nothing can be known adequately. There are two
    modes of arriving at knowledge (_cognoscendi_), to wit, argument and
    _experimentum_. Argument draws a conclusion and forces us to concede
    it, but does not make it certain or remove doubt, so that the mind may
    rest in the perception of truth, unless the mind find truth by the way
    of experience.”

And Bacon says, as illustration, that you could never by mere argument
convince a man that fire would burn; also that “in spite of the
demonstration of the properties of an equilateral triangle, the mind would
not stick to the conclusion _sine experientia_.”

After referring to Aristotle, and adducing some examples of foolish things
believed by learned and common men alike, because they had not applied the
tests of observation, he concludes: “Oportet ergo omnia certificari per
viam experientiae.” He continues with something unexpected:

    “_Sed duplex est experientia_: one is through the external senses, and
    thus those _experimenta_ take place which are made through suitable
    instruments in astronomy, and by the tests of observation as to things
    below. And whatever like matters may not be observed by us, we know
    from other wise men who have observed them. This _experientia_ is
    human and philosophical; but it is not sufficient for man, because it
    does not give plenary assurance as to things corporeal; and as to
    things spiritual it reaches nothing. The intellect of man needs other
    aid, and so the holy patriarchs and prophets, who first gave the
    sciences to the world, received inner illuminations and did not stand
    on sense alone. Likewise many believers after Christ. For the grace of
    faith illuminates much, and divine inspirations, not only in spiritual
    but corporeal things, and in the sciences of philosophy. As Ptolemy
    says, the way of coming to a knowledge of things is duplex, one
    through the _experientia_ of philosophy, and the other through divine
    inspiration, which is much better.”[653]

Any doubt as to the religious and Christian meaning of the last passage is
removed by Bacon’s statement of the

    “seven grades of this inner science: the first is through
    _illuminationes pure scientiales_; the next consists in virtues, for
    the bad man is ignorant; ... the third is in the seven gifts of the
    Holy Spirit, which Isaiah enumerates; the fourth is in the beatitudes
    which the Lord defines in the Gospel; the fifth is in the _sensibus
    spiritualibus_; the sixth is in _fructibus_, from which is the peace
    of God which passes _omnem sensum_; the seventh consists in raptures
    (_in raptibus_) and their modes, as in various ways divers men have
    been enraptured, so that they saw many things which it is not lawful
    for man to tell. And who is diligently exercised in these experiences,
    or some of them, can certify both to himself and others not only as to
    spiritual things, but as to all human sciences.”[654]

These utterances are religious, and bring us back to the religious, or
practical, motive of Bacon’s entire endeavour after knowledge: knowledge
should have its utility, its practical bearing; and the ultimate utility
is that which promotes a sound and saving knowledge of God. The true
method of research, says Bacon in the _Compendium studii_,

    “... is to study first what properly comes first in any science, the
    easier before the more difficult, the general before the particular,
    the less before the greater. The student’s business should lie in
    chosen and useful topics, because life is short; and these should be
    set forth with clearness and certitude, which is impossible without
    _experientia_. Because, although we know through three means,
    authority, reason, and _experientia_, yet authority is not wise
    unless its reason be given (_auctoritas non sapit nisi detur ejus
    ratio_), nor does it give knowledge, but belief. We believe, but do
    not know, from authority. Nor can reason distinguish sophistry from
    demonstration, unless we know that the conclusion is attested by facts
    (_experiri per opera_). Yet the fruits of study are insignificant at
    the present time, and the secret and great matters of wisdom are
    unknown to the crowd of students.”[655]

It is as with an echo of this thought, that Bacon begins the second
chapter of his exposition of experimental science in the sixth part of the
_Opus majus_, from which we have but now withdrawn our attention. He
anxiously reiterates what he has already said more than once, as to the
properties and prerogatives of this _scientia experimentalis_. Then he
gives his most interesting and elaborate example of its application in the
investigation of the rainbow, an example too lengthy and too difficult to
reproduce. In stating the three prerogatives, he makes but slight change
of phrasing; yet his restatement of the last of them:--“The third
_dignitas_ of this science is that it investigates the secrets of nature
by its own competency and out of its own qualities, irrespective of any
connection with the other sciences,”--signifies an autonomous science,
rather than a method applicable to all investigation. The illustrations
which Bacon now gives, range free indeed; yet in the main relate to
“useful discoveries” as one might say: to ever-burning lamps, Greek fire,
explosives, antidotes for poison, and matters useful to the Church and
State. Along these lines of discovery through experiment, Bacon lets his
imagination travel and lead him on to surmises of inventions that long
after him were realised. “Machines for navigating are possible without
rowers, like great ships suited to river or ocean, going with greater
velocity than if they were full of rowers: likewise wagons may be moved
_cum impetu inaestimabili_, as we deem the chariots of antiquity to have
been. And there may be flying machines, so made that a man may sit in the
middle of the machine and direct it by some devise: and again, machines
for raising great weights.”[656] The modern reality has outdone this
mediaeval dream.



CHAPTER XLII

DUNS SCOTUS AND OCCAM


The thirteenth century was a time of potent Church unity, when the papacy,
triumphant over emperors and kings, was drawing further strength from the
devotion of the two Orders, who were renewing the spiritual energies of
Western Christendom. Scholasticism was still whole and unbroken, in spite
of Roger Bacon, who attacked its methods with weapons of his own forging,
yet asserting loudly the single-eyed subservience of all the sciences to
theology. This assertion from a man of Bacon’s views, was as vain as the
_Unam sanctam_ of Pope Boniface VIII., fulminated in 1302, arrogating for
the papacy every power on earth. In earlier decades such pretensions had
been almost acquiesced in; but the _Unam sanctam_ was a senile outcry from
a papacy vanquished by the new-grown power of the French king, sustained
by the awakening of a French nation.

The opening years of the fourteenth century, so fatal for the papacy, were
also portentous for scholasticism. The _Summa_ of Thomas was impugned by
Joannes Duns Scotus, whose entire work, constructive as well as critical,
was impressed with qualities of finality, signifying that in the forms of
reasoning represented by him as well as Thomas, thought should advance no
farther. Bacon’s attack upon scholastic methods had proved abortive from
its tactlessness and confusion, and because men did not care for, and
perhaps did not understand, his arguments. It was not so with the
arguments of Duns Scotus. Throughout the academic world, thought still was
set to chords of metaphysics; and although men had never listened to quite
such dialectic orchestration as Duns provided, they liked it, perceived
its motives, and comprehended the meaning of its themes. So his generation
understood and appreciated him. That he was the beginning of the end of
the scholastic system, could not be known until the manner of that ending
had disclosed itself more fully. We, however, discern the symptoms of
scholastic dissolution in his work. His criticism of his predecessors was
disintegrating, even when not destructive. His own dialectic was so
surpassingly intricate and dizzy that, like the choir of Beauvais, it
might some day collapse. With Duns Scotus, scholasticism reasoned itself
out of human reach. And with him also, the wholeness of the scholastic
purpose finally broke. For he no longer maintained the union of
metaphysics and theology. The latter, to be sure, was valid absolutely;
but, from a speculative, it has become a practical science. It neither
draws its principles from metaphysics, nor subordinates the other
sciences--all human knowledge--to its service. Although rational in
content, it possesses proofs stronger than dialectic, and stands on
revelation.

There had always been men who maintained similar propositions. But it was
quite another matter that the severance between metaphysics and theology
should be demonstrated by a prodigious metaphysical theologian after a
different view had been carried to its farthest reaches by the great
Aquinas. Henceforth philosophy and theology were set on opposite
pinnacles, only with theology’s pinnacle the higher. In spite of the last
circumstance, the coming time showed that men cannot for long possess in
peace two standards of truth--philosophy and revelation; but will be
driven to hold to the one and ignore the other. By breaking the rational
union of philosophy and theology, Duns Scotus prepared the way for Occam.
The latter also asserts vociferously the superiority of the divine truth
over human knowledge and its reasonings. But the popes are at Avignon, and
the Christian world no longer bows down before those willing Babylonian
captives. Under such a blasted condition of the Church, how should any
inclusive Christian synthesis of thought and faith be maintained?

Duns Scotus[657] could not have been what he was, had he not lived after
Thomas. He was indeed the pinnacle of scholasticism; set upon all the
rest. Yet this pinnacle had its more particular supports--or antecedents.
And their special line may be noted without intending thereby to suggest
that the influences affecting the thought of Duns Scotus did not include
all the men he heard or read, and criticised.

That Duns Scotus was educated at Oxford, and became a Franciscan, and not
a Dominican, had done much to set the lines of thought reflected in his
doctrines. Anselm of Aosta, of Bec, of Canterbury, had been an
intellectual force in England. Duns was strongly influenced by his bold
realism, by his emphasis upon the power and freedom of the will, and by
his doctrine of the atonement.[658] But Anselm also affected Scotus
indirectly through the English worthy who stands between them.

This, of course, was Robert Grosseteste, to whom we have had occasion to
refer, yet, despite of his intrinsic worth, always in relation to his
effect on others. He was a great man; in his day a many-sided force,
strong in the business of Church and State, strong in censuring and
bridling the wicked, strong in the guidance of the young university of
Oxford, and a mighty friend of the Franciscan Order, then establishing
itself there. To his pupils, and their pupils apparently, he was a
fruitful inspiration; yet the historian of thought may be less interested
in the master than in certain of these pupils who brought to explicit form
divers matters which in Grosseteste seem to have been but inchoate.[659]
One thinks immediately of Roger Bacon, who was his pupil; and then of
Duns, the metaphysician, who possibly may have listened to some aged pupil
of Grosseteste. In different ways, Duns as well as Bacon took much from
the master. And it is possible to see how the great teacher and bishop
may have incited the genius of Scotus as well as that of Bacon to perform
its task. For Grosseteste was a rarely capable and clear-eyed man, honest
and resolute, who with the entire strength of a powerful personality
insisted upon going to the heart of every proposition, and testing its
validity by the surest means obtainable. By virtue of his training and
intellectual inheritance, he was an Augustinian and a Platonist; a
successor of Anselm, rather than a predecessor of the great Dominican
Aristotelians. He was accordingly an emphatic realist, yet one who would
co-ordinate the reality of his “universals” with the reality of
experience. Even had he not been an Augustinian, such a masterful
character would have realised the power of the human will, and felt the
practical insistencies of the _art_ of human salvation, which was the
_science_ of theology.

Views like these prevailed at Oxford. They may be found clearly stated by
Richard of Middleton, an Oxford Franciscan somewhat older than Duns
Scotus. He declares that theology is a practical science, and emphasises
the primacy and freedom of the will. _Voluntas est nobilissima potentia in
anima._ Again: _Voluntas simpliciter nobilior est quam intellectus_: the
intellect indeed goes before the Will, as the servant who carries the
candle before his lord. So the idea of the Good, toward which the Will
directs itself, is higher than that of the True, which is the object of
the mind; and loving is greater than knowing.[660] Roger Bacon had also
held that Will (_Voluntas_) was higher than the knowing faculty
(_intellectus_); and so did Henry of Ghent,[661] a man of the Low
Countries, _doctor solemnis_ hight, and a ruling spirit at the Paris
University in the latter part of the thirteenth century. Many of his
doctrines substantially resembled those of Scotus, although attacked by
him.

So we seem to see the pit in which Duns may have digged. This man, who was
no mere _fossor_, but a builder, and might have deserved the name of
Poliorcetes, as the overthrower of many bulwarks, has left few traces of
himself, beyond his twenty tomes of metaphysics, which contain no personal
references to their author. The birthplace of Johannes Duns Scotus,
whether in Scotland, England or Ireland, is unknown. The commonly accepted
date, 1274, probably should be abandoned for an earlier year. It is known
that he was a Franciscan, and that the greater part of his life as student
and teacher was passed at Oxford. In a letter of commendation, written by
the General of his Order in 1304, he is already termed _subtilissimus_. He
was then leaving for Paris, where, two or three years later, in 1307, he
was made a Doctor. The following year he was sent to Cologne, and there he
died an enigmatical death on November 8, 1308. Report has it that he was
buried alive while in a trance.[662] Probably there was little to tell of
the life of Duns Scotus. His personality, as well as his career, seems
completely included and exhausted in his works. Yet back of them, besides
a most acutely reasoning mind, lay an indomitable will. The man never
faltered in his labour any more than his reasoning wavered in its
labyrinthic course to its conclusions. His learning was complete: he knew
the Bible and the Fathers; he was a master of theology, of philosophy, of
astronomy, and mathematics.

The constructive processes of his genius appear to issue out of the action
of its critical energies. Duns was the most penetrating critic produced by
scholasticism. Whatever he considered from the systems of other men he
subjected to tests that were apt to leave the argument in tatters. No
logical inconsequence escaped him. And when every point had been examined
with respect to its rational consistency, this dialectic genius was
inclined to bring the matter to the bar of psychological experience. On
the other hand he was a churchman, holding that even as Scripture and
dogma were above question, so were the decrees of the Church, God’s
sanctioned earthly _Civitas_.

Having thus tested whatever was presented by human reason, and accepting
what was declared by Scripture or the Church, Duns proceeds to build out
his doctrine as the case may call for. No man ever drove either
constructive logic or the subtilties of critical distinctions closer to
the limits of human comprehension or human patience than Duns Scotus. And
here lies the trouble with him. The endless ramification and refinement
of his dialectic, his devious processes of conclusion, make his work a
_reductio ad absurdum_ of scholastic ways of reasoning. Logically,
eristically, the argumentation is inerrant. It never wanders aimlessly,
but winding and circling, at last it reaches a conclusion from some point
unforeseen. Would you run a course with this master of the syllogism? If
you enter _his_ lists, you are lost. The right way to attack him, is to
stand without, and laugh. That is what was done afterwards, when whoever
cared for such reasonings was called a _Dunce_, after the name of this
most subtle of mediaeval metaphysicians.

Thus a man is judged by his form and method, and by the bulk of his
accomplishment. Form, method, bulk of accomplishment, with Scotus were
preposterous. When the taste or mania for such dialectics passed away,
this kind of form, this maze of method, this hopelessness of bulk, made an
unfit vehicle for a philosophy of life. Men would not search it through to
find the living principles. Yet living principles were there; or, at
least, tenable and consistent views. The main positions of Duns Scotus,
some of which he held in opposition to Thomas, may strike us as quite
reasonable: we may be inclined to agree with him. Perhaps it will surprise
us to find sane doctrine so well hidden in such dialectic.

He held, for example, that there is no real difference between the soul
and its faculties. Thomas never demonstrated the contrary quite
satisfactorily. Again, Duns Scotus was a realist: the Idea exists, since
it is conceived. For the intellect is passive, and is moved by the
intelligible. Therefore the Universal must be a something, in order to
occasion the conception of it. Thus the reality of the concept proves the
actuality of the Idea.[663] Duns adds further explanations and
distinctions regarding the actuality of universals, which are somewhat
beyond the comprehension of the modern mind. But one may remark that he
reaches his views of the actuality of universals through analysis of the
processes of thought. Sense-perception occasions the Idea in us; there
must exist some objective correspondence to our general concepts, as there
must also be in things some objective correspondence to our perception of
them as individuals, whereby they become to us this or that individual
thing. Such individual objectivity is constituted by the _thisness_ of the
thing, its _haecceitas_ which is to be contra-distinguished from its
general essence, to wit, its _whatness_, or _quidditas_. Duns holds that
we think individual things directly as we think abstract Ideas; and so
their _haecceitas_ is as true an object of our thought as their
_quidditas_. This seems a reasonable conclusion, seeing that the
individual and not the type is the final end of creation. So our
conceptions prove for us the actuality both of the universal and the
concrete; and the proof of one and the other is rooted in
sense-perception.

Nothing was of greater import with Duns than the doctrine of the primacy
of the Will over the intellect. Duns supports it with intricate argument.
The soul in substance is identical with its faculties; but the latter are
formally distinguishable from it and from each other. Knowing and willing
are faculties or properties of the soul. The will is purely spiritual, and
to be distinguished from sense-appetite: the will, and the will alone, is
free; absolutely undetermined by any cause beyond itself. Even the
intellect, that is the knowing faculty, is determined from without.
Although some cognition precedes the act of willing, the will is not
determined by cognition, but uses it. So the will, being free, is higher
than the intellect. It is the will that constitutes man’s greatness; it
raises him above nature, and liberates him from her coercions. Not the
intellect, but the will directs itself toward the goal of blessedness, and
is the subject of the moral virtues. Such seems to be Duns’s main
position; but he distinguishes and refines the matter beyond the limits of
our comprehension.[664]

Another fundamental doctrine with Duns Scotus is that theology is not a
speculative, but a practical, science--a position which Duns
unfortunately disproved with his tomes of metaphysics! But in spite of the
personal _reductio ad absurdum_ of his argument, the position taken by him
betokens the breaking up of the scholastic system. The subject of
theology, at least for men, is the revelation of God contained in
Scripture. “Holy Scripture is a kind of knowledge (_quaedam notitia_)
divinely given in order to direct men to a supernatural end--_in finem
supernaturalem_.”[665] The knowledge revealed in Scripture relates to
God’s free will and ordainment for man; which is, that man should attain
blessedness. Therefore the truths of Scripture are practical, having an
end in view; they are such as are necessary for Salvation. The Church has
authority to declare the meaning of Scripture, and supplement it through
its Catholic tradition.

Is theology, then, properly a science? Duns will not deny it; but thinks
it may more properly be called a _sapientia_, since according to its
nature, it is rather a knowledge of principles than a method of
conclusions. It consists in knowledge of God directly revealed. Therefore
its principles are not those of the human sciences: for example, it does
not accept its principles from metaphysics, although that science treats
of much that is contained in theology. Nor are the sciences--we can hardly
say the _other_ sciences--subordinated to it; since their province is
natural knowledge obtained through natural means. Theology, if it be a
science, is one apart from the rest. The knowledge which makes its
substance is never its end, but always means to its end; which is to say,
that it is practical and not speculative. By virtue of its primacy as well
as character, theology pertains to the Will, and works itself out in
practice: practical alike are its principles and conclusions. Apparently,
with Duns, theology is a science only in this respect, that its substance,
which is most rational, may be logically treated with a view to a complete
and consistent understanding of it.[666]

In entire consistency with these fundamental views, Duns held that man’s
supreme beatitude lay in the complete and perfect functioning of his will
in accordance with the will of God. This was a strong and noble view of
man, free to think and act and will and love, according to the will, and
aided by the Grace, of the Creator of his will and mind. The trouble lay,
as said before, in the method by which all was set forth and proved. The
truly consequent person who made theology a practical matter, was such a
one as Francis of Assisi, with his ceaselessly-burning Christlike love
actualizing itself in living act and word--or possibly such a one as
Bonaventura with his piety. But can it ever seem other than fantastic, to
state this principle, and then bulwark it with volumes of dialectic and a
metaphysics beyond the grasp of human understanding? Not from such does
one learn to do the will of God. This was scarcely the way to make good
the ultimate practical character of religion, as against Thomas’s frankly
intellectual view. Duns is as intellectual as Thomas; but Thomas is the
more consistent. And shall we say, that with Duns all makes toward God, as
the final end, through the strong action of the human will and love? So be
it--Thomas said, through intellection and through love. Again one queries,
did the Scotian reasoning ever foster love?

And then Duns set theology apart,--and supreme. Again, so be it. Let the
impulsive religion of the soul assert its primacy. But this was not the
way of Duns. Theology and philosophy do not rest on the same principles,
says he; but how does he demonstrate it? By substantiating this severance
by means of metaphysical dialectic, and using the same dialectic and the
same metaphysics to prove that theology can do without either. Not by
dialectic and metaphysics can theology free itself from them, and set
itself on other foundations.

Duns Scotus exerted great influence, both directly and through the
reaction occasioned by certain of his teachings. The next generations were
full of Scotists, who were proud if only they might be reputed more subtle
than their master. They succeeded in becoming more inane. There were other
men, whom the critical processes of Duns led to deny the validity of his
constructive metaphysics. Of those who profited by his teaching, yet
represented this reaction against parts of it, the ablest was the
Franciscan, William of Occam, a man but few years younger than Duns. He
was born in England, in the county of Surrey; and studied under Duns at
Paris. It is known that in 1320 he was lecturing with distinction at this
centre of intellectual life. Three years afterward, he quitted his chair,
and in the controversies then rending his Order, hotly espoused the cause
of the _Spirituales_--the Franciscans who would carry out the precepts of
Francis to the letter. Next, he threw himself with all the ardour of his
temper into the conflict with the papacy, and became the literary champion
of the rights of the State. He was cited before the pope, and imprisoned
at Avignon, but escaped, in 1328, and fled to the Court of the emperor,
Louis of Bavaria, to whom, as the accounts declare, he addressed the proud
word: _Tu me defendas gladio, ego te defendam calamo_. He died about 1347.

The succession, as it were, of Occam to Duns Scotus, is of great interest.
It was portentous for scholasticism. The pupil, for pupil in large measure
he was, profited by the critical methods and negations of the master. But
he denied the validity of the metaphysical constructions whereby Duns
sought to rebuild what his criticism had cast down or shaken. Especially,
Occam would not accept the subtle Doctor’s fabrication of an external
world in accord with the apparent necessities of thought. For with all
Duns’s critical insistency, never did a man more unhesitatingly make a
universe to fit the syllogistic processes of his reason, projected into
the external world. Here Occam would not follow him, as Aristotle would
not follow Plato.

It were well to consider more specifically these two sides of Occam’s
succession to Duns Scotus, shown in his acceptance and rejection of the
master’s teaching. He followed him, of course, in emphasising the
functions of the will; and accepted the conception of theology as
practical, and not speculative, in its ends; and, like Duns, he
distinguished, nay rather, severed, theology from philosophy, widening the
cleft between them. If, with Duns, theology was still, in a sense, a
science; with Occam it could hardly be called one. Although Duns denied
that theology was to be controlled by principles drawn from metaphysics,
he laboured to produce a metaphysical counterfeit, wherein theology,
founded on revelation and church law, should present a close parallel to
what it would have been, had its controlling principles been those of
metaphysics. Occam quite as resolutely as his master, proves the
untenability of current theological reasonings. More unreservedly than
Duns, he interdicts the testing of theology by reason: and goes beyond him
in restricting the sphere of rationally demonstrable truth, denying, for
instance, that reason can demonstrate God’s unity, infinity, or even
existence. Unlike Duns, he would not attempt to erect a quasi-scientific
theology, in the place of the systems he rejects. To make up for this
negative result, Occam asserted the verity of Scripture unqualifiedly, as
Duns also did. With Occam, Scripture, revelation, is absolutely
infallible, neither requiring nor admitting the proofs of reason. To be
sure he co-ordinates with it the Law of Nature, which God has implanted in
our minds. But otherwise theology, faith, stands alone, very isolated,
although on the alleged most certain of foundations. The provinces of
science and faith are different. Faith’s assent is not required for what
is known through evidence; science does not depend on faith. Nor does
faith or theology depend on _scientia_. And since, without faith, no one
can assent to those verities which are to be believed (_veritatibus
credibilibus_), there is no _scientia proprie dicta_ respecting them. So
the breach in the old scholastic, Thomist, unity was made utter and
irreparable. Theology stands on the surest of bases, but isolated,
unsupported; philosophy, all human knowledge, extends around and below
it, and is discredited because irrelevant to highest truth.

Thus far as to Occam’s loyal and rebellious succession to the theology of
Duns. In philosophy, it was much the same. He accepted his critical
methods, but would not follow him in his constructive metaphysics.
Although the older man was pre-eminently a metaphysician, the critical
side of his intellect drew empiric processes within the sweep of its
energies. Occam, unconvinced of the correspondence between the logic of
concepts and the facts of the external world, seeks to limit the
principles of the former to the processes of the mind. Accordingly, he
rejects the inferences of the Scotian dialectic which project themselves
outward, as proofs of the objective existence of abstract or general
ideas. It is thus from a more thoroughgoing application of the Scotian
analysis of mental processes, and a more thoroughgoing testing of the
evidence furnished by experience, that Occam refuses to recognise the
existence of universals save in the mind, where evidently they are
necessary elements of thinking. Manifestly, he is striving very earnestly
not to go beyond the evidence; and he is also striving to eliminate all
unevidenced and unnecessary elements, and those chimeras of the mind,
which become actual untruths when posited as realities of the outer world.

Such were the motives of Occam’s far from simple theory of cognition. In
it, mental perceptions, or cognitions, were regarded as symbols (_signa_,
_termini_) of the objects represented by them. They are natural, as
contrasted with the artificial symbols of speech and writing. They fall
into three classes; first, sense-perception of the concrete object, and
thirdly, so to speak, the abstract concept representative of many objects,
or of some ideal figment or quality. Intermediate between the two, Occam
puts _notitia intuitiva_, which relates to the existence of concrete
things. It serves as a basis for the cognition of their combinations and
relationships, and forms a necessary antecedent to abstract knowledge.
_Notitia abstractiva praesupponit intuitivam._[667] Occam holds that
_notitia intuitiva_ presents the concrete thing as it exists. Otherwise
with abstract or general concepts. They are _signa_ of mental
presentations, or processes; and there is no ground for transferring them
to the world of outer realities. Their existence is confined to the mind,
where they are formed from the common elements of other _signa_,
especially those of our _notitia intuitiva_. “And so,” says Occam, “the
genus is not common to many things through any sameness _in them_, but
through the common nature (_communitatem_) of the _signum_, by which the
same _signum_ is common to many things signified.”[668] These universals
furnish predicates for our judgments, since through them we conceive of
realities as containing a common element of nature. They are not mere
words; but have a real existence in the mind, where they perform functions
essential to thinking. Indirectly, through their bases of _notitiae
intuitivae_, they even reflect outer realities. “The Universal is no mere
figment, to which there is no correspondence of anything like it (_cui non
correspondet aliquod consimile_) in objective being, as that is figured in
the thinker.”

It results from the foregoing argument, that science, ordered knowledge,
which seeks co-ordination and unity, has not to do with things; but with
propositions, its object being that which is known, rather than that which
is. Things are singular, while science treats of general ideas, which are
only in the mind. “It should be understood, that any science, whether
_realis_ or _rationalis_, is only concerned with propositions
(_propositionibus_); because propositions alone are known.”[669]

It was not so very great a leap from the realism of Duns, which ascribed a
certain objective existence to general ideas, to the nominalism, or rather
conceptualism, of Occam, which denied it, yet recognised the real
existence and necessary functions of universals, in the mind. The
metaphysically proved realities of Duns were rather spectral, and Occam’s
universals, subjective though they were, lived a real and active life. One
feels that the realities of Duns’s metaphysics scarcely extended beyond
the thinker’s mind. In many respects Occam’s philosophy was a strenuous
carrying out of Duns’s teachings; and when it was not, we see the younger
man pushed, or rather repelled, to the positions which he took, by the
unsatisfying metaphysics of his teacher. History shows other rebounds of
thought, which seem abrupt, and yet were consequential in the same dual
way that Occam’s doctrine followed that of Duns. Out of the Brahmin
Absolute came the Buddhist wheel of change; even as Parmenides was
followed hard by Heraclitus. And how often Atheism steps on Pantheism’s
heels!

Thus, developing, revising, and changing, Occam carried out the work of
Duns, and promulgated a theory of knowledge which pointed on to much later
phases of thinking. In his school he came to be called _venerabilis
inceptor_, a proper title for the man who shook loose from so much
previous thought, and became the source of so many novel views. He had,
indeed, little fear of novelty. “Novelties (_novitates_) are not
altogether to be rejected; but as what is old (_vetusta_), on becoming
burdensome, should be abolished, so novelties when, to the sound judgment,
they are useful, fruitful, necessary, expedient, are the more boldly to be
embraced.”[670]

It is not, however, as the inceptor of new philosophies or of novel views
on the relations between State and Papacy that we are viewing Occam here
at the close of this long presentation of the ultimate intellectual
interests of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But rather as the man
who represented the ways in which the old was breaking up, and embodied
the thoughts rending the scholastic system; who even was a factor in the
palpable decadence of scholastic thinking that had set in before his eyes
were closed. For from him came a new impulse to a renewed overstudy of
formal logic--with Thomas, for example, logic had but filled its proper
rôle. Withdrawing from metaphysics the matter pertaining to the problem of
universals and much more besides, Occam transferred the same to logic,
which he called _omnium artium aptissimum instrumentum_.[671] This
reinstatement of logic as the instrument and means of all knowledge was to
be the perdition of emptier-minded men, who felt no difference between
philosophy and the war of words. And in this respect at least the
decadence of scholasticism took its inception from this bold and virile
mind which had small reverence for popes or for the idols of the schools.
We shall not follow the lines of this decay, but simply notice where they
start.

In the growth and decline of thought, things so go hand in hand that it is
hard to say what draws and what is drawn. In the scholastic decadence, the
preposterous use of logic was a palpable element. Yet was it cause or
effect? Obviously both. Scholasticism was losing its grasp of life; and
the universities in the fourteenth century were crowded with men whose
minds mistook words for thoughts; and because of this they gave themselves
to hypertrophic logic. On the other hand, this windy study promoted the
increasing emptiness of philosophy.

Likewise, as cause and effect, inextricably bound together, the other
factors work, and are worked upon. The number of universities increases;
professors and students multiply; but there is an awful dearth of thinkers
among them. There ceases even to be a thorough knowledge of the scholastic
systems; men study from compendia; and thereby remain most deeply
ignorant, and unfecundated by the thoughts of their forbears. Cause and
effect again! We can hardly blame them, when tomes and encyclopaedias were
being heaped mountain high, with life crushed beneath the monstrous pile,
or escaping from it. But whether cause or effect, the energies of study
slackened, and even rotted, both at the universities and generally among
the members of the two Student Orders, from whom had come the last
creators--and perhaps destroyers--of scholasticism.

Next: the language of philosophy deteriorated, becoming turbid with the
barbarisms of hair-splitting technicalities. Likewise the method of
presentation lost coherence and clarity. All of which was the result of
academic decadence, and promoted it.

So decay worked on within the system, each failing element being both
effect and cause, in a general subsidence of merit. There were also
causes, as it were, from without; which possibly were likewise effects of
this scholastic decay As the life of the world once had gone out of
paganism, and put on the new vigour of Christianity, so the life of the
world was now forsaking scholasticism, and deriding, shall we say, the
womb it had escaped from. Was the embryo ripe, that the womb had become
its mephitic prison? At all events, the fourteenth century brought forth,
and the next was filled with, these men who called the readers of Duns
Scotus _Dunces_--and the word still lives. Men had new thoughts; the power
of the popes was shattered, and within the Church, popes and councils
fought for supremacy; there was no longer any actual unity of the Church
to preserve the unity of thought; Wicliffe had risen; Huss and Luther were
close to the horizon; a new science of observation was also stirring, and
a new humanism was abroad. The life of men had not lessened nor their
energies and powers of thought. Yet life and power no longer pulsed and
wrought within the old forms; but had gone out from them, and disdainfully
were flouting the emptied husks.



CHAPTER XLIII

THE MEDIAEVAL SYNTHESIS: DANTE


It lies before us to draw the lines of mediaeval development together. We
have been considering the Middle Ages very largely, endeavouring to fix in
mind the more interesting of their intellectual and emotional phenomena.
We have found throughout a certain spiritual homogeneity; but have also
seen that the mediaeval period of western Europe is not to be forced to a
fictitious unity of intellectual and emotional quality--contradicted by a
disparity of traits and interests existing then as now. Yet just as
certain ways of discerning facts and estimating their importance
distinguish our own time, making it an “age” or epoch, so in spite of
diversity and conflict, the same was true of the mediaeval period. From
the ninth to the fourteenth century, inter-related processes of thought,
beliefs, and standards prevailed and imparted a spiritual colour to the
time. While not affecting all men equally, these spiritual habits tended
to dominate the minds and tempers of those men who were the arbiters of
opinion, for example, the church dignitaries, or the
theologian-philosophers. Men who thought effectively, or upon whom it fell
to decide for others, or to construct or imagine for them, such, whether
pleasure-loving, secularly ambitious, or immersed in contemplation of the
life beyond the grave, accepted certain beliefs, recognized certain
authoritatively prescribed ideals of conduct and well-being, and did not
reject the processes of proof supporting them.

The causes making the Middle Ages a characterizable period in human
history have been scanned. We observed the antecedent influences as they
finally took form and temper in the intellectual atmosphere of the
latter-day pagan world and the cognate mentalities of the Church Fathers.
We followed the pre-Christian Latinizing of Provence, Spain, Gaul, and the
diffusion of Christianity throughout the same countries, where, save for
sporadic dispossession, Christianity and Latin were to continue, and
become, in the course of centuries, mediaeval and Romance. As waves of
barbarism washed over the somewhat decadent society of Italy and her Latin
daughters, we saw a new ignorance setting a final seal upon the inability
of these epigoni to emulate bygone achievements. Plainly there was need of
effort to rescue the _disjecta membra_ of the antique and Christian
heritages. The wreckers were famous men, young Boëthius, old Cassiodorus,
the great pope Gregory, and princely Isidore. For their own people they
were gatherers and conservers; but they proved veritable transmitters for
Franks, Anglo-Saxons and Germans, who were made acquainted with
Christianity and Latinity between the sixth and the ninth centuries, the
period in the course of which the Merovingian kingdoms were superseded by
the Carolingian Empire.

With the Carolingian period the Middles Ages unquestionably are upon us.
The factors and material of mediaeval development, howsoever they have
come into conjunction, are found in interplay. It was for the mediaeval
peoples, now in presence of their spiritual fortunes, to grow and draw
from life. Their task, as has appeared from many points of view, was to
master the Christian and antique material, and change its substance into
personal faculty. Under different guises this task was for all, whether
living in Italy or dwelling where the antique had weaker root or had been
newly introduced.

This Carolingian time of so much sheer introduction to the teaching of the
past presented little intellectual discrimination. That would come very
gradually, when men had mastered their lesson and could set themselves to
further study of the parts suited to their taste. Nevertheless, there was
even in the Carolingian period another sort of discrimination, towards
which men’s consciences were drawn by the contrast between their antique
and Christian heritages, and because the latter held a criterion of
selection and rejection, touching all the elements of human life.

Whoever reflects upon his life and its compass of thought, of inclination,
of passion, action, and capacity for happiness or desolation, is likely to
consider how he may best harmonize its elements. He will have to choose
and reject; and within him may arise a conflict which he must bring to
reconcilement if he will have peace. He may need to sacrifice certain of
his impulses or even rational desires. As with a thoughtful individual, so
with thoughtful people of an epoch, among whom like standards of
discrimination may be found prevailing. The ninth century received, with
patristic Christianity, a standard of selection and rejection. In
conformity with it, men, century after century, were to make their choice,
and try to bring their lives to a discriminating unity and certain peace.
Yet in every mediaeval century the soul’s peace was broken in ways
demanding other modes of reconcilement.

What profiteth a man to gain the world and lose his eternal life? Here was
the Gospel basis of the matter. And, following their conception of
Christ’s teaching, the Fathers of the Church elaborated and defined the
conditions of attainment of eternal life with God, which was salvation.
This was man’s whole good, embracing every valid and righteous element of
life. Thus it had been with Christ; thus it was with Augustine; thus it
was with Benedict of Nursia and Gregory the Great; only in Benedict and
Gregory the salvation which represented the true and uncorrupt life of man
on earth, as well as the assured preparation for eternal life with God,
had shrunken from the universality of Christ, and even from the fulness of
desire with which Augustine sought to know God and the soul. In these
later men the conception of salvation had contracted through ascetic
exclusion and barbaric fear.

Yet with Benedict and Gregory, in whom there was much constructive sanity,
and indeed with all men who were not maniacally constrained, there was
recognition that salvation was of the mind as well as through faith and
love, or abhorrent fear. It is necessary to know the truth; and surely it
is absolutely good to desire to know the truth forever, without the
cumbrances of fleshly mortality. This desire is a true part of everlasting
life. Through it Origen, Hilary of Poictiers, Augustine largely, and after
them the great scholastics with Dante at their close, achieved salvation.

But why should one desire to know the truth utterly and forever, were not
the truth desirable, lovable? Naturally one loves that which through
desire and effort one has come to know. Love is required and also faith by
him who will have and know the salvation which is eternal life; the
emotions must take active part. Yet salvation comes not through the
unguided sense-desiderative nature. It is for reason to direct passionate
desire, and raise it to desire rationally approved, which is volition.

Thus salvation not only requires the action of the whole man, but is in
and of his entire nature. It presents a unity primarily because of its
agreement with the will of God, and then because of its unqualified and
universal insistence that it, salvation, life eternal, be set absolutely
first in man’s endeavour. What indeed could be more irrational, and more
loveless and faithless, than that any desire should prevail over the
entire good of man and the will of God as well? Oneness and peace consist
in singleness of purpose and endeavour for salvation. Herein lies the
standard of conduct and of discrimination as touching every element of
mortal life.

With mediaeval men, the application of the criterion of salvation depended
on how the will of God for man, and man’s accordant conduct, was
conceived. What kind of conduct, what elements of the intellectual and
emotional life were proper for the Kingdom of Heaven? What matters barred
the way, or were unfit for the eternal spiritual state? The history of
Christian thought lies within these queries. An authoritative consensus of
opinion was represented by the Church at large, holding from century to
century a _juste milieu_ of doctrine, by no means lax and yet not going to
ascetic extremes. Seemingly the Church maintained varying standards of
conduct for different orders of men. Yet in truth it was applying one
standard according to the responsibilities of individuals and their vows.

The Church (meaning, for our purpose, the authoritative consensus of
mediaeval ecclesiastical or religious approvals) always upheld as the
ideal of perfect living the religious life, led under the sanction and
guidance of some recognized monastic _regula_. So lived monks and nuns,
and in more extreme or sporadic instances, anchorites and _reclusae_. The
main peril of this strait and narrow path was its forsaking, the breaking
of its vows. Less austerely guarded and exposed to further dangers were
the secular clergy, living in the world, occupied with the care of lay
souls, and with other cares that hardly touched salvation. The world
avowedly, the flesh in reality, and the devil in all probability, beset
the souls of bishops and other clergy. In view of their exposed positions
“in the world,” a less austerely ascetic life was expected of the
seculars, whose lapses from absolute holiness God might--or perhaps might
not--condone.

Around, and for the most part below, regulars and seculars were the laity
of both sexes, of all ages, positions, and degrees of instruction or
ignorance. They had taken no vows of utter devotion to God’s service, and
were expected to marry, beget children, fight and barter, and fend for
themselves amid the temptations and exigencies of affairs. Well for them
indeed if they could live in communion with the Church, and die repentant
and absolved, eligible for purgatory.

For all these kinds of men and women like virtues were prescribed,
although their fulfilment was looked for with varying degrees of
expectation. For instance, the distinctly theological virtues, faith,
hope, and charity, especially the first, could not be completely attained
by the ignorance and imperfect consecration of laymen. The vices,
likewise, were the same for all, pride, anger, hypocrisy, and the rest;
only with married people a venial unchastity was sacramentally declared
not to constitute mortal sin. For this one case, human weakness, also
mankind’s necessity, was recognized; while, in practice, the Church,
through its boundless opportunities for penitence and absolution,
mercifully condoned all delinquency save obstinate pride, impenitence, and
disbelief.

These were the bare poles ethical of the orthodox mediaeval Christian
scheme. How as to its intellectual and emotional inclusiveness? The
many-phased interest of the mind, _i.e._ the desire to know, was in
principle accepted, but with the condition that the ultimate end of
knowledge should be the attainment of salvation. It was stated and
re-emphasized by well-nigh every type of mediaeval thinker, that Theology
was the queen of sciences, and her service alone justified her handmaids.
All knowledge should make for the knowledge of God, and enlarge the soul’s
relationship to its Creator and Judge. “He that is not with me is against
me.” Knowledge which does not aid man to know his God and save his soul,
all intellectual pursuits which are not loyal to this end, minister to the
obstinacy and vainglory of man, stiff-necked, disobedient, unsubmissive to
the will of God. Knowledge is justified or condemned according to its
ultimate purpose. Likewise every deed, business, occupation, which can
fill out the active life of man. As they make for Christ and salvation,
the functions of ruler, warrior, lawyer, artisan, priest, are justified
and blessed--or the reverse.

But how as to the appetites and the emotions? How as to love, between the
sexes, parent and child, among friends? The standard of discrimination is
still the same, though its application vary. Appetite for food, if
unrestrained, is gluttony; it must be held from hindering the great end.
One must guard against love’s obsession, against sense-passion, which is
so forgetful of the ultimate good: concupiscence is sinful. Through bodily
begetting, the taint of original sin is transmitted; and in all carnal
desire, though sanctioned by the marriage sacrament, is lust and spiritual
forgetfulness. When in fornication and adultery its acts contravene God’s
law, they are mortal sins which will, if unabsolved, cast the sinner into
hell.

Few men in the Middle Ages were insensible to their future lot, and
therefore the criterion of salvation unto eternal life would rarely be
rejected. But often there was conflict within the soul before it
acquiesced in what it felt compelled to recognize; and sometimes there was
clear revolt against current convictions, or practical insistence that a
larger volume of the elements of human nature were fit for life eternal.

Conflict before acquiescence had agitated the natures of sainted Fathers
of the Church, who marked out the path to salvation which the Middle Ages
were to tread. One thinks at once of Jerome’s never-forgotten dream of
exclusion from Paradise because of too great delight in classic reading.
Another phase was Augustine’s, set forth somewhat retrospectively in his
_Confessions_. Therein, as would seem, the drawings of the flesh were most
importunate. Yet not without sighs and waverings did the _mind_ of
Augustine settle to its purpose of knowing only God and the soul. At all
events the chafings of mortal curiosity, the promptings of cultivated
taste, and the cravings of the flesh, were the moving forces of the
Psychomachia which passed with Patristic Christianity to the Middle Ages.
Thousands upon thousands of ardent souls were to experience this conflict
before convincing themselves that classic studies should be followed only
as they led heavenward, and that carnal love was an evil thing which, even
when sacramentally sanctioned, might deflect the soul.

The revolt against the authoritatively accepted standard declared itself
along the same lines of conflict, but did not end in acquiescence and
renunciation. It contended rather for a peace and reconcilement which
should include much that was looked upon askance. It was not always
violent, and might be dumb to the verge of unconsciousness, merely a tacit
departure from standards more universally recognized than followed.

There were countless instances of this silent departure from the standard
of salvation. With cultivated men, it realized itself in classical
studies, as with Hildebert of Le Mans or John of Salisbury. It does not
appear that either of them experienced qualms of conscience or suffered
rebuke from their brethren. No more did Gerbert, an earlier instance of
catholic interest in profane knowledge, though legends of questionable
practices were to encircle his fame.

Other men pursued knowledge, rational or physical, in such a way as to
rouse hostile attention to its irrelevancy or repugnancy to saving faith,
and this even in spite of formal demonstration by the investigator--Roger
Bacon is in our mind--of the advantage of his researches to the Queen
Theology. Bacon might not have been so suspect to his brethren, and his
demonstration of the theological serviceableness of natural knowledge
would have passed, had he not put forth bristling manifestos denouncing
the blind acceptance of custom and authority. Moreover, the obvious
tendencies of methods of investigation advocated by him countered methods
of faith; for the mediaeval and patristic conception of salvation,
whatever collateral supports it might find in reason, was founded on the
authority of revelation.

Indeed it was the lifting up of the standard of rational investigation
which distinguished the veritable revolt from those preliminary inner
conflicts which often strengthened final acquiescence. And it was the
obstinate elevation of one’s individual wisdom (as it appeared to the
orthodox) that separated the accredited supporters of the Church among
theologians and philosophers, from those who were suspect. We mark the
line of the latter reaching back through Abaelard to Eriugena. Such men,
although possibly narrower in their intellectual interests than some who
more surely abode within the Church’s pale, may be held as broader in
principle. For inasmuch as they tended to set reason above authority, it
would seem that there was no bound to their pursuit of rational knowledge,
wherewith to expand and fortify their reason.

But if the intellectual side of man pressed upon the absolutism of the
standard of salvation, more belligerent was the insistency of love--not of
the Crucified. To the Church’s disparagement of the flesh, love made
answer openly, not slinking behind hedges or closed doors, nor even
sheltering itself within wedlock’s lawfulness. It, love, without regard to
priestly sanction, proclaimed itself a counter-principle of worth. The
love of man for woman was to be an inspiration to high deeds and noble
living as well as a source of ennobling power. It presented an ideal for
knights and poets. It could confer no immortality on lovers save that of
undying fame: but it promised the highest happiness and worth in mortal
life. If only knights and ladies might not have grown old, the supremacy
of love and its emprize would have been impregnable. But age must come,
and the ghastly mediaeval fear of death was like to drive lover and
mistress at the last within some convent refuge. Fear brought compunction
and perhaps its tears. Renunciation of the joy of life seemed a fit
penance to disarm the Judge’s wrath. So at the end of life the ideal of
love was prone to make surrender to salvation. Asceticism even enters its
literature, as with the monkish Galahad. There was, however, another way
of reconcilement between the carnal and the spiritual, the secular and the
eternal, by which the secular and carnal were transformed to symbols of
the spiritual and eternal--the way of the _Vita nuova_ and the _Divina
Commedia_, as we shall see.

So in spite of conflicts or silent treasons within the natures of many who
fought beneath the Christian banner, in spite of open mutinies of the mind
and declared revolts of the heart, salvation remained the triumphant
standard of discrimination by which the elements of mediaeval life were to
be esteemed or rejected. What then were these elements to which this
standard, or deflections from it, should apply? How specify their
mediaeval guise and character? It would be possible to pass in review
synoptically the contents of this work. We might return, and then once
more travel hitherward over the mediaeval path, the many paths and byways
of mediaeval life. We might follow and again see applied--or
unapplied--these standards of discrimination, salvation over all, and the
deviations of pretended acquiescence or subconscious departure. We might
perhaps make one final attempt to draw the currents of mediaeval life
together, or observe the angles of their divergence, and note once more
the disparity of taste and interest making so motley the mediaeval
picture. But this has been done so excellently, in colours of life, and
presented in the person of a man in whom mediaeval thought and feeling
were whole, organic, living--an achievement by the Artist moving the
antecedent scheme of things which made this man Dante what he was. We
shall find in him the conflict, the silent departures, and the
reconcilement at last of recalcitrant elements brought within salvation as
the standard of universal discrimination. Dante accomplishes this
reconcilement in personal yet full mediaeval manner by transmuting the
material to the spiritual, the mortal to the eternal, through the
instrumentality of symbolism. He is not merely mediaeval; he is the end of
the mediaeval development and the proper issue of the mediaeval genius.

Yes, there is unity throughout the diversity of mediaeval life; and Dante
is the proof. For the elements of mediaeval growth combine in him,
demonstrating their congruity by working together in the stature of the
full-grown mediaeval man. When the contents of patristic Christianity and
the surviving antique culture had been conceived anew, and had been felt
as well, and novel forms of sentiment evolved, at last comes Dante to
possess the whole, to think it, feel it, visualize its sum, and make of it
a poem. He had mastered the field of mediaeval knowledge, diligently
cultivating parts of it, like the Graeco-Arabian astronomy; he thought and
reasoned in the terms and assumptions of scholastic (chiefly
Thomist-Aristotelian) philosophy; his intellectual interests were
mediaeval; he felt the mediaeval reverence for the past, being impassioned
with the ancient greatness of Rome and the lineage of virtue and authority
moving from it to him and thirteenth-century Italy and the already
shattered Holy Roman Empire. He took earnest joy in the Latin Classics,
approaching them from mediaeval points of view, accepting their contents
uncritically. He was affected with the preciosity of courtly or chivalric
love, which Italy had made her own along with the songs of the Troubadours
and the poetry of northern France. His emotions flowed in channels of
current convention, save that they overfilled them; this was true as to
his early love, and true as to his final range of religious and poetic
feeling. His was the emotion and the cruelty of mediaeval religious
conviction; while in his mind (so worked the genius of symbolism) every
fact’s apparent meaning was clothed with the significance of other modes
of truth.

Dante was also an Italian of the period in which he lived; and he was a
marvellous poet. One may note in him what was mediaeval, what was
specifically Italian, and what, apparently, was personal. This scholar
could not but draw his education, his views of life and death, his
dominant inclinations and the large currents of his purpose, from the
antecedent mediaeval period and the still greater past which had worked
upon it so mightily. His Italian nature and environment gave point and
piquancy and very concrete life to these mediaeval elements; and his
personal genius produced from it all a supreme poetic creation.

The Italian part of Dante comes between the mediaeval and the personal, as
species comes between the genus and the individual. The tremendous feeling
which he discloses for the Roman past seems, in him, specifically Italian:
child of Italy, he holds himself a Latin and a direct heir of the
Republic. Yet often his attitude toward the antique will be that of
mediaeval men in general, as in his disposition to accept ancient myth for
fact; while his own genius appears in his beautifully apt appropriation of
the Virgilian incident or image; wherein he excels his “Mantuan” master,
whose borrowings from Homer were not always felicitous. Frequently the
specifically Italian in Dante, his yearning hate of Florence, for example,
may scarcely be distinguished from his personal temper; but its civic
bitterness is different from the feudal animosities or promiscuous rages
which were more generically mediaeval. As a lighter example, there are
three lines in the fourth canto of the _Purgatorio_ which do not reflect
the Middle Ages, nor yet pertain to Dante’s character, but are, we feel,
Italian. They are these: “Thither we drew; and there were persons who were
staying in the shadow behind the rock, as one through indolence sets
himself to stay.”

Again, Dante’s arguments in the _De monarchia_[672] seem to be those of an
Italian Ghibelline. Yet beyond his intense realization of Italy’s direct
succession to the Roman past, his reasoning is scholastic and mediaeval,
or springs occasionally from his own reflections. The Italian contribution
to the book tends to coalesce either with the general or the personal
elements. Dante argues that the rewards or fruits of virtue belonged to
the Roman people because of the pre-eminent virtue, high lineage, and
royal marriage-connections, of their ancestor Aeneas.[673] Here, of
course, the statements of Virgil are accepted literally, and one notes
that while the argument is mediaeval in its absurdity, it will be made
Italian in its application. Likewise his further arguments making for the
same conclusion, however Italianized in their pointing, are mediaeval, or
patristic, in their provenance: for example, that the Roman Empire was
divinely helped by miracles; that the divine arbitrament decided the
world-struggle or _duellum_ in its favour; and that Christ was born and
suffered legally to redeem mankind under the Empire’s authority and
jurisdiction.[674] Moreover, in refuting the very mediaeval papal
arguments from “the keys,” from “the two swords,” and from the analogy of
the sun and moon, Dante himself reasons scholastically.[675]

The _De vulgari eloquentia_ illustrates the difference between Dante
accepting and reproducing mediaeval views, and Dante thinking for himself.
In opening he speaks of mixing the stronger potions of others with the
water of his own talent, to make a beverage of sweetest hydromel--we have
heard such phrases before! Then the first chapters give the current ideas
touching the nature and origin of speech, and describe the confusion of
language at the building of Babel: each group of workmen engaged in the
same sort of work found themselves speaking a new tongue understood only
by themselves; while the sacred Hebrew speech endured with that seed of
Shem who had taken no part in the impious construction. After this
foolishness, the eighth chapter of Book I. becomes startlingly intelligent
as Dante discusses the contemporary Romance tongues of Europe and takes up
the _idioma_ which uses the particle _si_. Out of its many dialects he
detaches his thought of a _volgare_, a mother tongue, which shall be the
illustrious, noble, and courtly speech in Latium, and shall seem to be of
every Latian city and yet of none, and afford a standard by which the
speech of each city may be criticized. The mediaeval period offers no such
penetrating linguistic observation; and in the _De Vulgari Eloquentia_, as
in the _Convito_, Dante is deeply conscious of the worth of the Romance
vernacular.

Written in the _volgare_, the style of the latter nondescript work bears
curious likeness to scientific Latin writing. The Latin scholastic thought
shows plainly through this involved and scholastic _volgare_, while the
scholastic substance is rendered in a scarcely altered medium. The
_Convito_ is indeed a curious work which one need not lament that Dante
did not carry out to its mediaeval interminableness in fourteen books. The
four that he wrote suffice to show its futility and apparent confusion in
conception and form. Besides incidentally explaining the thought of the
idyllic _Vita nuova_, it professed to be a commentary upon fourteen of
Dante’s canzone, the meaning of which had been misunderstood. Indeed they
had been suspected of disclosing a passion bearing a morganatic
relationship to the love of Beatrice. Truly understood they referred to
that love which is the love of knowledge, philosophy to wit; and their
commentary should expound that, and might properly set forth the contents
of the Seven Liberal Arts and the higher divine reaches of knowledge. The
_Convito_ seems also to mark a stage in Dante’s life: the time perhaps
when he turned, or imagined himself as turning, to philosophy for
consolation in youthful grief, or the time perhaps when his nature looked
coldly upon its early faith and sought to stay itself with rational
knowledge. The book might thus seem a _De consolatione philosophiae_,
after the temper, if not the manner, of Boëthius’ work, which then was
much in Dante’s mind. Yet it was to be a setting forth of knowledge for
the ignorant, a sort of _Summa contra Gentiles_, as is hinted in the last
completed chapter. These three purposes fall in with the fact that the
work was apparently the expression of Dante’s intellectual nature, and of
his spiritual condition between the experience of the _Vita nuova_ and the
time or state of the _Commedia_.[676]

Certainly the _Convito_ gives evidence touching the writer’s mental
processes and the interests of his mind. Except for its lofty advocacy of
the _volgare_ and its personal apologetic references, it contains little
that is not blankly mediaeval. And had it kept on to its completion, so as
to have become no torso, but a full _Summa_ or _Tesoro_ of liberal
knowledge, its whimsical form as a commentary upon canzone would have made
it one of the most bizarre of mediaeval compositions. One should not take
this most repellent of Dante’s writings as an adequate expression of the
intellectual side of his nature; though a significant phrase may be drawn
from it: “Philosophy is a loving use of wisdom (_uno amoroso uso di
sapienza_) which chiefly is in God, since in Him is utmost wisdom, utmost
love, and utmost actuality.”[677] A loving use of wisdom--with Dante the
pursuit of knowledge was no mere intellectual search, but a pilgrimage of
the whole nature, loving heart as well as knowing mind, and the working
virtues too. This pilgrimage is set forth in the _Commedia_, perhaps the
supreme creation of the Middle Ages, and a work that by reason of the
beautiful affinity of its speech with Latin,[678] exquisitely expressed
the matters which in Latin had been coming to formulation through the
mediaeval centuries.

The _Commedia_ (_Inferno_, _Purgatorio_, _Paradiso_) is a _Summa_, a
_Summa salvationis_, a sum of saving knowledge. It is such just as surely
as the final work of Aquinas is a _Summa theologiae_. But Aquinas was the
supreme mediaeval theologian-philosopher, while Dante was the supreme
theologian-poet; and with both Aquinas and Dante, theology includes the
knowledge of all things, but chiefly of man in relation to God. Such was
the matter of the _divina scientia_ of Thomas, and such was the subject of
the _Commedia_, which was soon recognized as the _Divina Commedia_ in the
very sense in which Theology was the divine science. The _Summa_ of Thomas
was _scientia_ not only in substance, but in form; the _Commedia_ was
_scientia_, or _sapientia_, in substance, while in form it was a poem, the
epic of man the pilgrim of salvation. In every sense, Aristotelian and
otherwise, it was a work of art; and herein if we cannot compare it with a
_Summa_, we may certainly liken it to a Cathedral, which also was a work
of art and a _Summa salvationis_ wrought in stone. For a Cathedral--it is
the great French type we have in mind--was a _Summa_ of saving knowledge,
as well as a place for saving acts. And presenting the substance of
knowledge in the forms of art, very true art, the matter of which had long
been pondered on and loved or hated, the Cathedral in its feeling and
beauty, as well as in the order of its manifested thought, was a
_Commedia_; for it too was a poem with a happy ending, at least for those
who should be saved.

The Cathedral had grown from dumb barrel-vaulted Romanesque to Gothic,
speaking in all the terms of sculpture and painted glass. It grew out of
its antecedents. The _Commedia_ rested upon the entire evolution of the
Middle Ages. Therein had lain its spiritual preparation. To be sure it had
its casual forerunners (_precursori_): narratives, real or feigned, of men
faring to the regions of the dead.[679] But these signified little; for
everywhere thoughts of the other life pressed upon men’s minds: fear of it
blanched their hearts; its heavenly or hellish messengers had been seen,
and not a few men dreamed that they had walked within those gates and
witnessed clanging horrors or purgatorial pain. Heaven they had more
rarely visited.

Dante gave little attention to any so-called “forerunners,” save only two,
Paul and Virgil. The former was a warrant for the poet’s reticence as to
the manner of his ascent to Heaven;[680] the latter supplied much of his
scheme of Hell. Yet there were one or two others possessed of some
affinity of soul with the great Florentine, who perhaps knew nothing of
them. One of these was Hildegard of Bingen, with her vision of the spirits
in the cloud, and her pungent sights of the bitterness of the pains of
hell.[681] Another sort of affinity is disclosed in the allegorical
_Anticlaudianus_ of Alanus de Insulis, in which Reason can take
_Prudentia_ just so far upon her heavenly journey, and then gives place to
Theology, even as Virgil, symbol of rational wisdom, gives place to
Beatrice at the summit of the Mount of Purgatory.[682] Dante might have
drawn still more enlightenment from the _De sacramentis_ of Hugo of St.
Victor, in which the rational basis of the universal scheme of things is
shown to lie in the principle of allegorical intendment. Yet one finds few
traces of Hugo in Dante except through Hugo’s pupil, Richard, whose works
he had read. That such apt forerunners should scarcely have affected him
shows how he was taught and inspired, not by individuals, but by the
entire Middle Ages.

One observes mediaeval characteristics in the _Commedia_ raised to a
higher power. The mediaeval period was marked by contrasts of quality and
of conduct such as cannot be found in the antique or the modern age. And
what other poem can vie with the _Commedia_ in contrasts of the beautiful
and the loathsome, the heavenly and the hellish, exquisite refinement of
expression and lapses into the reverse,[683] love and hate, pity and
cruelty, reverence and disdain? These contrasts not only are presented by
the story; they evince themselves in the character of the author. Many
scenes of the _Inferno_ are loathsome:[684] Dante’s own words and conduct
there may be cruel and hateful[685] or show tender pity; and every reader
knows the poetic beauty which glorifies the _Paradiso_, renders lovely the
_Purgatorio_, and ever and anon breaks through the gloom of Hell.

Another mediaeval quality, sublimated in Dante’s poem, is that of
elaborate plan, intended symmetry of composition, the balance of one
incident or subject against another.[686] And finally one observes the
mediaeval inclusiveness which belongs to the scope and purpose of the
_Commedia_ as a _Summa_ of salvation. Dante brings in everything that can
illuminate and fill out his theme. Even as the _Summa_ of St. Thomas, so
the _Commedia_ must present a whole doctrinal scheme of salvation, and
leave no loopholes, loose ends, broken links of argument or explanation.

The substance of the _Commedia_, practically its whole content of thought,
opinion, sentiment, had source in the mediaeval store of antique culture
and the partly affiliated, if not partly derivative, Latin Christianity.
The mediaeval appreciation of the Classics, and of the contents of ancient
philosophy, is not to be so very sharply distinguished from the attitude
of the fifteenth or sixteenth, nay, if one will, the eighteenth, century,
when the _Federalist_ in the young inchoately United States, and many an
orator in the revolutionary assemblies of France, quoted Cicero and
Plutarch as arbiters of civic expediency. Nevertheless, if we choose to
recognize deference to ancient opinion, acceptance of antique myth and
poetry as fact,[687] unbounded admiration for a shadowy and much distorted
ancient world, as characterizing the mediaeval attitude toward whatever
once belonged to Rome and Greece, then we must say that such also is
Dante’s attitude, scholar as he was;[688] and that in his use of the
Classics he differed from other mediaeval men only in so far as above them
all he was a poet.

Lines of illustrative examples begin with the opening canto of the
_Inferno_, where Dante addresses Virgil as _famoso saggio_, an appellative
strictly corresponding with the current mediaeval view of the “Mantuan.”
Mediaeval also is the grouping of the great poets who rise to meet Virgil,
first Homer, then _Orazio satiro_, and Ovid and Lucan.[689] More narrowly
mediaeval, that is, pertaining particularly to the thirteenth century, is
Dante’s profound reverence for the authority of Aristotle, _il maestro di
color che sanno_.[690] It may be that the poet’s sense of the enormous,
_elect_, importance of Aeneas,[691] and his putting Rhipeus, most
righteous of the Trojans, as the fifth regal spirit in the Eagle’s
eye,[692] belonged more especially to Dante as the Ghibelline author of
the _De monarchia_. But generically mediaeval was his acceptance of
antique myth for fact, a most curious instance of which is his referring
to the consuming of Meleager with the consuming of the brand, to
illustrate a point of physiological psychology.[693] Antique heroes, even
monsters, seem as real to him as the people of Scripture and history. It
is not, however, his mediaevalism, but his own greatness that enables him
to lift his treatment of them to the level of their presentation in the
Classics. Noble as an antique demigod is the damned Jason, silent and
tearless, among the scourged;[694] and Ulysses is as great in the tale he
tells from out the lambent flame as he was in the palace of Alcinoos,
telling the tale which Dante never read.[695]

The poet, especially in the _Purgatorio_, constantly balances moral
examples alternately drawn from pagan and sacred story. This propensity
was quite mediaeval; for throughout the Middle Ages the antique authority
was used to fortify or parallel the Christian argument. Yet herein, as
always, Dante is Dante as well as a mediaeval man; and his moral examples,
for the aid of souls who are purging themselves for Heaven, are
interesting and curious enough. On the pavement of the first ledge of
Purgatory, Lucifer is figured falling from Heaven and Briareus transfixed
by the bolt of Jove; then Nimrod, Niobe, Saul, Arachne, Rehoboam, Eriphyle
and Sennacherib, the Assyrians routed after Holophernes’ death, and Troy
in ashes.[696] On the third ledge, as instances of gentle forgivingness,
he sees in vision the Virgin Mary, and then appear Peisistratus (tyrant of
Athens) refusing to avenge himself, and Stephen asking pardon for his
slayers.[697] But the most wonderful instance of this combining of the
Christian and the antique, each at its height of feeling, occurs in the
thirtieth canto of the _Purgatorio_, where angels herald the appearance of
Beatrice with the chant, _Benedictus qui venis_, and, as they scatter
flowers, sing _Manibus o date lilia plenis_. This unison of the hail to
Christ upon His sacrificial entry into Jerusalem and the Virgilian
heartbreak over the young Marcellus, shows how Dante rose in his
combinings, and how potent an element of his imagination was the
antique.[698]

Of course the plan of Hell reflects the sixth Book of the _Aeneid_, and
throughout the whole _Commedia_ the Virgilian phrase rises aptly to the
poet’s lips. “Thou wouldst that I renew the desperate grief which presses
my heart even before I put it into words,” says Ugolino, nearly as Aeneas
speaks to Dido.[699] And in the _Paradiso_ the power of the Dantesque
reminiscence rouses the reader, spiritually as it were, to emulate the
glorious ones who passed to Colchos.[700] A more desperate passage was the
lot of those who must drop from Acheron’s bank into Charon’s boat;--the
whole scene here is quite reminiscent of Virgil. The simile:

  “Quam multa in silvis auctumni frigore primo
   Lapsa cadunt folia,”

is even beautified and made more pregnant with significance in Dante’s

  “Come d’autunno si levan le foglie
   L’una appresso dell’altra....”[701]

On the other hand, the threefold attempt of Aeneas to embrace Anchises is
stripped of its beautiful dream-simile in Dante’s use.[702] A lovelier bit
of borrowing is that of the quick springing up again of the rush, the
symbol of humility, _l’umile pianta_, with which the poet is girt before
proceeding up the Mount of Purgatory.[703]

With Dante the pagan antique represented much that was philosophically
true, if not veritably divine. In his mind, apparently, the heathen good
stood for the Christian good, and the conflict of the heathen deities with
Titan monsters symbolized, if indeed it did not continue to make part of,
the Christian struggle against the power of sin.[704] We may be jarred by
the apostrophe:

              “... O sommo Giove,
  Che fosti in terra per noi crucifisso.”[705]

But this is a kind of Christian-antique phrase by no means unexampled in
mediaeval poetry. And we feel the poetic breadth and beauty of the
invocation in which Apollo symbolizes or represents, exactly what we will
not presume to say, but at all events some veritable spiritual power, as
Minerva does, apparently, in another passage.[706] In such instances the
antique image which beautifies the poem is transfigured to a Christian
symbol, if it does not present actual truth.

Yet however universally Dante’s mind was solicited by the antique matter
and his poet’s nature charmed, he was profoundly and mediaevally
Christian. The _Commedia_ is a mediaeval Christian poem. Its fabric,
springing from the life of earth, enfolds the threefold quasi-other world
of damned, of purging, and of finally purified, spirits. It is dramatic
and doctrinal. Its drama of action and suffering, like the narratives of
Scripture, offers literal fact, moral teaching, and allegorical or
spiritual significance. The doctrinal contents are held partly within the
poem’s dramatic action and partly in expositions which are not fused in
the drama. Thus whatever else it is, the poem is a _Summa_ of saving
doctrine, which is driven home by illustrations of the sovereign good and
abysmal ill coming to man under the providence of God. One may perhaps
discern a twofold purpose in it, since the poet works out his own
salvation and gives precepts and examples to aid others and help truth and
righteousness on earth. The subject is man as rewarded or punished
eternally by God--says Dante in the letter to Can Grande. This subject
could hardly be conceived as veritable, and still less could it be
executed, by a poet who had no care for the effect of his poem upon men.
Dante had such care. But whether he, who was first and always a poet,
wrote the _Commedia_ in order to lift others out of error to salvation, or
even in order to work out his own salvation,--let him say who knows the
mind of Dante. No divination, however, is required to trace the course of
the saving teaching, which, whether dramatically exemplified or expounded
in doctrinal statement, is embodied in the great poem; nor is it hard to
note how Dante drew its substance from the mediaeval past.

The _Inferno_, which is the most dramatic and realistic, “Dantesque,” part
of the _Commedia_, and replete with terrestrial interest, is doctrinally
the least rich. Its doctrine chiefly lies in its scheme of punishment, or
divine vengeance, for different sins. Herein Dante followed no set series
like the seven deadly sins expiated in Purgatory. Neither the Church nor
authoritative writers had laid out the plan of Hell. Dante had in mind
Thomas Aquinas and Aristotle, also Cicero’s _De officiis_,[707] and,
structurally, Virgil. His scheme also was affected by his own character,
situation, and aversions, and assuredly by the movement of its own
composition. At the mouth of Hell the worthless nameless ones and the
neutral angels receive their due. Then after the sad calm of the place of
the unbaptized and the great blameless heathen, the veritable Hell begins,
and the series of tortures unfold, the lightest being such as punish
incontinence, while the most awful are reserved for those fraudulent ones
who have betrayed a trust. Dante’s power of presenting the humanly
loathsome does not let the progress of hellish torment fail in climax even
to the end, where Brutus, Cassius, and Judas are crunched in the dripping
mouths of Lucifer at the bottom of the lowest pit of Hell.

The general idea of hell torments came to the poet from current beliefs
and authoritative utterances, ranging from the “outer darkness” of the
Gospel to the lurid oratory of St. Bernard. Dante’s thoughts were drawn
generically from the stores of mediaeval convictions, approvals, and
imaginings: they were given to him by his epoch. Of necessity--innocently,
one may say--he made them into concrete realities because he was Dante.
Terrifying phrases and crude ghastliness were raised through his dramatic
power to living experiences. The reader goes through Hell, sees with his
own eyes, hears with his own ears, and stifles in the choking air.
Doubtless the narrative brought fear and contrition to the men of Dante’s
time. But for us the disproportion of the vengeance to the crime, the
outrage of everlasting torments for momentary, even impulsive sin, is
shocking and preposterous.[708] The torments themselves present conditions
which become unthinkable when we try to conceive them as enduring
eternally. Human flesh, or implicated spirit could not last beneath them.
And as for our impulses, there is many a tortured soul with whom we would
keep company, for instance, with the excellent band of Sodomites--Priscian
(!) Brunetto Latini, and those three Florentines whose “honoured names”
the poet greets with reverence and affection.[709] One might even wish to
make a third in the flame which enwraps Diomede and Ulysses. In fact,
Dante’s dramatic genius has brought the mediaeval hell to a _reductio ad
absurdum_, to our minds.

The poet is of it too. He can pity those who touch his pity. And how great
he can be, how absolute. There is compacted in the story of Francesca all
that can be thought or felt over unhappy love. Yet Dante never doubts the
justice of the punishment he describes; sometimes he calmly or cruelly
approves. _Nel mio bel San Giovanni!_ How many thousands have quoted these
detached words to show the poet’s love of his beautiful baptistery. But,
in fact, he refers to the little cylindrical places where stood the
baptizing priests, in order to bring home to the reader the size of the
holes in the burning rock from which protruded the quivering feet of
Simoniacs![710] It appears that the souls of all the damned will suffer
more when they shall again be joined to their bodies after the
resurrection.[711]

The _Inferno_ fully exemplifies the doctrinal statement obscurely set over
the gate which shut out hope: moved by justice, the Trinity, “divine
power, supreme wisdom, primal love, created me (Hell) to endure
eternally.” Dante follows this current authoritative opinion, stated by
Aquinas. Here one may repeat that Dante is the child of the Middle Ages,
rather than a disciple of any single teacher. If he follows Aquinas more
than any other scholastic, he follows Bonaventura also with breadth and
balance. These two, however, were themselves final results of lines of
previous development. Both were rational and also mystically
contemplative, though the former quality predominates in Thomas and the
latter in Bonaventura. And in Dante’s poem, at the end of the _Paradiso_,
Theology, the rational apprehension of divine truth, gives place to
contemplation’s loftier insight. Dante is kin to both these men; but when
he thinks, more frequently he thinks like Thomas, and the intellectual
realization of life is dominant with him. This was evident in the
_Convito_; and that the intellectual vision constitutes the substance of
the _Commedia_, becomes luminously apparent in the _Paradiso_.[712] It is
even suggested at the gate of Hell, within which the wretched people will
be seen, who have lost the good of the Intellect,[713] by which is meant
knowledge of God.

The _Purgatorio_ presents more saving doctrine than the cantica of
damnation. Its Mount with the earthly paradise at the top, may have been
his own, but might have been taken from the Venerable Bede or Albertus
Magnus.[714] The ante-purgatory appears as a creation of the poet,
influenced by certain passages of the _Aeneid_ and by ancient disciplinary
practices which kept the penitents waiting outside the church.[715] The
teaching of the whole cantica relates to the purgation of pride, envy,
anger, _accidia_ (sloth), avarice, gluttony, lust. These are the seven
deadly sins whose _provenance_ is early monasticism.[716] Through their
purgation man is made pure and fit to mount to the stars.

We shall not follow Dante through the _Purgatorio_ and _Paradiso_, or
observe in detail the teachings set forth and the sources whence they were
derived.[717] But a brief reference to the successive incidents and topics
of instruction will show how the _Commedia_ touches every key of saving
doctrine. The soul entering Purgatory goes seeking liberty from sin,[718]
and as a first lesson learns to detach itself from memories of the
damned.[719] It receives some slight suggestion of the limits of human
reason;[720] and is told that according to the correct teaching there is
one soul in man with several faculties.[721] It learns the risk of
repentance in the hour of death;[722] and the efficacy of the prayers of
others to help souls through their purifying expiation; also, that, after
death, souls can advance only by the aid of grace.[723] The symbolism of
the gate of Purgatory teaches the need of contrition and confession. Upon
the first ledge, the proud do penance, disciplined with examples of
humility, and through the Lord’s Prayer are taught man’s entire dependence
upon God. It is fitting that Pride should be the first sin expiated, since
it lies at the base of all sins in the Christian scheme. Much doctrine is
inculcated by the treatment of the different sins and the appositeness of
the hymns sung by the penitents.[724]

Ascending the second ledge, Virgil, _i.e._ human reason, expounds the
first principles of the doctrine of that love which is of the Good.[725]
Next is set forth the theory of human free-will and the effect of the
spheres in directing human inclination--all in strict accord with the
teaching of Thomas;[726] and then, still in accord with Thomas, the fuller
nature of love (or desire) is expounded, and the allotment of purgatorial
pains in expiation of the various modes of evil desire or failure to love
aright.[727] These fitting pains are as a solace to the soul yearning to
accomplish its purgation.[728] Next, generation is explained, the creation
of the soul, and the manner of its existence after separation from the
body, according to dominant scholastic theories.[729] In the concluding
cantos of the _Purgatorio_, much Church doctrine is symbolically set forth
by the Mystic Procession and the rivers of the earthly paradise, Lethe and
Eunoe--the latter representing sacramental grace through which good works,
killed by later sins, are made to live again.[730] The earthly paradise
symbolizes the perfect happiness of life in the flesh, and the state
wherein man is fit to pass to the heavenly Paradise.

Besides doctrine directly bearing on Salvation, the _Commedia_ contains
explanations by the way, needed to understand Dante’s journey through the
earth and heavens, and give it verisimilitude. Apparently these
explanations were also intended to afford a sufficient knowledge of the
structure of the universe. The _Paradiso_ abounds in this kind of
information, largely physical and astronomical. Its first canto offers a
general statement, beautifully put, of the ordering of created things. In
this instance, the instruction is not exclusively astronomical or
physical,[731] but touches upon animated creatures, and follows Thomist
teaching. Another interesting instance is the explanation in the second
canto of the spots on the moon and then of the influence of the heavens.
Here the astronomical matter runs on into elucidations touching human
nature, even that human nature which is to be saved through saving
doctrine. In this way the Christian-Thomist-Dantesque scheme of knowledge
holds together. The _Commedia_ is the pilgrimage of the soul after all
wisdom, and includes, implicitly at least, the matter of the _Convito_.

The _Paradiso_ contains the chief store of saving knowledge. It sets forth
the ultimate problems of human life and divine salvation, with due
emphasis laid upon the limitations of human understanding. Dante,
conscious of the strenuousness of his high argument, warns off all but the
chosen few.

A first point learned in the heavenly voyage is that no soul in Paradise
desires aught save what it has; since such desire would contravene the
will of God. Paradise is everywhere in Heaven, though the divine grace
rains not upon all in one mode.[732] Beatified souls do not dwell in any
particular star, though Plato seems to say so. Scripture condescends to
figure the intelligible under the guise of sensible forms, as Plato may
have done.[733] Broken vows and their reparation are now considered. Then
the history of the Roman Eagle brings out the fact that Christ was
crucified under Tiberius and His death avenged by Titus, which leads on to
the explanation of the Fall and the Redemption, occupying the seventh
canto. The next offers comment upon the divine goodness and the diversity
of human lots; and shows how the bitter may rise from the sweet. With deep
consistency the poet exclaims against the insensate toilsome reasonings
through which mortals beat their wings downward, away from God.[734]

In canto thirteen the reader is enlightened regarding the wisdom of Adam,
of Solomon, and of Christ; and then as to the existence of the beatified
soul before and after it is clothed with the glorified body of the
Resurrection.[735] Incidentally the justice of eternal punishment is
adverted to.[736] The depth of the divine righteousness is next
presented,[737] and its application to the heathen, with illustrations of
God’s saving ways, in the instances of certain princes who loved
righteousness, including Trajan and the Trojan Rhipeus.[738] The
incomprehensibility of Predestination next receives attention.

Now intervenes the marvellous and illuminative beauty of canto
twenty-three, preceding Dante’s declaration of his creed, upon
interrogatories from the apostles, Peter, James, and John. In this way he
states the dogmatic fundamentals of the Christian Faith, and the
substantiating rôles of philosophic argument and authority.[739] After
this, the vision of the hierarchies of angels leads on to discourse upon
their creation and nature, the immediate fall of those who fell, the
exaltation of the steadfast with added grace, and the mode and measure of
their knowledge. Thomas is followed in this scholastic argument.

With the vision of the Rose, rational theology gives place to mystic
contemplation;[740] and further visions of the divine ordering precede the
prayer to the Virgin, with which the last canto opens--that prayer so
beautiful and so expressive of mediaeval thought and feeling as to the
most kind and blessed Lady of Heaven. This prayer or hymn is made of
phrases which the mediaeval mind and heart had been recasting and
perfecting for centuries. It is almost a great _cento_, like the _Dies
Irae_. After the Lady’s answering benediction, there comes to Dante, in
grace, the final mystic vision of the Trinity, enfolding all
existence--substance, accidents and their modes, bound with love in one
volume. Supreme dogmatic truth is set forth, and the furthest strainings
of reason are stilled in supersensual and super-rational vision, which
satisfies all intellectual desire. This vision, vouchsafed through the
Virgin’s grace, assures the pilgrim soul: the goal is reached alike of
knowledge and salvation.

One may say that the _Commedia_ begins and ends with the Virgin. It was
she who sent Beatrice into the gates of Hell to move Virgil--meaning human
reason--to go to Dante’s aid. The prayer which obtains her benediction,
and the vision following, close the _Paradiso_. So the teaching of the
poem ends in mediaeval strains. For the Virgin was the mediaeval goddess,
beloved and universally adored, helpful in every way, and the chief aid in
bringing man to Heaven. But no more with Dante than with other mediaeval
men is she the end of worship and devotion. Her eyes are turned on God.
So are those of Beatrice, of Rachel, and of all the saints in Paradise. As
for man on earth, he is _viator_, journeying on through discipline, in
righteousness and beneficence, but above all in faith and hope and love of
God, with his eyes of knowledge and desire set on God. God is the goal,
even of the _vita activa_, which is also training and enlightenment.
Loving his brother whom he hath seen, man may learn to love
God--practising himself in love. Even Christ’s parable, “Inasmuch as ye
did it unto one of the least of these,” rightly interpreted, implies that
the end of human charity is God: the human charity is preparation,
obedience, means of enlightenment. The brother for whom Christ died--that
is he whom thou shalt love, and that is why thou shalt love him. In
themselves human relationships are disciplinary, ancillary, as all the
sciences are ancillary to Theology. Mediaeval religion is turned utterly
toward God; the relationship of the soul to God is its whole matter. It is
not humanitarian: not human, but _divina scientia, fides, et amor_, make
mediaeval Christianity. Thus Dante’s doctrine is mediaeval. Toward God
moves the desire of the _viatores_ in Purgatory, though they still are
incidentally mindful of earth’s memories. In Paradise the eyes of all the
blessed are set on Him. Because of the divine love they may for a moment
turn the eyes of their knowledge and desire to aid a fellow-creature; the
occasion past, they fix them again on God: thus the Virgin, thus Bernard,
thus Beatrice.

As a son of the Middle Ages, Dante was possessed with the spirit of
symbolism. Allegory, with him, was not merely a way of expressing that
which might transcend direct statement: it embodied a principle of truth.
The universally accepted allegorical interpretation of Scripture justified
the view that a deeper verity lay in allegorical significance than in
literal meaning. This principle applied to other writings also. “Now since
the literal sense [of the first canzone] is sufficiently explained, it is
time to proceed to the allegorical and true interpretation.”[741]

In the _Vita Nuova_ and somewhat more lifelessly in the _Convito_, Dante
explains that it is his way to invest his poetry with a secondary or
allegorical sense. He proposes in the latter work to carry out the formal
notion of the four kinds of meaning contained in profound
writings--literal, allegorical, moral, anagogical.[742] He never holds
himself, however, to the lines of any such obsession, but is content in
practice with the literal and the broadly allegorical sense.[743] Even
then the great Florentine occasionally can be jejune enough. The
conception of the ten heavens figuring the Seven Liberal Arts along with
metaphysics, ethics, and theology, as a plan of composition for the
_Convito_,[744] was on a level with the structural symbolism of the _De
nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii_ of Capella. Yet the likening of Ethics to
the _primum mobile_ and Theology to the Empyrean has bearing on Dante’s,
and the mediaeval, scheme of the sciences, among which Theology is chief.

Allegory moulds the structure and permeates the substance of the
_Commedia_. For this Dante himself vouches in the famous dedicatory letter
to Can Grande, where his thoughts may be heard creaking scholastically, as
he describes the nature of his poem, and explains why he entitled it
_Commedia_:

    “Literally, the subject is the state of souls after death taken
    simply. If, however, the work be accepted allegorically, the subject
    is man, according as by merit or demerit through freedom of choice
    (_arbitrii libertatem_) he is subject to Justice, rewarding or
    punitive.”

This is the positive statement emanating, in all probability, from the
poet. Perhaps it is as well that he did not live to inaugurate the series
of Commentaries upon his poem, which began within a few years of his death
and show no signs of ceasing.[745] So it has been left to others to
determine the metes and bounds and special features of the _Commedia’s_
allegorical intent. The task has proved hazardous, because Dante was such
a great poet, so realistic in his visualizing and so masterful in forcing
the different phases of his many-sided thoughts to combine in concrete
creations. His drama is so living that one can hardly think it an
allegory.

Evidently certain matters, like the Mystic Procession and its apocalyptic
appurtenances in the last cantos of the _Purgatorio_, are sheer allegory.
Such, while suited to suggest theological tenets, are formal and lifeless,
a little like the hieratic allegorical mosaics of the fourth and fifth
centuries, which were composed before Christian art had become imbued with
Christian feeling.[746] Indeed, doffing for an instant one’s reverence for
the great poet, one may say that from the point of view of art and life,
Dante’s symbolism becomes jejune, or at least ceases to draw us, according
as it becomes palpable allegory.[747]

Beyond such incidents one recognizes that the general course of the poem,
its more pointed occurrences, together with its chief characters and the
scenes amid which they move, have commonly both literal and allegorical
meaning.[748] Usually it is wise not to press either side too rigorously.
The poet’s mind worked in the clearly imagined setting and dramatic action
of his poem, where fact and symbolism combined in that reality which is
both art and life. Surely the _Commedia_ was completed and rendered real
and beautiful through many a touch and incident which had no allegorical
intent. Even as in a French cathedral, the main sculptured and painted
subjects have doctrinal, that is to say, allegorical, significance,
besides their literal truth; but there is also much lovely carving of
scroll and flowered ornament and beast and bird, which beautifies the
building.

For Dante’s purpose, to set out the state of disembodied spirits after
death, allegory might prove prejudicial, because of the intensity of his
artist’s vision. Much of the poem’s symbolism, especially in the
_Paradiso_, belongs to that unavoidable imagery to which every one is
driven when attempting to describe spiritual facts. Such symbolism,
however, when constructed with the plastic power of a Dante, may become
itself so convincing or compelling as to reduce the intended spiritual
signification to the terms of its concrete embodiment in the symbol. In
view of the carnality of most sin, one is not surprised to find the place
of punishment a converging cavity within the earth. With Dante, as with
Hildegard, the sights and torments of Hell are realistically given quite
as of course. Perhaps Dante’s Mount of Purgatory begins to give us pause,
and its corniced _mise en scène_ tends to enflesh the idea of spirit and
materialize its purgation. But the limiting effect of symbolism is most
keenly felt in the _Paradiso_, notwithstanding the beauty of that cantica;
for its very concrete symbolism seems sometimes to ensphere the intended
truths of spirit in a sort of crystalline translucency. It is all a
marvellously imagined description of the state of blessed souls. Yet in
the final pure and glorious image of a white rose (_candida rosa_) the
company of the glorified spirits is so visualized as to become, surely not
theatrical, but as if assembled upon the rounding tiers of seats occupied
by an audience.[749] There are topics in which the sheer ratiocination of
Thomas is more completely spiritual than the poetic vision of Dante.

Dante’s most admirable symbolic creation was also his dearest
reality--Beatrice. And while this being in which he has immortalized his
fame and hers, is eminently the creation of his genius, the elements were
drawn from the many-chambered mediaeval past. Some issued out of the vast
matter of chivalric love, with its high heart of service and sense of its
own worth, its science, its foolish and most wise reasoning, its
preciosity of temper--Dante and his literary friends were virtuosos in
everything pertaining to its understanding.[750] This love was of the
fine-reasoning mind. The first canzone of the _Vita Nuova_ does not begin
“Donne, che sentite amore,” but: “Donne, ch’ avete intelletto d’ amore.”
Through that book love is what it never ceases to be with Dante,
_intelligenza_:

  “Intelligenza nuova, che l’ Amore
   Piangendo mette in lui....”

The _piangendo_, the tears, have likewise part; without them love is not
had or even understood. The enormous sense of love’s supreme worth--that
too is in Dante. It had all been with the Troubadours of Provence, with
Chrétien de Troies, and with the great Minnesingers, and had been reasoned
on, appreciated, felt and wept over, by ladies and knights who listened to
their poems. From France and Provence love and its reasonings had come to
Italy even before Dante’s eyes had opened to it and other matters.

This was one strain that entered the Beatrice of the _Vita Nuova_, of the
_Convito_, of the _Commedia_. But Beatrice is something else: she is, or
becomes, Theology, the God-given science of the divine and human. Long had
Theologia (_divina scientia_) been a queen; and even before her,
Philosophia, as with Boëthius, had been a queenly woman gowned with as
full symbolical particularity as ever the Beatrice of Dante. Indeed from
the time of the _Psychomachia_ of Prudentius to the _Roman de la Rose_ of
De Lorris and De Meun, every human quality, and many an aspect of human
circumstance, had been personified, for the most part under the forms of
gracious or seductive women. Above all of these rose, sweet, gracious, and
potent, the Virgin Queen of Heaven. It came as of course to Dante to
symbolize his conception of divine wisdom in a woman’s form. The
achievement of his genius was the transfusing combination of elements of
courtly love, didactic allegory, and _divina scientia_, in a creature
before whom the whole man Dante, heart and reason and religious faith,
could stand and gaze and love and worship.

Beatrice was his and of him always; but with the visions and experience
of that mature and grace-illuminated manhood, which expressed itself in
the _Commedia_, she comes to be much that she had not been when she lived
on earth or had just left it, and Dante was a maker of exquisite verses in
Florence; and much too that she had scarce become while the poet was
consoling himself with philosophy for his bereavement and the dulling of
his early faith. Beatrice lives and moves and has her ever more uplifted
being as the reality as well as symbol of Dante’s thoughts of life. With
all first love’s idealism, he loved a girl; then she, having passed from
earth, becomes the inspiration and object of address of the young maker of
sonnets and canzoni, who with such intellectual preciosity was intent on
building these verses of fine-spun sentiment. Thereafter, when he is in
darker mood, she does not altogether leave him, whatever variant attitudes
his thought and temper take. And at last the yearning self-fulfilments of
his renewed life draw together in the Beatrice of the _Commedia_.

It is very beautiful, and the growth, as well as work, of genius; but it
is not strange. For there is no bound to the idealizing of the love which
first transfuses a youth’s nature with a mortal golden flame, and awakens
it to new understanding. Out of whatever of experience of life and joy and
sorrow may come to the man, this first love may still vivify itself
anew--often in dreams--and become again living and beautiful, in tears,
and will awaken new perceptions and disclose further vistas of the
_intelligenza nuova_ which love never ceases to impart to him who has
loved.

Dante’s mind was always turning from the obvious sense-actuality of the
fact to its symbolism; which held the truer reality. With such a man it is
not strange that the beloved and adored woman, the love of whom was virtue
and enlightenment, should, when dead to earth, become that divine wisdom
which opens Heaven to the lover who would follow, for all eternity,
whither his beloved has so surely gone. No, it was not strange, but only
as wonderful as all the works of God, that she who while living had been
the spring of virtue of all kinds and meanings in the poet’s breast,
should after death become the emblem, even the reality, of that whereby
man is taught how to win his heavenly salvation. Passage after passage in
the _Purgatorio_ and _Paradiso_ show that Beatrice is this _divina
scientia_, and yet has never ceased to be one whom the poet loves.[751]

Thus it is clear that mediaeval development converges at last in Dante.
He, or his _Commedia_, might be the final _Summa_, were not he, or rather
it, the final poem. Man and work include the emotions and the intellectual
interests of the Middle Ages, embracing what had been known,--Physics,
Astronomy, Politics, History, Pagan Mythology, Christian Theology,--all
bent and moulded at last to the matter of the book. Not the contents of
the _Commedia_ is Dante’s own, but the poem itself--that is his creation.

Yet even the poem itself was a climax long led up to. The power of its
feeling had been preparing in the conceptions, even in the reasonings,
which through the centuries had been gaining ardour as they became part of
the entire natures of men and women. Thus had mediaeval thought become
emotionalized and plastic and living in poetry and art. Otherwise, even
Dante’s genius could not have fused the contents of mediaeval thought into
a poem. How many passages in the _Commedia_ illustrate this--like the
lovely picture of Lia moving in the flowering meadow, with her fair hands
making her a garland. The twenty-third canto of the _Paradiso_, telling of
the triumph of Christ and the Virgin, yields a larger illustration; and
within it, as a very concrete lyric instance, floats that flower of
angelic love, the song of Gabriel circling the Lady of Heaven with its
melody, and giving quintessential utterance to the love and adoration
which the Middle Ages had intoned to the Virgin. Yes, if it be Dante’s
genius, it is also the gathering emotion of the centuries, which lifts the
last cantos of the _Paradiso_ from glory to glory, and makes this closing
singing of the _Commedia_ such supreme poetry. Nor is it the emotional
element alone that reaches its final voice in Dante. Passage after passage
of the _Paradiso_ is the apotheosis of scholastic thought and ways of
stating it, the very apotheosis, for example, of those harnessed phrases
in which the line of great scholastics had endeavoured to put in words
the universalities of substance and accident and the absolute qualities
of God.

Yet one more feature of Dante’s typifying inclusiveness of the past. Its
elements exist in him at first without conscious opposition and yet not
subordinated one to another, the less worthy to those of eternal validity.
Then conflict arises; the mediaeval Psychomachia awakes in Dante.
Evidently he who wrote the _Convito_ after the _Vita Nuova_, had not
continued spiritually undisturbed. Had there come dullings of his early
faith? Did his mind seek too exclusive satisfaction in knowledge? Had he
possibly swerved a little from some high intention? The facts are veiled.
Dante wears neither his mind nor his heart upon his sleeve. Yet a
reconcilement was attained by him, though perhaps he had to fetch it out
of Hell. He achieved it in his great poem, which in its long making made
the poet into the likeness of itself. Fitness for salvation is the
ultimate criterion with Dante respecting the elements of mortal life, as
it had been through the Middle Ages. And the _Commedia_--truly the _Divina
Commedia_--while it presents the scheme of salvation for universal man, is
the achieved salvation of the poet.



INDEX

_NOTE.--Of several references to the same matter the more important are
shown by heavy type._


  Abaelard, Peter, career of, ii. 342-5;
    at Paris, ii. 343, 344, 383;
      popularity there, ii. 119;
    love for Heloïse, ii. 4-=5=, 344;
    love-songs, ii. =13=, 207;
    Heloïse’s love for, i. 585; ii. =3=, =5=, 8, 9, =15-16=;
    early relations with Heloïse, ii. 4-5;
    suggestion of marriage opposed by her, ii. 6-9;
    marriage, ii. 9;
    suffers vengeance of Fulbert, ii. 9;
    becomes a monk at St. Denis, ii. 10;
      at the Paraclete, ii. 10, 344;
      at Breton monastery, ii. 10;
    St. Bernard’s denunciations of, i. 229, 401; ii. =344-5=, =355=;
    letters to, from Heloïse quoted, ii. 11-15, 17-20, 23, 24;
    letters from, to Heloïse quoted, ii. 16-17, 21-3, 24-5;
    closing years at Cluny, ii. 25, =26=, 345;
    death of, ii. =27=, 345;
    estimate of, ii. 4, 342;
    rationalizing temper, i. 229; ii. =298-9=;
    skill in dialectic, ii. 303, =345-6=, 353;
    not an Aristotelian, ii. 369;
    works on theology, ii. 352-5;
      _De Unitate et Trinitate divina_, ii. 10, =298-9=, 352 _and_ _n. 3_;
      _Theologia_, ii. =303-4=, 395;
      _Scito te ipsum_, ii. 350-1;
      _Sic et non_, i. 17; ii. =304-6=, =352=, 357;
      _Dialectica_, ii. 346 _and_ _nn._, 349-50;
      _Dialogue_ between Philosopher, Jew, and Christian, ii. 350, =351=;
      _Historia calamitatum_, ii. =4-11=, 298-9, =343=;
      _Carmen ad Astralabium filium_, ii. 192;
      hymns, ii. 207-9;
      otherwise mentioned, ii. 134, 283 _and_ _n._

  Abbo, Abbot, i. =294 and n.=, 324

  Abbots:
    Armed forces, with, i. 473
    Cistercian, position of, i. 362-3 _and_ _n._
    Investiture of, lay, i. 244
    Social class of, i. 473

  Accursius, _Glossa ordinaria_ of, ii. 262, =263=

  Adalberon, Abp. of Rheims, i. 240, =282-3=, 287

  Adam of Marsh, ii. 389, 400, 487

  Adam of St. Victor, editions of hymns of, ii. 87 _n. 1_;
    examples of the hymns, ii. 87 _seqq._;
    Latin originals, ii. 206, 209-15

  Adamnan cited, i. 134 _n. 2_, 137

  Adelard of Bath, ii. 370

  Aedh, i. 132

  Agobard, Abp. of Lyons, i. 215, =232-3=;
    cited, ii. 247

  Aidan, St., i. 174

  Aimoin, _Vita Abbonis_ by, i. 294 _and_ _n._

  Aix, Synod of, i. 359

  Aix-la-Chapelle:
    Chapel at, i. 212 _n._
    School at, _see_ Carolingian period--Palace school

  Alans, i. 113, 116, 119

  Alanus de Insulis, career of, ii. 92-4;
    estimate of, ii. 375-6;
    works of, ii. 48 _n. 1_, =94=, 375 _n. 5_, 376;
      _Anticlaudianus_, ii. =94-103=, 192, 377, 539;
      _De planctu naturae_, ii. =192-3 and n. 1=, 376

  Alaric, i. 112

  Alaric II., i. =117=; ii. 243

  Alberic, Card., i. 252 _n. 2_

  Alberic, Markgrave of Camerino, i. 242

  Alberic, son of Marozia, i. 242-3

  Albertus Magnus, career of, ii. 421;
    estimate of, ii. 298, 301, =421=;
    estimate of work of, ii. 393, 395;
    attitude toward Gilbert de la Porrée, ii. 372;
    compared with Bacon, ii. 422;
      with Aquinas, ii. 433, =438=;
    relations with Aquinas, ii. 434;
    on logic, ii. 314-15;
      method of, ii. 315 _n._;
    edition of works, ii. 424 _n. 1_;
    _De praedicabilibus_, ii. 314 and _n._, 315, 424-5;
    work on the rest of Aristotle, ii. 420-1;
    analysis of this work, ii. 424 _seqq._;
    attitude toward the original, ii. 422;
    _Summa theologiae_, ii. 430, 431;
    _Summa de creaturis_, ii. 430-1;
    _De adhaerendo Deo_, ii. 432;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 17; ii. 82 _n. 2_, 283, 312, 402, 541 _n. 2_

  Albigenses, i. 49;
    persecution of, i. 366-7, 461, 481, 572; ii. 168

  Alboin the Lombard, i. 115

  Alchemy, ii. 496-7

  Alcuin of York, career of, i. 214;
    works of, i. 216-21 _and_ _n. 2_;
    extracts from letters of, ii. 159;
    stylelessness of, ii. =159=, 174;
    verses by, quoted, ii. 136-7;
    on _urbanitas_, ii. 136;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 212, 240, 343; ii. 112, 312, 332

  Aldhelm, i. 185

  Alemanni, i. 9, 121, 122, 145 _n. 2_, 174, 192

  Alemannia, Boniface’s work in, i. 199

  Alexander the Great, Pseudo-Callisthenes’ Life of, ii. 224, 225,
        =229-230=;
    Walter of Lille’s work on, ii. 230 _n. 1_

  Alexander II., Pope, i. 262 _n._, 263 _and_ _n. 1_

  Alexander de Villa-Dei, _Doctrinale_ of, ii. =125-7=, 163

  Alexander of Hales--at Paris, i. 476; ii. =399=;
    Bacon’s attack on, ii. 494, 497;
    estimate of work of, ii. 393, 395, 399;
    Augustinianism of, ii. 403-4

  Alfred, King of England, i. 144 _and_ _n. 2_, =187-90=

  Allegory (_See also_ Symbolism):
    Dictionaries of, ii. 47-8 _and_ _n. 1_, 49
    Greek examples of, ii. 42, 364
    Metaphor distinguished from, ii. 41 _n._
    Politics, in, ii. 60-1, 275-=6=, =280=
    _Roman de la rose_ as exemplifying, ii. 103
    Scripture, _see under_ Scriptures
    Two uses of, ii. 365

  Almsgiving, i. 268

  Alphanus, i. 253-4

  _Amadas_, i. 565

  Ambrose, St., Abp. of Milan, on miracles, i. 85-6;
    attitude toward secular studies, i. 300; ii. 288;
    _Hexaëmeron_ of, i. 72-4;
    _De officiis_, i. 96;
    hymns, i. 347-8;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 70, 75, 76, 104, 186, 354; ii. 45 _n._, 272

  Anacletus II., Pope, i. 394

  Anchorites, _see_ Hermits

  Andrew the Chaplain, _Flos amoris_ of, i. 575-6

  Angels:
    Aquinas’ discussion of, ii. 324-5, 435, =457 seqq.=, =469=, =473-5=
    Dante’s views on, ii. 551
    Emotionalizing of conception of, i. 348 _n. 4_
    Hugo of St. Victor on, ii. 68, 69
    Symbols, regarded as, ii. 457
    Vincent’s _Speculum_ as concerning, ii. 319
    Writings regarding, summary of, ii. 457

  Angilbert, i. 234-5

  Angles, i. 140

  Anglo-Saxons:
    Britain conquered by, i. 141
    Characteristics of, i. 142, =196=
    Christian missions by, i. 196, 197
    Christian missions to, i. 172, 174, =180 seqq.=
    Customs of, i. 141
    Poetry of, i. 142-4
    Roman influence slight on, i. 32

  Aniane monastery, i. 358-9

  Annals, i. 234 and _n. 1_

  Anselm (at Laon), ii. 343-4

  Anselm, St., Abp. of Canterbury, dream of, i. 269-70;
    early career, i. 270;
    at Bec, i. 271-2;
    relations with Rufus, i. 273, 275;
    journey to Italy, i. 275;
    estimate of, i. 274, =276-7=; ii. =303=, 330, =338=;
    style of, i. 276; ii. =166-7=;
    influence of, on Duns Scotus, ii. 511;
    works of, i. 275 _seqq._;
    _Cur Deus homo_, i. 275, 277 _n. 1_, =279=; ii. 395;
    _Monologion_, i. 275-7;
    _Proslogion_, i. 276-8; ii. =166=, 395;
    _Meditationes_, i. 276, =279=;
    _De grammatico_, i. 277 _n. 2_;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 16, 19, 301-2; ii. 139, 283, 297, 340

  Anselm of Besate, i. 259

  Anthony, St., i. 365-6;
    Life of, by Athanasius, i. 47, =52 and n.=

  Antique literature, _see_ Greek thought _and_ Latin classics

  Antique stories, themes of, in vernacular poetry, ii. 223 _seqq._

  Apollinaris Sidonius, ii. 107

  Apollonius of Tyana, i. 44

  _Apollonius of Tyre_, ii. 224 _and_ _n._

  Aquinas, Thomas, family of, ii. 433-4;
    career, ii. 434-5;
    relations with Albertus Magnus, ii. 434;
    translations of Aristotle obtained by, ii. 391;
    _Vita_ of, by Guilielmus de Thoco, ii. 435 _n._;
    works of, ii. 435;
    estimate of, and of his work, i. 17, 18; ii. 301, =436-8=, 484;
    completeness of his philosophy, ii. 393-5;
    pivot of his attitude, ii. 440;
    present position of, ii. 501;
    style, ii. 180;
    mastery of dialectic, ii. 352;
    compared with Eriugena, i. 231 _n. 1_;
    with Albertus Magnus, ii. 433, =438=;
    with Bonaventura, ii. 437;
    with Duns, ii. 517;
    Dante compared with and influenced by, ii. 541 _n. 2_, =547=, 549,
        551, 555;
    on monarchy, ii. 277;
    on faith, ii. 288;
    on difference between philosophy and theology, ii. 290;
    on logic, ii. 313;
    _Summa theologiae_, i. 17, 18; ii. =290 seqq.=;
    style of the work, ii. 180-1;
    Bacon’s charge against it, ii. 300;
    Peter Lombard’s work contrasted with it, ii. 307-10;
    its method, ii. 307;
    its classification scheme, ii. 324-9;
    analysis of the work, ii. 438 _seqq._, 447 _seqq._;
    _Summa philosophica contra Gentiles_, ii. 290, 438, =445-6=;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 69 _n. 2_; ii. 283, 298, 300, 312, 402

  Aquitaine, i. 29, 240, =573=

  Arabian philosophy, ii. =389-90=, 400-1

  Arabs, Spanish conquest by, i. 9, 118

  Archimedes, i. 40

  Architecture, Gothic:
    Evolution of, i. 305; ii. =539=
    Great period of, i. 346

  Argenteuil convent, ii. 9, 10

  Arianism:
    Teutonic acceptance of, i. =120=, 192, 194
    Visigothic abandonment of, i. 118 _nn._

  Aristotle, estimate of, i. 37-8;
    works of, i. 37-8;
    unliterary character of writings of, ii. 118, 119;
    philosophy as classified by, ii. 312;
    attitude of, to discussions of final cause, ii. 336;
    the _Organon_, i. =37=, 71;
    progressive character of its treatises, ii. 333-4;
    Boëthius’ translation of the work, i. 71, =91-2=;
    advanced treatises “lost” till 12th cent., ii. 248 _n._, 334;
    Porphyry’s _Introduction_ to the _Categories_, i. 45, 92, 102; ii.
        312, =314 n.=, 333, =339=;
    Arabian translations of works, ii. 389-90;
    introduction of complete works, i. 17;
    Latin translations made in 13th cent., ii. 391;
    three stages in scholastic appropriation of the Natural Philosophy and
        Metaphysics, ii. 393;
    Paris University study of, ii. 391-2 _and_ _n._;
    Albertus Magnus’ work on, ii. 420-1, 424 _seqq._;
    Aquinas’ mastery of, i. 17, 18;
    Dominican acceptance of system of, ii. 404;
    Dante’s reverence for, ii. 542

  Arithmetic:
    Abacus, the, i. 299
    Boëthius’ work on, i. 72, =90=
    Music in relation to, ii. 291
    Patristic treatment of, i. 72
    Scholastic classification of, ii. 313

  Arnold of Brescia, i. 401; ii. 171

  Arnulf, Abp. of Rheims, i. 283-4

  Art, Christian (_For particular arts, see their names_):
    Demons as depicted in, ii. 540 _n. 2_
    Early, i. 345 _n._
    Emotionalizing of, i. 345-7
    Evolution of, i. 19-20
    Germany, in (11th cent.), i. 312
    Symbolism the inspiration of, i. 21; ii. 82-6

  Arthur, King, story of youth of, i. 568-569;
    relations with Lancelot and Guinevere, i. 584;
    with Parzival, i. 592, 599-600, 612

  Arthurian romances:
    Comparison of, with _Chansons de geste_, i. 564-5
    German culture influenced by, ii. 28
    Origin and authorship of, question as to, i. 565-7
    Universal vogue of, i. =565=, 573, 577
    otherwise mentioned, i. 531, 538

  Arts, the (_See also_ Latin classics):
    Classifications of, ii. 312 _seqq._
    Course of, shortening of, ii. =132=, 384
    _Dictamen_, ii. =121=, =129=, 381
    Grammar, _see that heading_
    Masters in, at Paris and Oxford, ii. 384-5;
      course for, ii. 388
    Seven Liberal, _see that heading_

  Asceticism:
    Christian:
      Carthusian, i. 384
      Early growth of, i. 333-5
      Manichean, i. 49
      Women’s practice of, i. 444, 462-3
    Neo-Platonic, i. 43, 44, 46, 50, =331=, 334

  Astralabius, ii. 6, 9, 27;
    Abaelard’s poem to, ii. 191-2 _and_ _n. 1_

  Astrology, i. =44 and n.=; ii. 374:
    Bacon’s views on, ii. 499-500

  Astronomy:
    Chartres study of, i. 299
    Gerbert’s teaching of, i. 288-9
    Patristic attitude toward, i. 72

  Ataulf, i. 112, 116

  Athanasius, St., estimate of work of, i. =54=, 68;
    Life of St. Anthony by, i. 47, =52 and n.=, 84;
    _Orationes_, i. 68

  Atlantis, i. 36

  Attila the Hun, i. 112-13;
    in legend, i. 145-7

  Augustine, Abp. of Canterbury, i. 6, 171, =180-2=;
    Gregory’s letters to, cited, i. 102

  Augustine, St., Bp. of Hippo, Platonism of, i. 55;
    personal affinity of, with Plotinus, i. 55-7;
    barbarization of, by Gregory the Great, i. 98, 102;
    compared with Gregory the Great, i. 98-9;
    with Anselm, i. 279;
    with Guigo, i. 385, 390;
    overwhelming influence of, in Middle Ages, ii. 403;
    on numbers, i. 72 _and_ _n. 2_, 105;
    attitude toward physical science, i. 300;
    on love of God, i. 342, 344;
    allegorizing of Scripture by, ii. 44-5;
    modification by, of classical Latin, ii. 152;
    _Confessions_, i. =63=; ii. 531;
    _De Trinitate_, i. =64=, =68=, 74, 96;
    _Civitas Dei_, i. 64-65, 69 _n. 2_, =81-82=;
    _De moribus Ecclesiae_, i. 65, 67-8;
    _De doctrina Christiana_, i. 66-7;
    classification scheme based on the _Doctrina_, ii. 322;
    _De spiritu et littera_, i. 69;
    _De cura pro mortuis_, i. 86;
    _De genesi ad litteram_, ii. 324;
    Alcuin’s compends of works of, i. 220;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 5, 53, 71, 75, 82, 87, 89, 104, 186, 225, 340,
        354, 366, 370; ii. 107, 269, 297, 312

  Augustus, Emp., i. 26, 29

  Aurillac monastery, i. 281

  Ausonius, i. 126 _n. 2_; ii. 107

  Austrasia:
    Church organization in, i. 199
    Feudal disintegration of, i. 240
    Irish monasteries founded in, i. 174
    Rise of, under Pippin, i. 209

  Authority _v._ reason, _see_ Reason

  Auxerre, i. 506-7

  Averroes, ii. 390

  Averroism, ii. 400-1

  Averroists, ii. =284 n.=, 296 _n. 1_

  Avicenna, ii. 390

  Avitus, Bp. of Vienne, i. 126 _n. 2_

  Azo, ii. 262-3


  Bacon, Roger, career of, ii. 486-7
    tragedy of career, ii. 486;
    relations with Franciscan Order, ii. 299, 486, =488=, 490-1;
    encouragement to, from Clement IV., ii. 489-90 _and_ _n. 1_;
    estimate of, ii. 484-6;
    estimate of work of, ii. 402;
    style of, ii. 179-80;
    attitude toward the classics, ii. 120;
    predilection for physical science, ii. 289, 486-7;
    Albertus Magnus compared with, ii. 422;
    on four causes of ignorance, ii. 494-5;
    on seven errors in theological study, ii. 495-8;
    on experimental science, ii. 502-8;
    on logic, ii. 505;
    on faith, ii. 507;
    editions of works of, ii. 484 _n._;
    Greek Grammar by, ii. =128= _and_ _n. 5_, 484 _n._, 487, 498;
    _Multiplicatio specierum_, ii. 484 _n._, 500;
    _Opus tertium_, ii. =488=, 490 _and_ _nn._, 491, 492, 498, 499;
    _Opus majus_, ii. 490-1, 492, =494-5=, 498, =499-500=, =506-8=;
    _Optics_, ii. 500;
    _Opus minus_, ii. 490-1, =495-8=;
    _Vatican fragment_, ii. 490 _and_ _n. 2_, =505 n. 1=;
    _Compendium studii philosophiae_, ii. 491, 493-4, 507-8;
    _Compendium theologiae_, ii. 491;
    otherwise mentioned, ii. 284 _n._, 335 _n._, =389=, 531-2

  Bartolomaeus, _De proprietatibus rerum_ of, ii. 316 _n. 2_

  Bartolus, ii. 264

  Baudri, Abbot of Bourgueil, ii. 192 _n. 1_

  Bavaria:
    Irish monasteries founded in, i. 174
    Merovingian rule in, i. 121
    Otto’s relations with, i. 241
    Reorganization of Church in, 198-9

  Bavarians, i. 145 _n. 2_, 209, 210

  Beauty, love of, i. 340

  Bec monastery, i. 262 _n._, 270-2

  Bede, estimate of, i. 185-6;
    allegorizing of Scripture by, ii. 47 _n. 1_;
    _Church History of the English People_, i. 172, =186=, 234 _n. 2_;
    _De arte metrica_, i. 187, =298=;
    _Liber de temporibus_, 300;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 184, 212

  Beghards of Liége, i. 365

  Belgae, i. 126

  Belgica, i. 29, 32

  Benedict, Prior, i. 258

  Benedict, St., of Nursia, i. =85 and n. 2=, 94, 100 _n. 4_;
    _Regula_ of, _see under_ Monasticism

  Benedictus, _Chronicon_ of, ii. 160-1

  Benedictus Levita, Deacon, ii. 270

  Benoit de St. More, _Roman de Troie_ by, ii. 225, =227-9=

  Beowulf, i. 141, =143-4= _and_ _n. 1_

  Berengar, King, i. 256

  Berengar of Tours, i. 297, 299, =302-3=; ii. 137

  Bernard, Bro., of Quintavalle, i. 502

  Bernard, disciple of St. Francis, i. 425-6

  Bernard of Chartres, ii. 130-2, 370

  Bernard, St., Abbot of Clairvaux, at Citeaux, i. 360, 393;
    inspires Templars’ _regula_, i. 531;
    denounces and crushes Abaelard, i. 229, 401; ii. =344-5=, =355=;
    denounces Arnold of Brescia, i. 401; ii. 171;
    relations with Gilbert de la Porrée, ii. 372;
    Lives of, i. 392 _n._, 393 _n. 1_;
    appearance and characteristics of, i. 392-3;
    estimate of, i. 394; ii. 367-8;
    love and tenderness of, i. 344, 345, =394 seqq.=; ii. 365;
    severity of, i. 400-1;
    his love of Clairvaux, i. 401-2;
    of his brother, i. 402-4;
    Latin style of, ii. 169-71;
    on church corruption, i. 474;
    on faith, ii. 298;
    unconcerned with physics, ii. 356;
    St. Francis compared with, i. 415-16;
    extracts from letters of, i. 395 _seqq._; ii. 170-1;
    _Sermons on Canticles_--cited, 337 _n._;
    quoted, i. =409-13=; ii. =169=, 368-9;
    _De consideratione_, ii. 368;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 17, 20, 279, 302, 472, 501; ii. 34, 168

  Bernard Morlanensis, _De contemptu mundi_ by, ii. 199 _n. 3_

  Bernard Silvestris, _Commentum ..._ of, ii. 116-17 _and_ _n. 2_;
    _De mundi universitate_, ii. 119, =371 and n.=

  Bernardone, Peter, i. 419, 423-4

  Bernward, Bp. of Hildesheim, i. 312 _and_ _n. 1_

  Bible, _see_ Scriptures

  Biscop, Benedict, i. 184

  Bishops:
    Armed forces, with, i. 473
    Francis of Assisi’s attitude toward, i. 430
    Gallo-Roman and Frankish, position of, i. 191-2, 194 _and_ _nn._, 198,
        =201 n.=
    Investiture of, lay, i. 244-5 _and_ _n. 4_; ii. 140
    Jurisdiction and privileges of, ii. 266
    Papacy’s ascendancy over, i. 304
    Reluctance to be consecrated, i. 472
    Social class of, i. 473
    Vestments of, symbolism of, ii. 77 _n. 2_

  _Blancandrin_, i. 565

  Bobbio monastery, i. 178, =282-3=

  Boëthius, death of, i. =89=, 93;
    estimate of, i. 89, 92, =102=;
    Albertus Magnus compared with, ii. 420;
    works of, i. 90-3;
    Gerbert’s familiarity with works of, i. 289;
    works of, studied at Chartres, i. 298-9;
      their importance, i. 298;
    _De arithmetica_, i. 72, =90=;
    _De geometria_, i. 90;
    commentary on Porphyry’s _Isagoge_, i. =92=; ii. 312;
    translation of the _Organon_, i. 71, =91-2=;
    “loss” of advanced works, ii. 248 _n._, 334;
    _De consolatione philosophiae_, i. =89=, 188, =189-90=, 299;
      mediaeval study of the work, i. 89; ii. 135-6

  Bologna:
    Clubs and guilds in, ii. 382
    Fight of, against Parma, i. 497
    Law school at, ii. =121=, 251, =259-62=, 378
    Medical school at, ii. 121, 383 _n._
    University, Law, inception and character of, ii. 121, =381-3=;
      affiliated universities, ii. 383 _n._

  Bonaventura, St. (John of Fidanza), career of, ii. 403;
    at Paris, ii. 399, 403;
    estimate of, ii. 301;
    style of, ii. 181-2;
    contrasted with Albertus, ii. 405;
    compared with Aquinas, ii. 405, 437;
    with Dante, ii. 547;
    on faith, ii. 298;
    on Minorites and Preachers, ii. 396;
    attitude toward Plato and Aristotle, ii. 404-5;
    toward Scriptures, ii. 405 _seqq._;
    _De reductione artium ad theologiam_, ii. 406-8;
    _Breviloquium_, ii. 408-13;
    _Itinerarium mentis in Deum_, ii. 413-18;
    otherwise mentioned, ii. 283, 288

  Boniface, _see_ Winifried-Boniface

  Boniface VIII., Pope, _Sextus_ of, ii. 272;
    _Unam sanctam_ bull of, ii. 509

  _Books of Sentences_, method of, ii. 307
    (_See also under_ Lombard)

  Botany, ii. 427-8

  Bretons, i. 113

  _Breviarium_, i. 117, 239, =243-4=

  Britain:
    Anglo-Saxon conquest of, i. 141
    Antique culture in relation to, before Middle Ages, i. 10-11
    Celts in, i. 127 _n._
    Christianity of, i. 171-2
    Romanization of, i. 32

  Brude (Bridius), King of Picts, i. 173

  Brunhilde, i. 176, 178

  Bruno, Abp. of Cologne, i. 309-10, 383-4;
    Ruotger’s Life of, i. 310; ii. 162 _and_ _n. 1_

  Burgundians:
    Christianizing of, i. 193
    Church’s attitude toward, i. 120
    Roman law code promulgated by (_Papianus_), ii. 239, =242=
    Roman subjects of, i. 121
    otherwise mentioned, i. 9-10, 113, 145

  Burgundy, i. =175=, 243 _n. 1_

  Byzantine architecture, 212 _n._

  Byzantine Empire, _see_ Eastern Empire


  Cædmon, i. 183, 343

  Caesar, C. Julius, cited, i. =27-9=, 138, 296

  Caesar of Heisterbach, Life of Engelbert by, i. 482-6 _and_ _n._;
    _Dialogi miraculorum_, cited, i. 488 _n._, 491.

  Canon law:
    Authority of, ii. 274
    Basis of, ii. 267-9
    Bulk of, ii. 269
    Conciliar decrees, collections of, ii. =269=
    Decretals:
      Collections of, ii. 269, =271-2=, =275= =n.=
      False, ii. 270, 273
    Gratian’s _Decretum_, ii. 268-9, =270-1=, 306
    _Jus naturale_ in, ii. 268-9
    _Lex romana canonice compta_, ii. 252
    Scope of, ii. 267
    Sources of, ii. 269
    Supremacy of, ii. 277

  Canossa, i. 244

  Cantafables, i. 157 _n. 1_

  Canticles, i. 350;
    Origen’s interpretation of, 333;
    St. Bernard’s Sermons on, i. 337 _n._, =409-13=; ii. =169=, 368-9

  Capella, Martianus, _De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii_ of, i. =71 and
        n. 3=; ii. 553

  _Caritas_, ii. 476-8;
    in relation to faith, ii. 479-81;
    to wisdom, ii. 481

  Carloman, King of Austrasia, i. =199-200 and n.=, 209

  Carloman (son of Pippin), i. 209-10

  Carnuti, i. 296

  Carolingian period:
    _Breviarium_ epitomes current during, ii. 244, =249=
    Continuity of, with Merovingian, i. 210-12
    Criticism of records non-existent in, i. 234
    Definiteness of statement a characteristic of, i. 225, =227=
    Educational revival in, 218-19, 222, =236=; ii. 122, =158=;
      palace school, i. =214=, 218, 229, 235
    First stage of mediaeval learning represented by, ii. 330, 332
    History as compiled in, i. 234-5
    King’s law in, ii. 247
    Latin poetry of, ii. 188, 194, 197
    Latin prose of, ii. 158
    Originality in, circumstances evoking, i. 232-3
    Restatement of antique and patristic matter in, i. =237=, 342-3

  Carthaginians, i. 25

  Carthusian Order, origin of, i. 383-4

  Cassian’s _Institutes_ and _Conlocations_, i. 335

  Cassiodorus, life and works of, i. 93-7;
    _Chronicon_, i. 94;
    _Variae epistolae_, i. 94;
    _De anima_, 94-5;
    _Institutiones divinarum et saecularium litterarum_, i. =95-6=; ii.
        357 _n. 2_;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 6, 88-9, 115; ii. 312

  Cathari, i. 49; ii. 283 _n._

  Catullus, i. 25

  Cavallini, i. 347

  Celsus cited, ii. 235, 237

  Celtic language, date of disuse of, i. 31 _and_ _n._

  Celts:
    Gaul, in, i. =125 and n.=, =126-7=, 129 _n. 1_
    Goidelic and Brythonic, i. 127 _n._
    Ireland, in, _see_ Irish
    Italy invaded by (3rd cent. B.C.), i. 24
    Latinized, i. 124
    Teutons compared with, i. 125

  Champagne, i. 240, =573=

  Chandos, Sir John, i. 554-5

  _Chanson de Roland_, i. 12 _n._, 528 _and_ _n. 2_, =559-62=

  _Chansons de geste_, i. =558 seqq.=; ii. 222

  Charlemagne, age of, _see_ Carolingian period;
    estimate of, i. 213;
    relations of, with the Church, i. =201=, 239; ii. 273;
    relations with Angilbert, i. 234-5;
    educational revival by, i. =213-14=; ii. 110, 122, =158=, 332;
    book of Germanic poems compiled by order of, ii. 220;
    Capitularies of, ii. 110, =248=;
    open letters of, i. 213 _n._;
    Einhard’s Life of, ii. 158-9;
    poetic fame of, i. 210;
    false Capitularies ascribed to, ii. 270;
    empire of, non-enduring, i. 238;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 9, 115, 153, 562; ii. 8

  Charles Martel, i. 197, =198=, =209=; ii. 273

  Charles II. (the Bald), King of France, i. 228, 235

  Charles III. (the Simple), King of France, i. 239-40

  Charles IV., King of France, i. 551

  Chartres Cathedral, sculpture of, i. =20=, 297; ii. =82-5=

  Chartres Schools:
    Classics the study of, i. 298; ii. 119
    Fulbert’s work at, i. 296-7, 299
    Grammar as studied at, ii. 129-30
    Medicine studied at, ii. 372
    Orleans the rival of, ii. 119 _n. 2_
    Trivium and quadrivium at, i. =298-9=; ii. 163
    mentioned, i. 287, 293

  Chartreuse, La Grande, founding of, i. 384 (_See also_ Carthusian)

  Chaucer, ii. 95

  Childeric, King, i. 119, 122

  Chivalry:
    Literature of:
      Arthurian romances, _see that heading_
      Aube (alba) poetry, i. =571=; ii. 30
      _Chansons de geste_, i. 558 _seqq._
      Nature of, i. 20
      _Pastorelle_, i. 571
      Pietistic ideal recognized in, ii. 288, 533
      Poems of various nations cited, i. 570 =n.=
      Religious phraseology in love poems, i. 350 _n. 2_
      _Romans d’aventure_, i. =564-5=, 571 _n. 2_
      Three branches of, i. 558
    Nature of, i. 522, =570 n.=
    Order of, evolution of, i. 524 _seqq._
      (_See also_ Knighthood)

  Chrétien de Troies, romances by, i. 566-=7=;
    _Tristan_, i. 567;
    _Perceval_, i. 567, =588-9=;
    _Erec_ (Geraint), i. 567, 586; ii. 29 _n._;
    _Lancelot_ or _Le Conte de la charrette_, i. 567, 569-70, =582-5=;
    _Cligés_, i. 567, =586 n. 2=;
    _Ivain_, i. =571 n. 2=, 586 _n. 3_; ii. 29 _n._;
    translation of Ovid’s _Ars amatoria_, i. 574

  Christianity:
    Appropriation of, by mediaeval peoples, stages in, i. 17-18
    Aquinas’ _Summa_ as concerning, ii. 324
    Art, in, _see_ Art
    Atonement doctrine, Anselm’s views on, i. 279
    Basis of, ii. 268
    Britain, in, i. 171-2
    Buddhism contrasted with, i. 390
    Catholic Church, _see_ Church
    Completeness of scheme of, ii. 394-5
    Dualistic element in, i. 59
    Eleventh century, position in, i. 16
    Emotional elements in:
      Fear, i. 103, 339, 342, 383
      Hate, i. 332, 339
      Love, i. 331, =345=
      Synthetic treatment of, i. 333
    Emotionalizing of, angels as regarded in, i. 348 _n. 4_
    Eternal punishment doctrine of, i. =65=, =339=, 486
    Faith of, _see_ Faith
    Feudalism in relation to, i. 524, 527-=9 and n. 2=, =530=
    Fifth century, position in, i. 15
    Gallo-Roman, i. 191-2
    German language affected by, i. 202
    Greek Fathers’ contribution to, i. 5
    Greek philosophic admixture in, i. 33-4
    Hell-fear in, i. 103, =339=, 342, =383=
    Hymns, _see that heading_
    Ideal _v._ actual, i. 354-5
    Incarnation doctrine of, ii. 369
    Irish missionaries of, _see under_ Irish
    Latin as modified for expression of, ii. 152, =154=, 156, 164, 171
    Marriage as regarded by, ii. 8, 529
    Martyrs for, _see_ Martyrs
    Mediaeval development in relation to, i. 11, 170
    Mediation doctrine of, i. 54, 59-60
    Militant character of, in early centuries, i. =69-70=, 75
    Miracles, attitude toward, i. 50-1
    Monasticism, _see that heading_
    Neo-Platonism compared with, i. 51
    Pagan ethics inconsistent with, i. 66
    Pessimism of, toward mortal life, i. 64
    Saints, _see that heading_
    Salvation:
      Master motive, as, i. 59, =61=, 79, 89
      Scholasticism’s main interest, as, ii. =296-7=, 300, 311
      Standard of discrimination, as, ii. =530=, =533=, 559
    Scriptures, _see that heading_
    Teutonic acceptance of, _see under_ Teutons
    Trinity doctrine of:
      Abaelard’s works on, ii. 10, =298-9=, 352-3, 355
      Aquinas on, ii. 449-50, 456
      Bonaventura on, ii. 416-17
      Dante’s vision, ii. 551
      Peter Lombard’s Book on, ii. 323
      Roscellin on, ii. 340
    Vernacular presentation of, ii. 221
    Visions, _see that heading_

  Chronicles, mediaeval, ii. 175

  Chrysostom, i. 53

  Church, Roman Catholic:
    Authority of, Duns’ views on, ii. 516
    Bishops, _see that heading_
    British Church’s divergencies from, 171-2
    Canon Law, _see that heading_
    Charlemagne’s relations with, i. =201=, 239; ii. 273
    Classical study as regarded by, i. 260; ii. =110 seqq.=, 396-7
    Clergy, _see that heading_
    Confession doctrine of, i. 489
    Constantine’s relations with, ii. 266
    Creation of, i. 11, 68, =86-7=
    Decretals, etc., _see under_ Canon Law
    Denunciations of, i. 474-5; ii. 34-5
    Diocesan organization of, among Germans, i. 196
    Doctrinal literature of, i. 68-70
    Duns’ attitude towards, ii. 513
    East and West, solidarity of development of, i. 55
    Empire’s relations with, _see under_ Papacy
    Eternal punishment doctrine of, i. =65=, =339=, 486; ii. 550
    Eucharistic controversy, _see that heading_
    Fathers of the, _see_ Greek thought, patristic; Latin Fathers; _and
        chiefly_ Patristic thought
    Feudalism as affected by, i. 524, 527-=9 and n. 2=, =530=
    Feudalism as affecting, i. 244, 473
    Frankish, _see under_ Franks
    Gallo-Roman, i. 191-2, 194
    Hildegard’s visions regarding, i. 457
    Intolerance of, _see subheading_ Persecutions
    Investiture controversy, _see under_ Bishops
    Irish Church’s relations with, i. 172-4 _and_ =n. 1=
    Isidore’s treatise on liturgical practices of, i. 106
    Knights’ vow of obedience to, i. 530
    Mass, the:
      Alleluia chant and Sequence-hymn, ii. 196, =201 seqq.=
      Symbolism of, ii. 77-8
    Nicene Creed, i. 69
    Papacy, Popes, _see those headings_
    Paschal controversy, _see_ Eucharistic
    Penance doctrine of, i. =101=, 195
    Persecutions by, i. 339;
      of Albigenses, i. 366-7, 461, 481, 572; ii. 168;
      of Jews, i. 118, 332;
      of Montanists, i. 332
    Popes, _see that heading_
    Predestination, attitude toward, i. 228
    Property of, enactments regarding, ii. 266
    Rationalists in, i. 305
    Reforms in (11th cent.), i. 304
    Roman law for, ii. 265 _and_ _n. 2_
    Sacraments:
      Definition of the word, ii. 72 _and_ _n. 1_
      Hugo of St. Victor on, ii. 64, 66, 68-9, 71, =72-4=, 90 _n. 2_
      Origin of, Bonaventura on, ii. 411-13
      Pagan analogy with, i. 53, 59-60
    Secularization of dignities of, i. 472
    Simony in, i. =244=, 475
    Spain, in, _see under_ Spain
    Standards set by, ii. 528-9
    Suspects to, estimate of, ii. 532
    Synod of Aix (817), i. 359
    Theodosian Code as concerning, ii. 266-7 _and_ _n. 1_
    Transubstantiation doctrine of, i. 226-227
    “Truce of God” promulgated by, i. 529 _n. 2_

  Churches:
    Building of, symbolism in, ii. 78-82
    Dedication of, sequence designed for, ii. 210-11

  Cicero, i. 26 _n. 3_, 39, 78, =219=

  Cino, ii. 264

  Cistercian Order:
    _Charta charitatis_, i. 361-3
    Clairvaux founded, i. 393
    Cluniac controversies with, i. 360

  Citeaux monastery:
    Bernard at, i. 360, 393
    Foundation and rise of, i. 360-3

  Cities and towns:
    Growth of, in 12th cent., i. 305; ii. =379-80=
    Italian, _see under_ Italy

  Cities (_civitates_) of Roman provinces, i. 29-30

  Clairvaux (Clara Vallis):
    Founding of, i. 360, 393
    Position of, i. 362
    St. Bernard’s love of, i. 401-2

  Classics, _see_ Latin classics

  Claudius, Bp. of Turin, i. 215, 231-2 _and_ _n. 1_

  Claudius, Emp., i. 30

  Clement II., Pope, i. 243

  Clement IV., Pope, ii. 489-91

  Clement V., Pope, _Decretales Clementinae_ of, ii. 272

  Clement of Alexandria, ii. 64

  Clergy:
    Accusations against, false, penalty for, ii. 266
    Legal status of, ii. 382
    Regular, _see_ Monasticism
    Secular:
      Concubinage of, i. 244
      Francis of Assisi’s attitude toward, i. 430, 440
      Marriage of, i. 472 _n. 1_
      Reforms of, i. 359
      Standard of conduct for, i. 471; ii. 529
    Term, scope of, i. 356

  Clerval, Abbé, cited, i. 300 _n. 1_

  Clopinel, Jean, _see_ De Meun

  Clovis (Chlodoweg), i. 114, 117, =119-21=, 122, 138, =193-4=; ii. 245

  Cluny monastery:
    Abaelard at, ii. 25, =26=, 345
    Characteristics of, i. 359-60
    Monastic reforms accomplished by, i. =293=, 304

  Cologne, i. 29, 31

  Columba, St., of Iona, i. =133-7=, 173

  Columbanus, St., of Luxeuil and Bobbio, i. 6, 133, =174-9=, 196;
    Life and works of, 174 _n. 2_

  Combat, trial by, i. 232

  Commentaries, mediaeval:
    Boëthius’, i. 93
    Excerpts as characteristic of, i. 104
    General addiction to, ii. 390, 553 _n. 4_
    Originals supplanted by, ii. 390
    Raban’s, i. 222-3

  Compends:
    Fourteenth century use of, ii. 523
    Mediaeval preference for, i. 94
    Medical, in Italy, i. 251
    Saints’ lives, of (_Legenda aurea_), ii. 184

  Conrad, Duke of Franconia, i. 241

  Conrad II., Emp., i. 243

  Constantine, Emp., ii. 266;
    “Donation” of, ii. =35=, 265, 270

  Constantinus Africanus, i. =251= _and_ _n._; ii. 372

  Cordova, i. 25

  Cornelius Nepos, i. 25

  _Cornificiani_, ii. =132=, 373

  Cosmogony:
    Aquinas’ theory of, ii. 456
    Mediaeval allegorizing of, ii. 65 _seqq._
    Patristic attitude toward, i. 72-4

  Cosmology, Alan’s, in _Anticlaudianus_, ii. 377

  Cremona, i. 24

  Cross, Christian:
    Magic safeguard, as, i. 294-5
    Mediaeval feeling for, ii. 197

  Crusades:
    Constantinople, capture of, as affecting Western learning, ii. 391
    First:
      _Chansons_ concerning, i. 537-8
      Character of, i. 535-7
      Guibert’s account of, ii. 175
    Hymn concerning, quoted, i. 349 _and_ _n._
    Italians little concerned in, ii. 189
    Joinville’s account of, quoted, i. 546-9
    Language of, i. 531
    Results of, i. 305
    Second, i. 394
    Spirit of, i. 535-7

  Cuchulain, i. 129 _and_ _nn. 2, 3_

  Cynewulf’s _Christ_, i. 183

  Cyprian quoted, i. 337 _n._

  Cyril of Alexandria, i. 227

  Cyril of Jerusalem, i. 53


  Da Romano, Alberic, i. 515-16

  Da Romano, Eccelino, i. =505-6=, 516

  Dacia, Visigoths in, i. 112

  Damiani, St. Peter, Card. Bp. of Ostia, career of, i. 262-4;
    attitude of, to the classics, i. 260; ii. 112, 165;
    on the hermit life, i. 369-70;
    on tears, i. 371 _and_ _n._;
    extract illustrating Latin style of, ii. 165 _and_ _n. 3_;
    works of, i. 263 _n. 1_;
    writings quoted, i. 263-7;
    _Liber Gomorrhianus_, i. 265, 474;
    _Vita Romualdi_, i. 372 _seqq._;
    biography of Dominicus Loricatus, i. 381-2;
    _De parentelae gradibus_, ii. 252;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 17, 19, 20, 260, 343, 345, 391; ii. 34

  Damianus, i. 262, 265

  Danes, i. 142, =153=

  Dante, estimate of, ii. 534-5;
    scholarship of, ii. 541 _n. 2_;
    possessed by spirit of allegory, ii. 552-5;
    compared with Aquinas and influenced by him, ii. 541 _n. 2_, 547, 549,
        551, 555;
    compared with Bonaventura, ii. 547;
    attitude to Beatrice, ii. 555-8;
    on love, ii. 555-6;
    on monarchy, ii. 278;
    _De monarchia_, ii. 535;
    _De vulgari eloquentia_, ii. 219, =536=;
    _Vita nuova_, ii. =556=, 559;
    _Convito_, ii. =537-8=, 553;
    _Divina Commedia_, i. 12 _n._; ii. 86, 99 _n. 1_, =103=, 219;
      commentaries on this work, ii. 553-4;
      estimate of it, ii. 538, 540-1, 544, 553-4;
    _Inferno_ cited, ii. 42, 541-3, =545-7=;
    _Purgatorio_ cited, ii. 535, 542-3, =548-9=, 554, 558;
    _Paradiso_ cited, i. 395; ii. 542-3, =549-51=, 558

  Dares the Phrygian, ii. 116 _and_ _n. 3_, 224-=5 and nn.=, 226-7

  _De bello et excidio urbis Comensis_, ii. 189-90

  De Boron, Robert, i. 567

  _De casu Diaboli_, i. 279

  _De consolatione philosophiae_, _see under_ Boëthius

  De Lorris, Guillaume, _Roman de la rose_ by, i. =586-7=; ii. 103 _and_
        _n. 1_, 104

  De Meun, Jean (Clopinel), _Roman de la rose_ by, ii. 103 _and_ _n. 1_,
        104, =223=

  Denis, St., i. 230

  Dermot (Diarmaid, Diarmuid), High-King of Ireland, i. =132=-3, 135, =136=

  Desiderius, Bp. of Vienne, i. 99

  Desiderius, Pope, i. =253=, 263

  Devil, the:
    Mediaeval beliefs and stories as to, i. 487 _seqq._
    Romuald’s conflicts with, i. =374=, 379-80

  Dialectic (_See also_ Logic):
    Abaelard’s skill in, ii. 118, 119, =345-6=, 353;
      his subjection of dogma to, ii. 304;
      his _Dialectica_, ii. 346 _and_ _nn._, 349-50
    Chartres study of, i. 298
    Duns Scotus’ mastery of, ii. 510, 514
    Grammar penetrated by, ii. 127 _seqq._
    Hugo of St. Victor on, ii. 67
    Raban’s view of, i. 222
    Thirteenth century study of, ii. 118-20

  Diarmaid (Diarmuid), _see_ Dermot

  _Dictamen_, ii. =121=, =129=, 381

  Dictys the Cretan, ii. 224, 225 _and_ _n. 1_

  _Dies irae_, i. 348

  Dionysius the Areopagite, ii. 10, 102, =344=

  _Divina Commedia_, _see under_ Dante

  Divination, ii. 374

  Dominic, St., i. =366-7=, 497; ii. 396

  Dominican Order:
    Aristotelianism of, ii. 404
    Founding of, i. =366=; ii. 396
    Growth of, i. 498; ii. =398=
    Object of, ii. 396
    Oxford University, at, ii. 387
    Papacy, relations with, ii. =398=, 509
    Paris University, position in, ii. =386=, 399

  Dominicus Loricatus, i. 263, =381-3=

  Donatus, i. 71, 297;
    _Ars minor_ and _Barbarismus_ of, ii. 123-=4=

  Donizo of Canossa, ii. 189 _and_ _n. 2_

  Druids:
    Gallic, i. =28=, 296
    Irish, i. 133

  Du Guesclin, Bertrand, Constable of France, i. 554-6, 557 _n._

  Duns Scotus, education of, ii. 511;
    career of, ii. 513;
    estimate of, ii. 513;
    intricacy of style of, ii. 510, 514, =516 n. 2=;
    on logic, ii. 504 _n. 2_;
    Occam’s attitude toward, ii. 518 _seqq._;
    editions of works of, ii. 511 _n. 1_;
    estimate of his work, ii. 509-10, 514

  Dunstan, St., Abp. of Canterbury, i. 323-4

  Durandus, Guilelmus, _Rationale divinorum officiorum_ of, ii. 76 _seqq._


  Eadmer, i. 269, 273, 277

  Eastern Empire:
    Frankish relations with, i. 123
    Huns’ relations with, i. 112-13
    Norse mercenaries of, i. 153
    Ostrogoths’ relations with, i. 114
    Roman restoration by, i. 115

  Ebroin, i. 209

  Eckbert, Abbot of Schönau, i. 444

  Ecstasy:
    Bernard’s views on, ii. 368
    Examples of, i. 444, 446

  Eddas, ii. 220

  Education:
    Carolingian period, in, i. =213-14=, 218-19, 222, =236=; ii. 110, 122,
        =158=, 332
    Chartres method of, ii. 130-1
    Grammar a chief study in, ii. 122 _seqq._, 331-2
    Italy, in, _see under_ Italy
    Latin culture the means and method of, i. 12; ii. =109=
    Schools, clerical and monastic, i. =250 n. 2=, 293
    Schools, lay, i. 249-51
    Seven Liberal Arts, _see that heading_
    Shortening of academic course, advocates of, ii. =132=, 373

  Edward II., King of England, i. 551

  Edward III., King of England, i. 550-1

  Edward the Black Prince, i. 554-6

  Einhard the Frank, i. 234 _n. 1_;
    _Life of Charlemagne_ by, i. 215; ii. 158-9

  Ekkehart family, i. 309

  Ekkehart of St. Gall, _Waltarius_ (_Waltharilied_) by, ii. 188

  El-Farabi, ii. 390

  Eleventh century:
    Characteristics of, i. 301;
      in France, i. 301, 304, 328;
      in Germany, i. 307-9;
      in England, i. 324;
      in Italy, i. 327
    Christianity in, position of, i. 16

  Elias, Minister-General of the Minorites, i. 499

  Elizabeth, St., of Hungary, i. 391, =465 n. 1=

  Elizabeth, St., of Schönau, visions of, i. 444-6

  Emotional development, secular, i. 349-50 _and_ _n. 2_

  Empire, the, _see_ Holy Roman Empire

  Encyclopaedias, mediaeval, ii. 316 _n. 2_;
    Vincent’s _Speculum majus_, ii. 315-22

  _Eneas_, ii. 225, =226=

  Engelbert, Abp. of Cologne, i. 481-6;
    estimate of, i. 482

  England (_See also_ Britain):
    Danish Viking invasion of, i. 153
    Eleventh century conditions in, i. 324
    Law in, principles of, i. 141-2;
      Roman law almost non-existent in Middle Ages, ii. 248
    Norman conquest of, linguistic result of, i. 324

  English language, character of, i. 324

  Epicureanism, i. =41=, 70; ii. 296, 312

  Eriugena, John Scotus, estimate of, i. 215, =228-9=, =231=; ii. 330;
    on reason _v._ authority, ii. 298, 302;
    works of, studied at Chartres, i. 299;
    _De divisione naturae_, i. =230-1=; ii. 302;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 16; ii. 282 _n._, 312

  Essenes, i. 334

  Ethelbert, King of Kent, i. 180-1

  _Etymologies_ of Isidore, i. 33, 105 _and_ _n. 1_, =107-9=; ii. 318;
    law codes glossed from, ii. 250

  Eucharistic (Paschal) controversy:
    Berengar’s contribution to, i. 302-3
    Paschasius’ contribution to, i. 225-7

  Eucherius, Bp. of Lyons, ii. 48 _n. 1_

  Euclid, i. 40

  Eudemus of Rhodes, i. 38

  Eunapius, i. 47, 52

  Euric, King of the Visigoths, i. 117 _and_ _n. 1_

  Eusebius, i. 81 _n. 2_

  Evil or sin:
    Abaelard’s views concerning, ii. 350
    Eriugena’s views concerning, i. 228
    Original sin, realism in relation to, ii. 340 _n._
    Peter Lombard and Aquinas contrasted as to, ii. 308-10

  Experimental science, Bacon on, ii. 502-8


  _Fabliaux_, i. =521 n. 2=; ii. 222

  Facts, unlimited actuality of, i. 79-80

  Faith:
    Abaelard’s definition of, ii. 354
    Bacon’s views on, ii. 507
    Bernard of Clairvaux’s attitude toward, ii. 355
    _Caritas_ in relation to, ii. 479-81
    Cognition through, Aquinas’ views on, ii. 446
    Occam’s views on, ii. 519
    Proof of matters of, Aquinas on, ii. 450
    Will as functioning in, ii. 479

  _False Decretals_, i. 104 _n._, =118 n. 1=

  Fathers of the Church (_See also_ Patristic thought):
    Greek, _see_ Greek thought, patristic
    Latin, _see_ Latin Fathers

  Faustus, ii. 44

  Felix, St., i. 86

  Feudalism (_See also_ Knighthood):
    Anarchy of, modification of, i. 304
    Austrasian disintegration by, i. 240
    _Chansons_ regarding, i. 559 _seqq._, 569
    Christianity in relation to, i. 524, 527-=9 and n. 2=, =530=
    Church affected by, i. 244, 473
    Italy not greatly under, i. 241
    Marriage as affected by, i. 571, 586
    Obligations of, i. 533-4
    Origin of, 522-3
    Principle and practice of, at variance, i. 522

  Fibonacci, Leonardo, ii. 501

  Finnian, i. 136

  _Flamenca_, i. 565

  _Flore et Blanchefleur_, i. 565

  Florus, Deacon, of Lyons, i. 229 _and_ _n._

  Fonte Avellana hermitage, i. =262-3=, 381

  Forms, new, creation of, _see_ Mediaeval thought--Restatement

  Fortunatus, Hymns by, ii. 196-7

  Fourteenth century:
    Academic decadence in, ii. 523
    Papal position in, ii. 509-10

  France (_For particular districts, towns, etc., see their names_):
    Antique, the, in relation to, before Middle Ages, i. 9-10
    Arthurian romances developed in, i. 566
    Cathedrals of, ii. 539, 554-5
    Church in, secularization of, i. 472-3
    Eleventh century conditions in, i. 301, 304, 328
    History of, in 11th century, i. 300
    Hundred Years’ War, i. 550 _seqq._
    Jacquerie in (1358), i. 556
    Language modifications in, ii. 155
    Literary celebrities in (12th cent.), ii. 168
    Monarchy of, advance of, i. 305
    North and South, characteristics of, i. 328
    Rise of, in 14th century, ii. 509
    Town-dwellers of, i. =495=, 508

  Francis, St., of Assisi, birth of, i. 415;
    parentage, i. 419;
    youth, i. 420-3;
    breach with his father, i. 423-4;
    monastic career, i. 427 _seqq._;
    French songs sung by, i. =419 and n. 2=, 427, 432;
    _Lives_ of, i. 415 _n._;
    style of Thomas of Celano’s _Life_, ii. 182-3;
    _Speculum perfectionis_, i. 415 _n._, 416 _n._, =438 n. 3=; ii. =183=;
    literal acceptance of Scripture by, i. 365, 406-=7=;
    on Scripture interpretation, i. 427 _n. 1_; ii. 183;
    universality of outlook, i. 417;
    mediaevalism, i. 417;
    Christ-influence, i. 417, =418=, =432=-3;
    inspiration, i. =419 n. 1=, 441;
    gaiety of spirit, i. 421, 427-8, 431-2;
    poetic temperament, i. 422, 435;
    love of God, man, and nature, i. 366, 428, =432-3=, =435=-7;
    simplicity, i. 429;
    obedience and humility, i. 365 _n._, =429-30=;
    humanism, i. 495;
    St. Bernard compared with, i. 415-16;
    St. Dominic contrasted with, ii. 396;
    _Fioretti_, ii. 184;
    Canticle of Brother Sun, i. 433-4, =439-40=;
    last testament of, i. 440-1;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 20, 21, 279, 344, 345, 355-6; ii. 302

  Franciscan Order:
    Attractiveness of, i. 498
    Augustinianism of, ii. 404
    Bacon’s relations with, ii. 486, =488=, 490-=1=
    Characteristics of, i. 366
    Founding of, i. =427=; ii. 396
    Grosseteste’s relations, ii. =487=, 511
    Object of, ii. 396
    Oxford University, at, ii. 387, 400
    Papacy, relations with, ii. =398=, 509
    Paris University, in, ii. 386, 399
    Rise of, ii. 398

  Franconia, i. 241

  Franks (_See also_ Germans):
    Christianity as accepted by, i. 193
    Church among:
      Bishops, position of, i. =194 and nn.=, 198, 201 _n._
      Charlemagne’s relations with, i. =201=, 239; ii. 273
      Clovis, under, i. 194
      Lands held by, i. 194, 199-200;
        immunities of, i. 201 _and_ _n._
      Organization of, i. 199
      Reform of, by Boniface, i. =196=; ii. 273
      Roman character of, i. 201
    Division of the kingdom a custom of, i. 238-9
    Gallo-Roman relations with, i. 123
    Language of, i. 145 _n. 2_
    Law of, ii. 245-6
    _Missi dominici_, i. 211
    Ripuarian, i. 119, 121; ii. 246
    Romanizing of, partial, i. 9-10
    Salian, i. 113, =119=; Code, ii. 245-6
    Saracens defeated by, i. 209-10 _n. 1_
    Trojan origin of, belief as to, ii. 225 _and_ _n. 1_

  Frederic, Count of Isenburg, i. 483-6

  Frederick I. (Barbarossa), Emp., i. 448

  Frederick II., Emp., under Innocent’s guardianship, ii. 32-3;
    crowned, ii. 33;
    estimate of, i. 497;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 250 _n. 4_, 417, 481, 505, 510, 517

  Free, meaning of term, i. 526 _n. 3_

  Free Companies, i. 556

  Free will:
    Angelic, ii. 473
    Duns Scotus on, ii. 515
    Human, ii. 475
    Richard of Middleton on, ii. 512

  Freidank, i. 475; ii. =35=

  Frescoes, i. 346-7

  Friendship, chivalric, i. 561-2, 569-70, 583

  Frisians, i. 169, 174;
    missionary work among, i. =197=, 200, 209

  Froissart, Sir John, _Chronicles_ of, i. 549 _seqq._;
    estimate of the work, i. 557

  Froumund of Tegernsee, i. =312-13=; ii. 110

  Fulbert, Bp. of Chartres, i. 287, =296-7=, 299

  Fulbert, Canon, ii. 4-6, 9

  Fulco, Bp. of Toulouse, i. 461

  Fulda monastery, i. =198=, 221 _n. 2_

  Fulk of Anjou, ii. 138


  Gaius, _Institutes_ of, ii. 241, 243

  Galahad, i. 569-70, 583, 584 _and_ _n. 2_

  Galen of Pergamos, i. =40=, 251

  Gall, St., i. 6, 178, =196=

  Gallo-Romans:
    Feudal system among, i. 523
    Frankish rule over, i. 120, 123
    Literature of, i. 126 _n. 2_

  Gandersheim cloister, i. 311

  Gaul (_For particular districts, towns, etc., see their names_):
    Celtic inhabitants of, i. =125 and n.=, =126=-7, 129 _n. 1_
    Druidism in, i. =28=, 296
    Ethnology of, i. 126
    Heathenism in, late survival of, i. 191 _n. 1_
    Latinization of, i. 9-10, =29-32=
    Visigothic kingdom in south of, i. 112, 116, 117, 121

  Gauls, characteristics and customs of, i. 27-8

  Geoffrey of Beaulieu, Life of St. Louis by, i. 539-42

  Gepidae, i. 113, 115

  Geraldus, St., i. 281

  Gerard, brother of St. Bernard, i. 402-4

  Gerbert of Aurillac, _see_ Sylvester II.

  German language:
    Christianity as affecting, i. 202
    High and Low, separation of, i. 145 _n. 2_
    Middle High German literature, ii. 168, 221
    Old High German poetry, ii. =194=, 220

  Germans (Saxons) (_See also_ Franks):
    Characteristics of, i. 138-40, 147, 151-2
    Language of, _see_ German language
    Latin as studied by, i. =307-9=; ii. =123=, 155
    Literature of, ii. 220-1 (_See also subheading_ Poetry)
    Marriage as regarded by, ii. 30
    Nationalism of, in 13th cent., ii. 28
    Poetry of:
      _Hildebrandslied_, i. 145-7
      _Kudrun_ (_Gudrun_), i. 148, =149=-52; ii. 220
      _Nibelungenlied_, i. 145-6, =148-9=, 152, 193, 203 _n. 2_; ii. 220
      _Waltarius_, i. 147 _and_ _n._, 148
      otherwise mentioned, i. 113, 115, 119, 174, 209, 210

  Germany:
    Antique, the, in relation to, before Middle Ages, i. 10-11
    Art in (11th cent.), i. 312
    Church in, secularization of, i. 472
    Italy contrasted with, as to culture, i. 249-50
    Merovingian supremacy in, i. 121
    Papacy as regarded by, ii. 28, 33, =34-5=
    Sequence-composition in, ii. 215

  Gertrude of Hackeborn, Abbess, i. 466

  Gilbert de la Porrée, Bp. of Poictiers, ii. 132, =372=

  Gilduin, Abbot of St. Victor, ii. =62= _and_ _n. 2_

  Giraldus Cambrensis, ii. 135 _and_ _n._

  Girard, Bro., of Modena, i. 498

  Glaber, Radulphus, _Histories_ of, i. 488 _n._

  Glass-painting, ii. 82-6

  Gnosticism, i. 51 _n. 1_

  Gnostics, Eriugena compared with, i. 231 _and_ _n. 1_

  Godehard, Bp. of Hildesheim, i. 312

  Godfrey of Bouillon, i. 535-8

  Godfrey of Viterbo, ii. 190 _and_ _n. 4_

  Gondebaud, King of the Burgundians, ii. 242

  Good and the true compared, ii. 441, 512

  Goths (_See also_ Visigoths):
    Christianity of, i. 192, 194
    Roman Empire invaded by, i. 111 _seqq._

  Gottfried von Strassburg, i. 567; ii. 223;
    _Tristan_ of, i. 577-82

  Gottschalk, i. 215, 221 _n. 2_, 224-5, 227-=8=;
    verses by, ii. 197-9

  Government:
    Church _v._ State controversy, ii. 276-7
      (_See also_ Papacy--Empire)
    Ecclesiastical, _see_ Canon Law
    Monarchical, ii. 277-8
    Natural law in relation to, ii. 278-=9=
    Representative assemblies, ii. 278

  Grace, Aquinas’ definition of, ii. 478-9

  Grail, the, i. 589, =596-7=, =607=, 608, 613

  Grammar:
    Chartres studies in, i. =298=; ii. 129-30
    Current usage followed by, ii. 163 _and_ _n. 1_
    Hugo of St. Victor on, ii. 67
    Importance and predominance of, in Middle Ages, i. 109 _and_ _n._,
        =292=; ii. =331-2=
    Italian study of, ii. =129=, 381
    Language continuity preserved by, ii. =122-3=, 151, 155
    Law studies in relation to, ii. 121
    Logic in relation to, ii. 127 _seqq._, 333-4;
      in Abaelard’s work, ii. 346
    Raban’s view of, i. 222
    Scholastic classification of, ii. 313
    Syntax, connotation of term, ii. 125
    Works on--Donatus, Priscian, Alexander, ii. 123 =seqq.=

  Grammarian, meaning of term, i. 250

  Gratianus, _Decretum_ of, ii. 268-9, =270-1=, 306, 380-2;
    _dicta_, ii. 271

  Greek classics, _see_ Greek thought, pagan

  Greek language:
    Oxford studies in, ii. 120, 391, =487=
    Translations from, direct, in 13th cent., ii. 391

  Greek legends, mediaeval allegorizing of, ii. 52, 56-9

  Greek novels, ii. 224 _and_ _n._

  Greek thought, pagan:
    Bacon’s attitude toward, ii. 492-3
    Breadth of interest of, ii. 109
    Christian standpoint contrasted with, i. 390; ii. 295-6
    Church Fathers permeated by, i. 33-4
    Completeness of schemes presented by, ii. 394
    Limitless, the, abhorrent to, i. 353-4
    Love as regarded by, i. 575
    Metaphysics in, ii. 335-7
    Scholasticism contrasted with, ii. 296
    _Summa moralium philosophorum_, ii. 373
    Symbolism in, ii. 42, =56=
    Transmutation of, through Latin medium, i. 4

  Greek thought, patristic (_See also_ Patristic thought):
    Comparison of, with Latin, i. 68
    Pagan philosophic thought contrasted with, ii. 295-6
    Symbolism in, ii. 43
    Transmutation of, through Latin medium, i. 5, 34 _and_ _n._

  Gregorianus, ii. =240=, 243

  Gregory, Bp. of Tours, i. 121;
    _Historia Francorum_ by, i. 234 _n. 2_; ii. 155

  Gregory I. (the Great), Pope, family and education of, i. 97;
    Augustine of Hippo compared with, i. 98-9;
    Augustinianism barbarized by, i. 98, 102;
    sends mission to England, i. 6, 33, =180-1 and n. 1=;
    estimate of, i. =56=, 89, =102-3=, =342=;
    estimate of his writings, i. 354;
    on miracles, i. 100, 182;
    on secular studies, ii. 288;
    letter to Theoctista cited, i. 102 _n. 1_;
    editions of works of, i. 97 _n._;
    works of, translated by King Alfred, i. 187;
    _Dialogues on the Lives and Miracles of the Italian Saints_, i. 85 and
        _n. 2_, 100;
    _Moralia_, i. =97=, 100; ii. 57;
    Odo’s epitome of this work, ii. 161;
    _Commentary on Kings_, i. 100 _n. 1_;
    _Pastoral Rule_, i. =102=, 187-8;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 16 _and_ _n. 4_, 65, 87, 104, 116

  Gregory II., Pope, i. 197-8; ii. 273

  Gregory III., Pope, i. 198; ii. 273

  Gregory VII., Pope (Hildebrand), claims of, i. =244-5=; ii. 274;
    relations with Damiani, i. 263;
    exile of, i. 244, 253;
    estimate of, i. 261;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 17, 174 _n. 1_, 243, 304

  Gregory IX., Pope, codification by, of Canon law, ii. 272;
    efforts of, to improve education of the Church, ii. 398;
    mentioned, i. 476; ii. 33

  Gregory of Nyssa, i. 53, 80, 87, 340

  Grosseteste, Robert, Chancellor of Oxford University and Bp. of Lincoln,
        Greek studies promoted by, ii. =120=, =391=, 487;
    estimate of, ii. 511-12;
    Augustinianism of, ii. 403-4;
    attitude toward the classics, ii. 120, 389;
    relations with Franciscan Order, ii. =487=, 511;
    Bacon’s relations with, ii. 487

  _Gudrun_ (_Kudrun_), i. 148, =149=-52; ii. 220

  Guigo, Prior, estimate of, i. 390-1;
    relations with St. Bernard, i. 405;
    _Consuetudines Carthusiae_ by, i. 384;
    _Meditationes_ of, i. 385-90

  Guinevere, i. 569, =584= _and_ _n. 1_, 585

  Guiot de Provens, “Bible” of, i. 475-6 _and_ _n. 1_

  Guiscard, Robert, ii. 189 _n. 2_

  Gumpoldus, Bp. of Mantua, _Life of Wenceslaus_ by, ii. 162 _n. 1_

  Gundissalinus, Archdeacon of Segovia, ii. 312 _and_ _n. 4_, 313

  Gunther, _Ligurinus_ of, ii. 192 _and_ _n. 4_

  Gunzo of Novara, i. 257-8


  Harding, Stephen, Abbot of Citeaux, i. =360=, =361=, 393

  Harold Fairhair, i. 153

  _Hartmann von Aue_, i. =348-9 and n.=, 567; ii. 29 _n._

  Harun al Raschid, Caliph, i. 210

  Heinrich von Veldeke, i. 567; ii. 29 _n._

  _Heliand_, i. =203 and nn.=, 308

  Helias, Count of Maine, ii. 138

  Hell:
    Dante’s descriptions of, ii. 546-7
    Fear of, i. 103, =339=, 342, =383=
    Visions of, i. 454-5, 456 _n._

  Heloïse, Abaelard’s love for, ii. 4-5, 344;
    his love-songs to, ii. =13=, 207;
    love of, for Abaelard, i. 585; ii. =3=, =5=, 8, 9, =15-16=;
    birth of Astralabius, ii. 6;
    opposes marriage with Abaelard, ii. 6-9;
    marriage, ii. 9;
    at Argenteuil, ii. 9, 10;
    takes the veil, ii. 10;
    at the Paraclete, ii. 10 _seqq._;
    letters of, to Abaelard quoted, ii. 11-15, 17-20, 23, 24;
    Abaelard’s letters to, quoted, ii. 16-17, 21-3, 24-5;
    Peter the Venerable’s letter, ii. 25-7;
    letter of, to Peter the Venerable, ii. 27;
    death of, ii. 27;
    intellectual capacity of, ii. 3

  Henry the Fowler, i. 241

  Henry II., Emp., i. 243;
    dirge on death of, ii. 216

  Henry IV., Emp., i. 244; ii. =167=

  Henry VI., Emp., ii. 32, 190

  Henry I., King of England, ii. 139, 146, 176-8

  Henry II., King of England, ii. 133, 135, 372

  Henry of Brabant, ii. 391

  Henry of Ghent, ii. 512

  Henry of Huntington cited, i. 525

  Henry of Septimella, ii. 190 _and_ _n. 3_

  Heretics (_For particular sects, see their names_):
    Abaelard’s views on coercion of, ii. 350, 354
    Insignificance of, in relation to mediaeval thought, ii. 283 _and_ _n._
    Theodosian enactments against, ii. 266
    Twelfth century, in, i. 305

  Herluin, Abbot of Bec, i. 271

  Hermann, Landgraf of Thüringen, i. 589; ii. 29

  Hermann Contractus, i. 314-15 _and_ _n. 1_

  Hermits:
    Irish, i. 133
    Motives of, i. 335, 363
    Temper of, i. 368 _seqq._

  Hermogenianus, ii. 240, 243

  Herodotus, i. 77

  Hesse, Boniface’s work in, i. 197-8

  Hilarion, St., i. 86

  Hilary, Bp. of Poictiers, i. =63=, 68, 70

  Hildebert of Lavardin, Bp. of Le Mans and Abp. of Tours, career of, ii.
        137-40;
    love of the classics, ii. =141-2=, =146=, 531;
    letters of, quoted, ii. 140, 143, 144-5, 146-7;
    Latin text of letter, ii. 172;
    Latin elegy by, ii. 191;
    otherwise mentioned, ii. 61, 134, 373 _n. 2_

  Hildebrand, _see_ Gregory VII.

  _Hildebrandslied_, ii. 220

  Hildegard, St., Abbess of Bingen, dedication of, i. 447;
    visions of, i. 267, =449-59=;
    affinity of, with Dante, ii. 539;
    correspondence of, i. 448;
    works of, i. 446 _n._;
    _Book of the Rewards of Life_, i. 452-6;
    _Scivias_, i. 457-9;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 20, 345, 443; ii. 302, 365

  Hildesheim, bishops of (11th cent.), i. 312

  Hilduin, Abbot, i. 230

  Hincmar, i. 215, 230, =233 n. 1=

  Hipparchus, i. 40

  Hippocrates, i. 40

  History:
    Carolingian treatment of, i. 234-5
    Classical attitude toward, i. 77-8
    Eleventh century treatment of, i. 300
    _Historia tripartita_ of Cassiodorus, i. 96-7
    Patristic attitude toward, i. 80-4
    _Seven Books of Histories adversum paganos_ by Orosius, i. 82-3

  Holy Roman Empire:
    Burgundy added to, i. 243 _n. 1_
    German character of, ii. 32
    Papacy, relations with, _see under_ Papacy
    Refounding of, by Otto, i. 243
    Rise of, under Charlemagne, i. 212

  Honorius II., Pope, i. 531

  Honorius III., Pope, i. 366, 482, 497; ii. 33, 385 _n._, =398=

  Honorius of Autun--on classical study, ii. 110, =112-13=;
    _Speculum ecclesiae_ of, ii. 50 _seqq._;
    _Gemma animae_, ii. 77 _n. 1_

  Hosius, Bp. of Cordova, i. 118 _n. 1_

  Hospitallers, i. 531

  Hrotsvitha, i. 311 _and_ _n. 2_, ii. 215 _n. 2_

  Huesca (Osca), i. 25

  Hugh, Abbot of Cluny, ii. 137

  Hugh Capet, i. 239-=40= _and_ _n._

  Hugh the Great, Count of Paris, i. 241

  Hugh of Payns, i. 531

  Hugo, Archdeacon of Halberstadt, ii. 62

  Hugo, Bro., of Montpellier, i. 510-14

  Hugo, King, i. 242

  Hugo of St. Victor, estimate of, ii. =63=, =111=, 118, 301, =356=;
    allegorizing by, ii. 367;
    on classical study, ii. 110-11;
    on logic, ii. 333;
    pupils of, ii. 87;
    works of, ii. 61 _n. 2_;
    _Didascalicon_, ii. 48 _n. 2_, =63=, =111=, 312, =357 and nn. 2-5=;
    _De sacramentis Christianae fidei_, ii. 48 _n. 2_, =64 seqq.=, 365,
        =395=, 540;
    _Expositio in regulam beati Augustini_, ii. 62 _n. 2_;
    _De arca Noë morali_, ii. 75 _n._, =365-7=;
    _De arca Noë mystica_, ii. 367;
    _De vanitate mundi_, ii. 75 _n._, =111-12=;
    _Summa sententiarum_, ii. 356;
    _Sermons on Ecclesiastes_, ii. 358-9;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 17, 20, 457; ii. 404

  Humanists, ii. 126

  _Humiliati_ of Lombardy, i. 365

  Hungarians, i. 241-=2=

  Huns, i. 112, 119, 193

  _Huon de Bordeaux_, i. 564

  Hy (Iona) Island, i. 136, =173=

  Hymns, Christian:
    Abaelard, by, ii. 25, =207-9=
    Estimate of, i. 21
    Evolution of, i. 347-9 _and_ _n._; ii. 196, =200 seqq.=
    Hildegard’s visions regarding, i. 459
    Hugo of St. Victor, by, ii. 86 _seqq._
    Sequences, development of, ii. 196, =201-6=;
      Adam of St. Victor’s, ii. 209-15


  Iamblicus, i. 42, =47=, 51, 56-7; ii. 295

  Iceland, Norse settlement in, i. 153

  Icelanders, characteristics and customs of, i. 154

  Icelandic Sagas, _see_ Sagas

  Ideal _v._ actual, i. 353 _seqq._

  Innocent II., Pope, i. =394=; ii. 10

  Innocent III., Pope, i. 417, 481, 497; ii. =32=, =274=, 384, =398=

  Innocent IV., Pope, i. 506

  _Intellectus agens_, ii. 464, =507 n. 2=

  Iona (Hy) Island, i. 136, =173=

  Ireland:
    Celts in, _see_ Irish
    Church of, missionary zeal of, i. 133, 136, 172 _seqq._
    Danish settlements in, i. 153
    Monasteries in, i. =153 n. 1=, 173
    Norse invasion of, i. 134
    Scholarship in, i. =180 n.=, 184-5

  Irenaeus, Bp. of Lyons, i. 225

  Irish:
    Art of, i. 128 _n. 1_
    Characteristics of, i. =128=, 130, 133, 179
    History of, i. 127 _and_ _n._
    Influence of, on mediaeval feeling, i. 179 _and_ _n._
    Literature of, i. =128 and n. 2=, =129 seqq.=, 134;
      poetry, ii. 194
    Missionary labours of, i. 133, 136, 172 _seqq._;
      defect of, i. 179, 196
    Norse harryings of, i. 133-4;
      intercourse with, i. 152 _n. 3_
    Oxford University, at, ii. 387

  Irnerius, ii. 121, =260=, 380-1;
    _Summa codicis_ of, ii. 255-9

  Irrationality (_See also_ Miracles):
    Neo-Platonic teaching as to, i. 42-4, 48, 52
    Patristic doctrine as to, i. 51-3

  Isabella, Queen, wife of Edward II., i. 550-1

  Isidore, Abp. of Seville, estimate of, i. 89, 103, 118 _n. 1_;
    Bede compared with, i. 185-7;
    _False Decretals_ attributed to, i. 118 _n. 1_; ii. =270=, 273;
    works of, i. 104-9;
    _Etymologiae_, _see_ Etymologies of Isidore;
    _Origines_, i. 236, 300;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 6, 88; ii. 46, 312

  Italian people in relation to the antique, i. 7-8

  Italy (_For particular districts, towns, etc., see their names_):
    Celtic inroads into (3rd cent. B.C.), i. 24
    Church in, secularization of, i. 472
    Cities in:
      Continuity of, through dark ages, i. 248, =494-5=; ii. 381
      Fighting amongst, i. 497-8
      Importance of, i. 241, 326, =494-5=
    Continuity of culture and character in, i. =326=, 495; ii. =120-2=
    Dante as influenced by, ii. 534-5
    Education in--lay, persistence of, i. 249-51;
      clerical and monastic, i. 250 _n. 2_
    Eleventh-century conditions in, i. 327
    Feudalism not widely fixed in, i. 241
    Feuds in, i. 515-16
    Grammar as studied in, i. 250 _and_ _n. 2_; ii. 129
    Irish monasteries founded in, i. 174
    Literature of, mediaeval, lack of originality in, ii. 189;
      eleventh-century verse, i. 251 _seqq._; ii. 165 _n. 1_, 186
    Lombard kingdom of (6th cent.), i. 115-16
    Medicine studied in, i. 250 _and_ _n. 4_, =251=; ii. 121
    Unification of, under Rome, i. 23


  Jacobus à Voragine, _Legenda aurea_ by, ii. 184

  Jacques de Vitry, Bp. and Card. of Tusculum, i. 461 and n.;
    Exempla of, i. 488 _n._, 490

  Jerome, St., estimate of, i. 344, 354;
    letter of, on asceticism, i. 335 _and_ =n. 1=;
    love of the classics, ii. 107, 112, 531;
    modification by, of classical Latin, ii. 152, 171;
    two styles of, ii. 171 _and_ _n. 4_;
    Life of Paulus by, i. 84, 86;
    Life of Hilarion, i. 86;
    _Contra Vigilantium_, i. 86;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 56, 75, 76, 104

  Jerome of Ascoli (Pope Nicholas IV.), ii. 491

  Jews:
    Agobard’s tracts against, i. 232-=3=
    Gregory the Great’s attitude toward, i. 102
    Louis IX.’s attitude toward, i. 545
    Persecution of, i. 118, 332

  Joachim, Abbot of Flora, _Evangelicum eternum_ of, 502 _n._, =510=,
        =512-13=, 517

  John, Bro., of Vicenza, i. 503-4

  John X., Pope, i. 242

  John XI., Pope, i. 242

  John XII., Pope, i. 243; ii. =160-1=

  John XIII., Pope, i. 282

  John XXII., Pope, _Decretales extravaganes_ of, ii. 272

  John of Damascus, ii. 439 _n. 1_

  John of Fidanza, _see_ Bonaventura

  John of Parma, Minister-General of Franciscans, i. 507, 508, =510-11=

  John of Salisbury, estimate of, ii. 118, 373-4;
    Chartres studies described by, ii. 130-2;
    attitude of, to the classics, ii. 114, 164, =173=, 531;
    Latin style of, ii. 173-4;
    _Polycraticus_, ii. 114-15, 174-5;
    _Metalogicus_, ii. 173-4;
    _Entheticus_, ii. 192;
    _De septem septenis_, ii. 375

  John the Deacon, _Chronicon Venetum_ by, i. 325-6

  Joinville, Sire de, _Histories_ of St. Louis by, i. 539, =542-9=

  Jordanes, compend of Gothic history by, i. 94

  Jordanes of Osnabrück cited, ii. 276 _n. 2_

  Joseph of Exeter, ii. 225 _n. 2_

  Jotsaldus, Life of Odilo by, i. 295-6

  Judaism, emotional elements in, i. 331-2

  Julianus, _Epitome_ of, ii. 242, =249=, 254

  Jumièges cloister, ii. 201

  Jurisprudence (_See also_ Roman law):
    Irnerius an exponent of, ii. 256, 259
    Mediaeval renaissance of, ii. 265
    Roman law, in, beginnings of, ii. 232

  Justinian, _Codex_, _Institutes_, _Novellae_ of, _see under_ Roman law;
    _Digest of_, _see_ Roman law--Pandects

  Jutes, i. 140

  Jutta, i. 447


  Keating quoted, i. 136

  Kilwardby, Richard, Abp. of Canterbury, _De ortu et divisione
        philosophiae_ of, ii. 313

  Kilwardby, Robert, ii. 128

  Knighthood, order of:
    Admission to, persons eligible for, i. 527
    Code of, i. 524
    Hospitallers, i. 531
    Investiture ceremony, i. 525-8
    Love the service of, i. 568, =573=
    Templars, i. 531-5
    Virtues and ideals of, i. 529-31, 567-8

  Knowledge:
    Cogitation, meditation, contemplation (Hugo’s scheme), ii. 358 _seqq._
    Forms and modes of, Aquinas on--divine, ii. 451-5;
      angelic, ii. 459-62;
      human, ii. 463 _seqq._
    Grades of, Aquinas on, ii. 461, 467
    Primacy of, over will maintained by Aquinas, ii. 440-1


  La Ferté Monastery, i. 362

  Lambert of Hersfeld, _Annals_ of, i. 313; ii. 167

  Lambertus Audomarensis, _Liber Floridus_ of, ii. 316 _n. 2_

  _Lancelot of the Lake_, i. 567, 569-70, =582-5=;
    Old French prose version of, i. 583 _seqq._

  Land tenure, feudal, i. 523-4

  Lanfranc, Primate of England, i. 174 _n. 1_, =261 n.=, 273

  _Langue d’oc_, ii. 222, 248

  _Langue d’oil_, ii. 222, 248

  Languedoc, chivalric society of (11th and 12th centuries), i. 572

  Latin classics:
    Abaelard’s reference to, ii. 353
    Alexandrian antecedents of the verse, ii. 152 _n. 1_
    Artificial character of the prose, ii. 151 _n._
    Breadth of interest of, ii. 109
    Characteristics of, ii. 153
    Chartres a home of, i. 298; ii. 119
    Common elements in, ii. 149, 157
    Dante’s attitude toward, ii. 541, 544;
      his quotations from, ii. 543 _n. 1_
    Ecclesiastical attitude toward, i. 260; ii. 110 _seqq._, 396-7
    Familiarity with, of Damiani, i. 260; ii. 165;
      Gerbert, i. 287-8; ii. 110;
      John of Salisbury, ii. 114, 164, =173=, 531;
      Bernard of Chartres, ii. 132-3;
      Peter of Blois, ii. 133-4;
      Hildebert, ii. =141-2=, =146=, 531
    Knowledge-storehouses for the Middle Ages, as, ii. 108
    Mastery of, complete, as affecting mediaeval writings, ii. 164
    Reverential attitude of mediaevals toward, ii. 107-9
    Scripture study as aided by study of, ii. 110, 112, 120
    Suggestions of new ideas from, for Northern peoples, ii. 136
    Themes of, in vernacular poetry, ii. 223 _seqq._
    Twelfth-century study of, ii. 117-18

  Latin Fathers (_See also their names and_ Patristic thought):
    Comparison of, with Greek, i. 68
    Style and diction of, ii. 150, 152 _seqq._
    Symbolism in, ii. 43-6
    Transmutation by, of Greek thought, i. 5, 34 _and_ _n._

  Latin language:
    Britain, position in, i. 10, 32
    Children’s letters in, ii. 123 _n._
    Christianity as modifying, ii. 152, =154=, 156, 164, 171
    Continuity of, preserved by universal study of grammar, ii. =122-3=,
        151, 155
    “Cornificiani” in regard to, ii. =132=, 373
    Educational medium as, ii. 109
    Genius of, susceptible of change, ii. 149
    German acquisition of, i. 10, 32, =307-8=, =313=; ii. =123=, 155
    Grammar of, _see_ Grammar
    Mediaeval modifications in, ii. 125, 164
    Patristic modifications of, ii. 150, 152 _seqq._;
      Jerome’s, ii. 152, 171
    Spelling of, mediaeval, i. 219
    Sphere of, ii. 219-20
    Supremacy of (during Roman conquest period), i. 4, =23-4 and n. 1=,
        25, =30-1=
    Translations from, scanty nature of, ii. 331 _n. 2_
    Translations into, difficulties of, ii. 498
    Universality of, as language of scholars, ii. 219, 331 _n. 2_
    Vernacular, developments of, ii. 151
    Vitality of, in relation to vernacular tongues, ii. 219

  Latin prose, mediaeval:
    Antecedents of, ii. 151 _seqq._
    Best period of, ii. 167-8
    Bulk of, ii. 157 _n._
    Carolingian, ii. 158-60
    Characteristics of, ii. 156
    Estimation of, difficulties of, ii. 157 _and_ _n._
    Influences upon, summary of, ii. 156
    Prolixity and inconsequence of, ii. 154
    Range of, ii. 154
    Simplicity of word-order in, ii. 163 _n. 1_
    Stages of development of, ii. 157 _seqq._
    Style in, beginnings of, ii. 164
    Stylelessness of, in Carolingian period, ii. 158-60
    Thirteenth-century styles, ii. 179
    Value of, as expressing the mediaeval mind, ii. 156, 164

  Latin verse, mediaeval:
    Accentual and rhyming compositions, ii. 194;
      two kinds of, ii. 196
    Antecedents of, ii. 187 _n. 1_
    Carmina Burana (Goliardic poetry), ii. 203, =217-19 and n.=
    Development of, stages in, ii. 187
    Leonine hexameters, ii. 199 _and_ _n. 3_
    Metrical composition, ii. 187 _seqq._;
      elegiac verse, ii. 190-2 _and_ _n. 1_;
      hexameters, ii. 192;
      Sapphics, ii. 192-3 _and_ _n. 1_
    Modi, ii. 215-16
    Rhyme, development of, ii. 195, =206=

  Law:
    Barbarian, Latin codes of, ii. 244 _seqq._
    Barbaric conception of, ii. 245, 248-9
    _Breviarium_, _see under_ Roman law
    Canon, _see_ Canon law
    English, principles of, i. 141-2
    Grammar in relation to, ii. 121
    Lombard codes, i. =115=; ii. 242, =246=, 248, 253;
      _Concordia_, ii. 259
    Natural:
      Gratian on, ii. 268-9
      _Jus gentium_ in relation to, ii. =234 and n.=, 268
      Occam on, ii. 519
      Sacraments of, ii. 74 _and_ _n. 1_
      Supremacy of, ii. 269, 279
      Roman, _see_ Roman law
      Salic, ii. 245-6
      Territorial basis of, i. 123; ii. 247
      Tribal basis of, i. 123; ii. =245-7=
      Visigothic codification of, in Spain, i. 118

  Leander, Bp. of Seville, i. 118 _n. 1_

  Légonais, Chrétien, ii. 230 _and_ _n. 2_

  Leo, Brother, _Speculum perfectionis_ by, ii. 183-4

  Leo I. (the Great), Pope, i. 113, 116

  Leo IX., Pope, i. 243

  Leon, Sir Guy de, i. 552-3

  Leon, Sir Hervé de, i. 552-3

  Leowigild, i. 117 _n. 2_, 118 _n. 1_

  Lerins monastery, i. 195

  Lewis, Lord, of Spain, i. 552-3

  Liberal arts, _see_ Seven Liberal Arts

  Liutgard of Tongern, i. 463-5

  Liutprand, Bp. of Cremona i. =256-7=; ii. 161 _n. 1_

  Liutprand, King of Lombards, i. 115-16

  Logic (_See also_ Dialectic):
    Albertus Magnus on, ii. =313-15=, 504, 506
    Aristotelian, mediaeval apprehension of, ii. 329 (_See also_
        Aristotle--_Organon_)
    Bacon’s attitude toward, ii. 505
    Gerbert’s preoccupation with, i. 282, 289, =292=
    Grammar in relation to, ii. 127 _seqq._, 333-4;
      in Abaelard’s work, ii. 346
    Importance of, in Middle Ages, i. 236; ii. 297
    Nature of, ii. 333;
      schoolmen’s views on, ii. 313-15, 333
    Occam’s views on, ii. 522
    Patristic attitude toward, i. 71
    Raban’s view of, i. 222
    Scholastic classification of, ii. 313 _seqq._
    Scholastic decay in relation to, ii. 523
    Second stage of mediaeval development represented by, ii. 332-4
    Specialisation of, in 12th cent., ii. 119
    Theology in relation to, ii. =340 n.=, 346
    Twofold interpretation of, ii. 333
    Universals, problem of, ii. 339 _seqq._;
      Abaelard’s treatment of, ii. 342, =348=

  Lombard, Peter, estimate of, ii. 370;
      Gratian compared with, ii. 270;
      Bacon’s attitude toward, ii. 497;
      _Books of Sentences_ by, i. 17, 18; ii. 134, 370;
        method of the work, ii. 306;
        Aquinas’ _Summa_ contrasted with it, ii. 307-10;
        its classification scheme, ii. 322-4;
        Bonaventura’s commentary on it, ii. 408

  Lombards:
    Italian kingdom of (6th cent.), i. 115-16
    Italian influence on, i. 7, 249
    Law codes of, _see under_ Law

  Louis of Bavaria, Emp., ii. 518

  Louis I. (the Pious), King of France, i. 233, 239, =359=;
    false capitularies ascribed to, ii. 270

  Louis VI. (the Fat), King of France, i. 304-5, 394, 400; ii. 62;
    Hildebert’s letter on encroachments of, ii. 140, 172

  Louis IX. (the Saint), King of France, Geoffrey’s _Vita_ of, i. 539-42;
    Joinville’s _Histoire of_, i. 542-9;
    Testament of, i. 540 _n. 1_;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 476, 507-=9=, 515

  Love, Aquinas on distinguishing definitions of, ii. 475-6

  Love, chivalric:
    Antique conception of love contrasted with, i. 575
    _Chansons de geste_ as concerned with, i. 564
    Code of, by Andrew the Chaplain, i. 575-6
    Dante’s exposition of, ii. 555-6
    Estimate of, mediaeval, i. 568, 570
    Literature of, _see_ Chivalry--Literature
    Marriage in relation to, i. 571 _and_ _n. 2_
    _Minnelieder_ as depicting, ii. 30
    Nature of, i. 572-5, 582-7
    Stories exemplifying--_Tristan_, i. 577 _seqq._;
      _Lancelot_, 582 _seqq._

  Love, spiritual:
    Aquinas’ discussion of, ii. 472-3, 476
    Bernard of Clairvaux as exemplifying, i. 394 _seqq._

  Lupus, Servatus, Abbot of Ferrières, i. 215;
    ii. 113

  Luxeuil, i. 175-7

  Lyons:
    Diet of the “Three Gauls” at, i. 30
    Law studies at, ii. 250


  Macrobius, _Saturnalia_ of, ii. 116 _and_ _n. 4_

  Magic, i. =46-8=; ii. 500 _and_ _n. 1_

  Majolus, Abbot of Cluny, i. 359

  Manichaeism, i. =49=; ii. =44=, 283

  Manny, Sir Walter, i. 552-4

  Mapes (Map), Walter, i. =475=, 567; ii. 219 _n._

  Marie, Countess, de Champagne, i. 566, 573, =576=

  Marie de France, i. =566=, 567, 573;
    _Eliduc_ by, i. 571 _n. 2_

  Marinus (hermit), i. 373

  Marozia, i. 242

  Marriage:
    Christian attitude toward, ii. 8;
      ecclesiastical view, ii. 529
    Feudalism as affecting, i. 571, 586
    German view of, ii. 30

  Marsilius of Padua, ii. 277 _n. 2_

  Martin, St., of Tours, i. 334;
    Life of, i. 52 and _n._, 84, 85 _n. 2_, =86=

  Martyrs:
    Mediaeval view of, i. 483
    Patristic attitude toward, i. 86

  Mary, St., of Ognies, i. =462-3=;
    nature of visions of, i. 459

  Massilia, i. 26

  Mathematics:
    Bacon’s views on, ii. 499-500
    Gerbert’s proficiency in, i. 282, =288=

  Mathew Paris cited, ii. 487

  Matthew of Vendome, _Ars versificatoria_ by, ii. 190 _and_ _n. 5_

  Maurus, Rabanus, _see_ Rabanus

  Mayors of the palace, i. 240

  Mechthild of Magdeburg, i. 20, 345; ii. 365;
    Book of, i. 465 _and_ _n. 2_-70

  Mediaeval thought:
    Abstractions, genius for, ii. 280
    Characteristics of, i. 13
    Commentaries characteristic of, ii. 390, 553 _n. 4_
    Conflict inherent in, i. 22; ii. =293-4=
    Deference of, toward the past, i. 13; ii. 534
    Emotionalizing by, of patristic Christianity, i. 345
    Metalogics rather than metaphysics the final stage of, ii. 337
    Moulding forces of, i. 3, 5, 12; ii. =293-4=
    Orthodox character of, ii. 283 _and_ _n._
    Political theorizing, ii. 275 _seqq._
    Problems of, origins of, ii. 294-5
    Restatement and rearrangement of antique matter the work of, i. 13-15,
        =224=, 237, =292=, 342; ii. 297, 329, 341:
      Culmination of third stage in, ii. 394
      Emotional transformations of the antique, i. 18 _seqq._
      Intellectual transformations of the antique, i. 14 _seqq._
    Salvation the main interest of, i. =58-9=, 334; ii. =296-7=, 300
    Scholasticism, _see that heading_
    Superstitions accepted by, i. 487
    Symbolism the great influence in, ii. 43, 102, 365
    Three stages of, ii. 329 _seqq._
    Ultimate intellectual interests of, ii. 287 _seqq._

  Medicine:
    Relics used in, i. 299
    Smattering of, included in Arts course, ii. 250
    Study of--in Italy, i. 250 _and_ _n. 4_, =251=; ii. 383 _n._
      at Chartres, i. 299; ii. 372

  Mendicant Orders, _see_ Dominican _and_ Franciscan

  Merovingian Kingdom:
    Character of, i. 208
    Church under, i. 194
    Extent of, i. 210 _n. 3_
    German conquests of, i. 121, 138

  Merovingian period:
    Barbarism of, i. 9
    Continuity of, with Carolingian, i. 210-12
    King’s law in, ii. 247

  Merovingians, estimate of, i. 195

  Metaphor distinguished from allegory, ii. 41 _n._ (_See also_ Symbolism)

  Metaphysics:
    Final stage of mediaeval development represented by, ii. 335-7
    Logic, mediaeval, in relation to, ii. 334
    Theology dissociated from, by Duns, ii. 510, 516, =517=

  Michelangelo quoted, ii. 113

  Middle Ages (_See also_ Mediaeval thought):
    Beginning of, i. 6
    Extremes characteristic of, i. 355

  Milan, lawyers in, ii. 251 _n. 2_

  _Miles_, signification of word, i. 525-6 _and_ _n. 2_

  _Minnelieder_, ii. 28-31

  Minorites, i. 430 (_See also_ Franciscan Order)

  Miracles (_See also_ Irrationality):
    Devil, concerned with, i. 488 _seqq._
    _Nostre Dame, Miracles de_, i. 491-2
    Patristic attitude toward, i. =85-6=, =100=, 182
    Roman Empire aided by, belief as to, ii. 536
    Salimbene’s instance of, i. 516
    Universal acceptance of, i. =74=, 182
    _Vitae sanctorum_ in regard to, i. 85 _and_ _n. 2_

  Mithraism, i. 49

  Modena (Mutina), i. 24

  Modi, ii. 215-16

  Monasteries:
    Immunities granted to, i. 523 _and_ _n._
    _Regula_ of, meaning of, ii. 62

  Monasticism (_For particular Monasteries, Orders, etc., see their
        names_):
    Abuses of, i. 357-8; Rigaud’s _Register_ quoted, i. 477-481
    Benedictine rule:
      Adoption of--in England, i. 184;
        among the Franks, i. 199, 201;
        generally, i. 358
      Papal approval of, i. 335
    Cassiodorus a pioneer in literary functions of, i. 94
    General mediaeval view regarding, i. =472=; ii. 529
    Ideal _v._ actual, i. 355
    Ireland, in, i. 135 _n. 1_
    Lament over deprivations of, ii. 218-19
    Modifications of, by St. Francis, i. 366
    Motives of, i. 357
    Nature of, i. 336-7
    Nuns, _see_ Women--monastic life
    Origin of, i. 335
    Pagan literature condemned by, i. 260
    Popularity of, in 5th and 6th centuries, i. 195-6
    Poverty--of monks, i. 365;
      of Orders, i. 366, =425=, =430=
    Reforms of, i. 358 _seqq._
    Schools, monastic, in Italy, i. 250 _n. 2_
    Sex-relations as regarded by, i. 338
    Studies of, in 6th cent., i. 94, 95
    Subordinate monasteries, supervision of, i. 361
    Uncloistered, _see_ Dominican _and_ Franciscan
    _Vita activa_ accepted by, i. 363-6
    _Vita contemplativa_, _see that title_
    Women vilified by devotees of, i. =354 n.=, 521 _n. 2_, 532, =533=;
        ii. 58

  Montanists, 332

  Monte Cassino, i. 250 _n. 2_, 252-3

  Montfort, Countess of, i. 552-4

  Moorish conquest of Spain, i. 9, 118

  Morimond monastery, i. 362

  Mosaics, i. 345-7

  Music:
    Arithmetic in relation to, ii. 291
    Chartres studies in, i. 299
    Poetry and, interaction of, ii. 195-=6=, =201-2=
    Scholastic classification of, ii. 313

  Mysticism:
    Hugo’s strain of, ii. 361-3
    Nature of, i. 443 _n. 1_; ii. =363 and n. 4=
    Symbolism as expressing, _see_ Symbolism


  Narbo, i. 26

  Narbonensis, _see_ Provincia

  Narbonne, law studies at, ii. 250

  Natural history and science, _see_ Physical science

  Nemorarius, Jordanus, ii. 501

  Neo-Platonism:
    Arabian versions of Aristotle touched with, ii. 389
    Augustinian, i. =55=; ii. 403
    Christianity compared with, i. 51;
      Patristic habit of mind compared, ii. 295
    Ecstasy as regarded by, i. 331
    Metaphysics so named by, ii. 336
    Pseudo-Dionysian, i. 54 _and_ _n. 1_
    Tenets and nature of, i. 41-9;
      a mediatorial system, i. 50, 54, 57-8, 70
    Trinity of, ii. 355

  Neustria, i. 200, =209=, 239

  _Nibelungenlied_, i. 145-6, =148-9=, 152, 193, 203 _n. 2_; ii. 220

  Nicholas II., Pope, i. 243 _n. 2_

  Nicholas III., Pope, i. 504

  Nicholas IV., Pope (Jerome of Ascoli), ii. 491

  Nicholas, St., sequence for festival of, ii. 213-15

  Nicolas of Damascus, ii. 427

  Nilus, St., Abbot of Crypta-Ferrata, i. 374 _n._

  Nithard, Count, i. 234-5

  Nominalism, i. 303

  Norbert, ii. 344

  Normandy, Norse occupation of, i. 153

  Norsemen (Scandinavians, Vikings):
    Characteristics of, i. 138, =154-5=
    Continental and insular holdings of, i. 153
    Eddic poems of, i. 154-5 _and_ _n. 3_
    Irish harassed by, i. 133-4;
      later relations, i. 152 _n. 3_
    Jumièges cloister sacked by, ii. 201
    Metal-working among, i. 152 _n. 3_
    Ravages by, in 8th and 9th centuries, i. 152-3
    _Sagas_ of, i. 155 _seqq._
    Settling down of, i. 240

  Notker, i. 308-9 _and_ _n. 1_; sequences of, ii. 201-2

  Numbers, symbolic phantasies regarding, i. 72 _and_ _nn. 1, 2_; ii. 49
        _n. 3_


  Oberon, fairy king, i. 564 _and_ _n._

  Occam, William of, career of, ii. 518;
    estimate of his work, ii. 522-3;
    attitude toward Duns, ii. 518 _seqq._;
    on faith and reason, ii. 519;
    on Universals, ii. 520-1

  Odilo, Abbot of Cluny, i. =294-5=, 359;
    Jotsaldus’ biography of, quoted, i. 295-6

  Odo, Abbot of Cluny, i. 343 _and_ _n. 3_, 359;
    Epitome by, of Gregory’s _Moralia_, i. 16 _n. 4_; ii. 161 _and_
        _n. 2_;
    Latin style of _Collationes_, ii. 161-2

  Odo of Tournai, ii. 340 _n._

  Odoacer, i. =114=, 145

  Olaf, St., i. 156, =160-1=

  Olaf Tryggvason, King, i. 156, =161-2=

  Old French:
    Formation of, ii. 155
    Latin as studied by speakers of, ii. 123
    Poetry, ii. 222, =225 seqq.=

  Ontology, _see_ Metaphysics

  Ordeal, trial by, i. 232-3 _and_ _n. 1_

  Ordericus Vitalis, i. 525;
    _Historia ecclesiastica_ by, ii. 176-8

  _Organon_, _see under_ Aristotle

  Origen, estimate of, i. 51, 62-3;
    on Canticles, i. =333=; ii. 369;
    _De principiis_, i. 68;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 53, 76, 80, 87, 104, 411; ii. 64

  Orleans School:
    Classical studies at, ii. 119 _n. 2_, 127
    Law studies at, ii. 250
    Rivalry of, with Chartres, ii. 119 _n. 2_

  Orosius, i. =82= _and_ _n. 1_, 188

  Ostrogoths, i. 7, 113, =114-15=, 120

  Otfrid the Frank, i. =203-4=, 308

  Other world:
    Irish beliefs as to, i. 131 _and_ _n. 2_
    Voyages to, mediaeval narratives of, i. 444 _n. 1_

  Othloh, i. 315;
    visions of, i. 443;
    _Book concerning the Temptations of a certain Monk_, i. 316-23

  Otric, i. 289-91

  Otto I. (the Great), Emp., i. =241-3=, 256-7, 309

  Otto II., Emp., i. 243, =282-3=, =289=

  Otto III., Emp., i. =243=, 283, 284;
    _Modus Ottinc_ in honour of, ii. 215-216

  Otto IV. (of Brunswick), Emp., i. 417; ii. =32-3=

  Otwin, Bp. of Hildesheim, i. 312

  Ovid, _Ars amatoria_ of, i. 574-5;
    mediaeval allegorizing of, and of _Metamorphoses_, ii. 230

  Oxford University:
    Characteristics of, ii. 388-9
    Curriculum at, ii. 387-8
    Foundation of, ii. 380, =386-7=
    Franciscan fame at, ii. 400
    Greek studies at, ii. 120, 391, 487


  Palladius, Bp., i. 172

  Pandects, _see under_ Roman law

  Papacy (_See also_ Church _and_ Popes):
    Ascendancy of, over prelacy, i. 304
    Character of, ii. 32
    Denunciations against, i. 475; ii. 34-5, 218
    Empire’s relations with:
      Concordat of Worms, i. 245 _n. 4_
      Conflict (11th cent.), i. 244;
        (12th cent.), i. 245 _n. 4_; ii. 273;
        (13th cent.), ii. 33, =34-5=;
        (14th cent.), ii. 518;
        allegory as a weapon in, ii. 60
      Recognition of ecclesiastical authority, ii. 265-7, 272-3
      Reforms by Otto I., i. 243
    Gregory VII.’s claims for, i. 245; ii. 274
    Mendicant Orders’ relations with, ii. =398=, 509
    Nepotism of, i. =504-5=, 511
    Schisms of popes and anti-popes, i. 264
    Temporal power of, rise of, i. 116;
      claims advanced, i. 245;
      realized, ii. 274, 276-7

  Papinian cited, ii. 235

  Paraclete oratory:
    Abaelard at, ii. 10, 344
    Heloïse at, ii. 10 _seqq._

  Paradise:
    Dante’s _Paradiso_, _see under_ Dante
    Hildegard’s visions of, i. 455-6

  Paris:
    Schools:
      Growth of, ii. 380
      Notre Dame and St. Geneviève, ii. 383
      St. Victor, ii. =61-3=, 143, 383
    University:
      Aristotle prohibited at, ii. 391-2
      Authorities on, ii. 381 _n._
      Bacon at, ii. 488
      Bonaventura at, ii. 403
      Curriculum at, ii. 387-8
      Dominicans and Franciscans at, ii. 399
      Prominence of, in philosophy and theology, ii. 283, =378-9=
      Rise, constitution, and struggles of, ii. 119-20, 383-6
    Viking sieges of, i. 153

  Parma, i. 497, 505-6

  _Parsival_:
    Chrétien’s version of, i. 567, =588-9=
    Wolfram’s version of, i. 12 _n._, 571 _n. 2_, =589-613=; ii. =29=

  Paschal controversy, _see_ Eucharistic

  Paschasius, Radbertus, Abbot of Corbie i. 215, =225-7=

  Patrick, St., i. 172-3

  Patristic thought and doctrine (_See also_ Greek thought, patristic,
        _and_ Latin Fathers):
    Abaelard’s attitude toward, ii. 305
    Achievement of exponents of, i. 86-7
    Bacon’s attitude toward, ii. 492
    Completeness of schemes presented by, ii. 394
    Emotion as synthesized by, i. 340-2
    Intellectual rather than emotional, i. 343-4;
      emotionalizing of, by mediaeval thinkers, i. 345
    Latin medium of, i. 5
    Logic as regarded by, i. 71
    Mediaeval attitude toward, i. 16
    Miracle accepted by, i. 51-3, =85-6=
    Natural knowledge as treated by, i. =61 seqq.=, =72-3=, =76-7=, 99;
        ii. 393
    Pagan philosophy permeating exponents of, i. =33-4=, =58=, 61
    Philosophy as classified by, ii. 312
    Rearrangement of, undertaken in Carolingian period, i. =224=, 237
    Symbolism of, _see under_ Symbolism

  Paulinus of Aquileia, i. 215

  Paulinus, St., of Nola, i. =86=, 126 _n. 2_

  Paulus--on _jus_, ii. 237:
    _Sententiae_ of, ii. 243

  Paulus, St., i. 84, 86

  Paulus Diaconus, i. 214-15, 252

  Pavia, law school at, ii. 251, =259=

  Pedro, Don, of Castille, i. 554-5

  Pelagians, i. 225

  Pelagius, i. 172 _n._

  Peripatetic School, i. 38-9
    (_See also_ Aristotle)

  Peter, Bro., of Apulia, i. 512-14

  Peter, disciple of St. Francis, i. 426

  Peter Damiani, _see_ Damiani

  Peter of Blois, ii. 133-4

  Peter of Ebulo, ii. 190

  Peter of Maharncuria, ii. 502-4

  Peter of Pisa, i. 214

  Peter the Venerable, Abbot of Cluny, i. 360;
    letter of, to Heloïse, ii. 25-7

  Petrarch, ii. 188, =219=

  Petrus Riga, _Aurora_ of, ii. 127

  Philip VI., King of France, i. 551

  Philip Augustus, King of France, ii. 33

  Philip Hohenstauffen, Duke of Suabia, i. 481; ii. =32=, 33

  Philo, i. 37, =231=;
    allegorizing of, ii. =42=, 364

  Philosophy:
    Division of, schemes of, ii. 312 _seqq._
    End of:
      Abaelard’s and Hugo’s views on, ii. 352, 361
      John of Salisbury on, ii. 375

  Philosophy, antique:
    Divine source of, Bacon’s view as to, ii. 507 _n. 2_
    “First” (Aristotelian), ii. 335
    Position of, in Roman Empire (3rd-6th cent.), i. 34 (_See also_ Greek
        thought)

  Philosophy, Arabian, ii. =389-90=, 400-1

  Philosophy, scholastic:
    Completeness of, in Aquinas, ii. 395
    Divisions of, ii. 312 _seqq._
    Importance of, as intellectual interest, ii. 287-8
    Physical sciences included in, _see_ Physical science
    Theology as the end of (Abaelard’s and Hugo’s view), ii. 352, 361
    Theology distinguished from, ii. 284, 288;
    by Aquinas, ii. =290=, 311;
    by Bonaventura, ii. 410 _and_ _n._;
    considered as superior to, by Aquinas, ii. 289-=90=, =292=;
    dominated by (Bacon’s contention), ii. 496;
    dissociated from, by Duns and Occam, ii. 510, =517=, 519

  Physical science:
    Albertus Magnus’ attitude toward, ii. 423;
      his works on, ii. 425-9
    Bacon’s predilection for, ii. 486-7
    Classifications of, ii. 312 _seqq._
    Experimental science or method, ii. 502-8
    Mediaeval attitude toward, i. 300
    Oxford school of, ii. 389
    Patristic attitude toward, i. 63, 66-7, =72-3=, =76-7=, 99; ii. 393
    Theology as subserved by, ii. =67=, 111, =289=, =486=, =492=, =496=,
        500, 530;
      denial of the theory--by Duns, ii. 510;
        by Occam, ii. 519-20

  _Physiologus_, i. =76-7 and n.=, 300; ii. 83

  Pippin of Heristal, i. =208-9=; ii. 197

  Pippin of Neustria, i. 115, =200=, =209=, 210 and _n. 1_; ii. 273

  Pippin, son of Charlemagne, ii. 197

  Placentia (Piacenza), i. 24

  Placentinus, ii. 261-2

  Plato, supra-rationalism of, i. 42;
    allegorizing by, i. 36; ii. 364;
    doctrine of ideas, i. =35=; ii. 339-340;
    Aquinas on this doctrine, ii. 455, 465;
    Augustine of Hippo as influenced by, ii. 403;
    “salvation” suggestion in, ii. 296 _n. 2_;
    _Republic_, i. 36;
    _Timaeus_, i. =35-6=, 291; ii. 64, 69, =118=, 348, 370, 372, =377=

  Platonism:
    Alanus’ _Anticlaudianus_, in, ii. 100 _n. 2_
    Augustinian, i. 55
    Nature of, i. =35-6=, 57, 59
    Philosophy as classified by, ii. 312

  Pliny the Elder, _Historia naturalis_ by, i. 39-40, 75

  Plotinus, estimate of, i. 43, 45;
    personal affinity of Augustine with, i. 55-7;
    philosophic system of, i. =42=-6, 50, 51;
    _Enneads_ of, i. 55;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 50, 51; ii. 64

  Plutarch, i. 44

  Poetry, mediaeval:
    Carmina Burana (Goliardic poetry), ii. 203, =217-19 and n.=
    Chivalric, _see_ Chivalry--Literature
    Hymns, _see that heading_
    Italian, of 11th cent., i. =251 seqq.=; ii. 186
    Latin, _see_ Latin verse
    Modi, ii. 215-16
    Music and, interaction of, ii. 195-=6=, =201-2=
    Old High German, ii. 194
    Popular verse, _see sub-headings_ Carmina _and_ Modi; _also_ Vernacular
    Prosody, Alexander de Villa-Dei on, ii. 126
    Vernacular:
      Germanic, Norse, and Anglo-Saxon, ii. 220-1
      Romance, ii. 221-3, 225 _seqq._

  Pontigny monastery, i. 362

  Poor of Lyons (Waldenses), i. 364, =365 n.=; ii. 34

  Popes (_See also_ Papacy; _and for particular popes see their names_):
    Avignon, at, ii. 510
    Decretals of, _see under_ Canon law
    Degradation of (10th cent.), i. 242
    Election of, freed from lay control, i. 243 _n. 2_

  Popular rights, growth of, in 12th cent., i. 305

  Porphyry, i. 42, =44-7=, 50, 51, 56; ii. 295;
    _Isagoge_ (Introduction to the _Categories_ of Aristotle), i. 45, 92,
        102; ii. 312, =314 n.=, 333, =339=

  Preaching Friars, _see_ Dominican Order

  Predestination, Gottschalk’s controversy as to, i. 224-5, 227-=8=

  Priscianus, i. 71; ii. 119 _n. 2_;
    _Institutiones grammaticae_ of (_Priscianus major_ and _minor_), ii.
        124-5

  Prosper of Aquitaine, i. 106 _n. 1_

  Provençal literature, i. 571; ii. 168;
    Alba (aube) poetry, i. 20, =571=; ii. 30

  Provincia (Narbonensis):
    Antique, the, in relation to, before Middle Ages, i. 9
    Latinization of, i. 26-7 _and_ _n. 1_
    Ligurian inhabitants of, i. 126
    Teutonic invasion of, i. 125

  Prudentius, ii. 63;
    _Psychomachia_ of, ii. 102-4

  Pseudo-Callisthenes, _Life and Deeds of Alexander_ by, ii. 224, 225,
        =229-230=

  Pseudo-Dionysius, ii. 302;
    _Celestial Hierarchy_ by, i. 54 _and_ _n. 1_

  Pseudo-Turpin, ii. 319

  Ptolemy of Alexandria, i. 40

  Purgatory:
    Dante’s _Purgatorio_, _see under_ Dante
    Hildegard’s visions as to, i. 456 _n._
    Popular belief as to, i. 486


  _Quadrivium_, _see under_ Seven Liberal Arts


  Rabanus Maurus, Abp. of Mainz, allegorizing of Scripture by, ii. 46-7;
    interest in the vernacular, i. 308;
    works of, i. 222-41;
    _De universo_, i. 300; ii. 316 _n. 2_;
    _Allegoriae in universam sacram scripturam_, ii. 48-9;
    _De laudibus sanctae crucis_, ii. 49 _n. 3_;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 16, 100, 215; ii. 302-303, 312, 332

  Race, tests for determining, i. 124 _n._

  Radbertus, _see_ Paschasius

  _Raoul de Cambrai_, i. 563-4

  Ratherius, i. 309 and =n. 2=

  Ratramnus of Corbie, i. 215, 227; ii. 199

  Ravenna:
    Gerbert’s disputation in, i. 289-91
    Grammar and rhetoric studies at, ii. 121
    Law studies at, ii. 251, 252
    S. Apollinaris in Classe, i. 373, 377

  Raymond of Agiles quoted, i. 536

  Realism, Duns’ exposition of, ii. 514 _and_ _n._

  Reason _v._ authority controversy:
    Berengar’s position in, i. 302-3
    Eriugena’s contribution to, i. 229-=30=

  Reccared, i. 118 _nn._

  Reinhard, Bp. of Halberstadt, ii. 62

  Relics of saints and martyrs:
    Arms enshrining, i. 528
    Curative use of, i. 299
    Patristic attitude toward, i. 86, 101 _n._

  Renaissance, misleading nature of term, i. 211 _n._

  _Renaud de Montaubon_, i. 564

  Rheims cathedral school, i. 293

  Rhetoric:
    Chartres study of, i. 298
    Hugo of St. Victor on, ii. 67
    Predominance of, i. 109 _and_ _n._

  Richard, Abbot of Jumièges, i. 480-1

  Richard of Middleton, ii. 512

  Richard of St. Victor, ii. 80, =87= _and_ _n. 2_, =367 n. 2=, 540

  Richer, Abbot of Monte Cassino, i. 252, 300 _n. 2_;
    history of Gerbert by, quoted, i. 287-91

  Ricimer, Count, i. 113

  Riddles, didactic, i. 218-19 _and_ _n. 1_

  Rigaud, Eude (Oddo Rigaldus), Abp. of Rouen, i. =476=, =508=, 509;
    _Register_ of, quoted, i. 476-81

  Robert, cousin of St. Bernard, i. 395-7

  Robert of Normandy, ii. 139

  Rollo, Duke, of Normandy, i. 153, 239-40

  _Roman de la rose_, i. =586-7=; ii. 103 _and_ _nn._, 104, 223

  _Roman de Thebes_, ii. 227, =229 n.=

  Roman Empire:
    Barbarization of, i. 5, 7, =111 seqq.=
    Billeting of soldiers, custom as to, i. 114 _n._, 117
    Christianity accepted by, i. 345
    Church, relations with, ii. 265-7, 272-3
    Cities enjoying citizenship of--in Spain, i. 26 _and_ _n. 2_;
      in Gaul, i. 30
    City life of, i. 27, 326
    Clientage system under, i. 117 _n. 2_
    Dante’s views on, ii. 536
    Decadence of, i. =84=, 97, =111=
    Eastern, _see_ Eastern Empire
    Enduring nature of, conditions of, i. 238 _n._
    Greek thought diffused by, i. 4
    Italian people under, i. 7
    Jurisconsults of, authority and capacity of, ii. 232-3 _and_ _n._, 236
    Latinization of Western Europe due to, i. 23 _seqq._, 110
    Mediaeval attitude toward, i. 11
    Scandinavians under influence of, i. 152 _n. 3_

  Roman law:
    Auditory, Imperial or Praetorian, ii. 233 _n._, 235 _n. 1_
    Bologna famed for study of, ii. =121=, 251, =259-62=, 378
    _Brachylogus_, ii. 254-5
    _Breviarium_ and its _Interpretatio_, i. =117=; ii. 243-4;
      Epitomes of, ii. 244, =249-50=;
      _Brachylogus_ influenced by, ii. 254
    Burgundian tolerance of, i. 121;
      code (_Papianus_), ii. 239, =242=
    Church under, ii. 265 _and_ _n. 2_
    Codes of:
      Barbaric, nature of, ii. 244
        (_See also sub-headings_ Breviarium _and_ Burgundian)
      Gregorianus’, ii. 240, 243
      Hermogenianus’, ii. 240, 243
      Nature of, ii. 239-40
      Theodosian, ii. 240 _and_ _n. 2_, 241 _n. 2_, 242-3, =249=, =266-7
        and n. 1=
    _Codex_ of Justinian, ii. =240=, =242=, 253:
      Azo’s and Accursius’ work on, ii. 263-4
      Glosses to, ii. 249-50
      Placentinus’ _Summa_ of, ii. 262
      _Summa Perusina_ an epitome of, ii. =249=, 252
    _Constitutiones_ and _rescripta principum_, ii. =235 and n. 1=, 239,
        =240=
    Custom recognized by, ii. 236
    Digest of, by Justinian, _see subheading_ Pandects
    Elementary education including smattering of, ii. 250
    Epitomes of, various, ii. 249-50;
      _Epitome of Julianus_, ii. 242, =249=, 254
    Glosses:
      Accursius’ _Glossa ordinaria_, ii. 263-4
      Irnerius’, ii. 261 _and_ _n. 1_
      Justinian’s _Codex_, to, ii. 249-50
    Gothic adoption of, i. 114
    _Institutes_ of Gaius, ii. 241, 243
    _Institutes_ of Justinian, ii. =241=, 243, =254=:
      Azo’s _Summa_ of, ii. 263
      Placentinus’ _Summa_ of, ii. 262
    Jurisprudential element in early stages of, ii. 232
    _Jus_ identified with _aequitas_, ii. 235
    _Jus civile_, ii. 237, 257
    _Jus gentium_:
      _Jus naturale_ in relation to, ii. 234 _and_ _n._
      Origin of, ii. 233-4
      Popular rights as regarded by, ii. 278
    _Jus praetorium_, ii. 235
    _Lex romana canonice compta_, ii. 252
    Lombard attitude toward, i. 115
    _Novellae_ of Justinian, ii. 240, =242=
    Pandects (Justinian’s _Digest_), ii. 235 _and_ _n. 2_, =236-8=,
        =241=-2, 248, 253, 255:
      Accursius’ _Glossa_ on, ii. 264
      Glossators’ interpretation of, ii. 265
    Permanence of, ii. 236
    _Petrus_ (_Petri exceptiones_), ii. 252-4
    Placentinus’ work in, ii. 261-2
    Principles of, examples of, ii. 237-8;
      possession and its rights, ii. 256-8
    Principles of interpretation of, ii. 256
    Provincia, in, i. 27 _n. 1_
    _Responsa_ or _auctoritas jurisprudentium_, ii. 235-6
    Sources of, multifarious, ii. 235
    Sphere of, ii. 248
    Study of, centres for--in France, ii. 250;
      in Italy, ii. =121=, 251 _and_ _n. 2_, =259-62=, 378
    _Summa codicis Irnerii_, ii. 255
    Theodosian Code, _see under subheading_ Codes
    Treatises on, mediaeval, ii. 252 _seqq._
    Twelve Tables, ii. 232, 236
    Visigothic code of, _see subheading_ _Breviarium_

  Romance, spirit of, i. 418

  Romance languages (_See also_ Old French):
    Characteristics of, ii. 152
    Dante’s attitude toward, ii. 537
    Latin as modified by, ii. 155
    Literature of, ii. 221-3
      (_See also_ Provençal literature)
    Strength of, i. 9

  Romance nations, mediatorial rôle of, i. =110-11=, 124

  _Romans d’aventure_, i. =564-5=, 571 _n. 2_

  Rome:
    Bishops of, _see_ Popes
    Factions in (10th cent.), i. 242
    Law School in, ii. 251, 255
    Mosaics in, i. 347
    Verses to, i. 348; ii. =200=

  Romualdus, St., youth of, i. 373;
    austerities of, i. 374, =379=, 381;
    relations with his father, i. 374-5;
    harshness and egotism of, i. 375-7;
    at Vallis de Castro, i. 376-7, 380;
    at Sytrio, i. 378-9;
    death of, i. 372 _n. 3_, =380=;
    Commentary of, on the Psalter, i. 379

  Romulus Augustulus, Emp., i. 114

  Roncesvalles, battle of, i. 559 _n. 2_-62

  Roscellinus, i. 303-4; ii. 339-=40=

  Rothari, King of Lombards, i. 115; ii. 251

  Ruadhan, St., i. 132-3

  Ruotger, Life of Abp. Bruno by, i. 310; ii. 162 _and_ _n. 1_


  _Sacra doctrina_, _see_ Theology

  Sacraments, _see under_ Church

  _Sagas_, Norse:
    Character of, i. 12 _n._, 155 _seqq._
    _Egil_, i. 162-4
    _Gisli_, i. 158
    _Heimskringla_, i. 160-2 _and_ _n. 2_
    _Njala_, i. 157 _and_ =n.=, =159=, =164-7=
    Oral tradition of, ii. 220

  St. Denis monastery, ii. 10, =344=

  St. Emmeram convent (Ratisbon), i. 315, =316=

  St. Gall monastery, i. 257-8;
    Notker’s work at, ii. 201-2

  St. Victor monastery and school, ii. =61-3=, 143, 383

  Saints:
    Austerities of, i. 374 _and_ _n._, 375
    Interventions of, mediaeval beliefs as to, i. 487-8, 490
    Irish clergy so called, i. 135 _n. 2_
    Lives of:
      Compend. of (_Legenda Aurea_), ii. 184
      Conventionalized descriptions in, i. 393 _n. 1_
      Defects of, i. 494
      Estimate of, i. =84-5 and nn.=
      otherwise mentioned, i. 298, 300
    Relics of, _see_ Relics
    Visions of, i. 444-5
    Worship of, i. 101

  Salerno medical school, i. =250 n. 4=, =251=; ii. 121

  Salian Franks, _see under_ Franks

  Salimbene, i. 496-7, 499-500;
    _Chronica_ of, quoted and cited, i. 498 _seqq._;
    editions and translations of the work, i. 496 _n._

  Salvation, _see under_ Christianity

  Salvian, _De gubernatione Dei_ by, i. 84

  Saracens:
    Crusades against, _see_ Crusades
    Frankish victories against, i. 209-10 _n. 1_
    Wars with, necessitating mounted warriors, i. 525
    otherwise mentioned, i. 239, 252, 274, 332

  Saxons, _see_ Anglo-Saxons _and_ Germans

  Scandinavians, _see_ Norsemen

  Scholasticism:
    Arab analogy with, ii. 390 _and_ _n. 2_
    Aristotle’s advanced works, stages of appropriation of, ii. 393-5
    Bacon’s attack on, ii. 484, =493-4=, =496=, 509
    Classification of topics by:
      Schemes of, various, ii. 312 _seqq._
      Twofold principle of, ii. 311
    Conceptualism, ii. 520-1
    Content of, i. 301
    Deference to authority a characteristic of, ii. 297, 300
    Disintegration of--through Duns, ii. 510, 516;
      through Occam, ii. 522-3
    Elementary nature of discussions of, ii. 347
    Evil, problem of, _see_ Evil
    Exponents of, ii. 283 _and_ _n._
    Final exposition of, by Aquinas, ii. 484
    Greek thought contrasted with, ii. 296
    Humour non-existent in, ii. 459
    Method of, ii. =302=, =306-7=, 315 _n._;
      prototype of, i. 95
    Nominalism, ii. 340
    Philosophy of, _see_ Philosophy, scholastic
    Phraseology of, untranslatable, ii. 348, 483
    _Praedicables_, ii. 314 _n._
    Present interest of, ii. 285
    Realism, ii. 340;
      Pantheism in relation to, ii. 370
    Salvation a main interest of, ii. =296-7=, 300, 311
    Scriptural authority, position of, ii. 289, =291-2=
    Secular studies as regarded by, ii. 349, 357
    Stages of development of, ii. 333 _seqq._
    Sympathetic study of, the key to contradictions, ii. 371
    Theology of, _see_ Theology
    Universals, problem of:
      Aquinas’ treatment of, ii. 462
      Duns’ treatment of, ii. 515
      Occam’s contribution toward, ii. 520-1
      Roscellin’s views on, i. 303-4

  Sciences, classifications of, ii. 312 _seqq._
    (_See also_ Physical science)

  Scotland, Christianizing of, i. 173

  Scriptures, Christian:
    Allegorizing of:
      Examples of:
        David and Bathsheba episode, ii. 44-6
        Exodus, Book of, ii. 47
        Good Samaritan parable, ii. =53-6=, 84, 90
        Hannah, story of, ii. 47 _n. 1_
        Pharisee and Publican parable, ii. 51-2
      Hugo of St. Victor’s view of, ii. 65 _n._
      Writers exemplifying--Philo, ii. 42-43;
        the Fathers, ii. =43 seqq.=, 68-9 _and_ _n. 2_;
        Rabanus, ii. 46-50;
        Bede, ii. 47 _n. 1_;
        Honorius of Autun, ii. 51 _seqq._;
        Hugo of St. Victor, ii. 67 _seqq._
    Anglo-Saxon version of, i. =142 n. 2=, 183
    Authority of--in patristic doctrine, ii. 295;
      acknowledged by Eriugena, i. 231;
        by Berengar, i. 303;
      in scholasticism, ii. 280, 291-2
    Bacon’s attitude toward, ii. =491-2=, 497
    Bonaventura’s attitude toward, and writings on, ii. 405 _seqq._
    Canon law based on, ii. 267-9
    Classical studies in relation to, _see subheading_ Secular
    Classification of topics based on, ii. 317, 324
    Commentaries on--Alcuin’s, i. 220-1;
      Raban’s, i. 222-3
    Duns’ attitude toward, ii. 516
    Francis of Assisi’s literal acceptance of, i. 365, 426-=7=;
      his realization of spirit of, i. 427 _n. 1_; ii. 183
    Gothic version of, i. 143 _n._
    _Heliand_, i. =203 and nn.=, 308
    Hymns based on, ii. 88 _seqq._
    Interpretation of--by the Fathers, i. =43 seqq.=, 68-9 _and_ _n. 2_;
      by Eriugena, i. 231;
      by Berengar, i. 303
    Isidore’s writings on, i. 104-5
    Love, human, as treated in Old Testament, i. 332-3
    Scenes from, in Gothic art, ii. 82 _seqq._
    Secular knowledge in relation to, i. 63, =66=; ii. =110=, =112=, 120,
        499
    Song of Songs, _see_ Canticles
    Study of, by monks, i. 94;
      Cassiodorus’ _Institutiones_, i. 95-6
    Theology identified with, ii. 406, 408
    Vulgate, the:
      Corruption in Paris copy of, ii. 497
      Language of, ii. 171

  Sculpture, Gothic:
    Cathedrals, evolution of, ii. 538-=9=
    Symbolism of, i. 457 _n. 2_; ii. =82-6=

  Sedulius Scotus, i. 215

  Seneca, i. 26, 41

  _Sentences, Books of_:
    Isidore’s, i. 106 _and_ _n. 1_
    Paulus’ _Sententiae_, ii. 243
    Peter Lombard’s, _see under_ Lombard
    Prosper’s, i. 106 _n. 1_

  Sequence-hymns, development of, ii. 196, =201-6=;
    Adam of St. Victor’s, ii. 209-215

  Serenus, Bp. of Marseilles, i. 102

  Sermons, allegorizing:
    Bernard of Clairvaux, by, i. 337 _n._, =409-13=; ii. =169=, 368-9
    Honorius of Autun, by, ii. 50 _seqq._

  Seven Liberal Arts (_See also separate headings_ Grammar, Logic,
        _etc._):
    Alanus de Insulis on functions of, ii. 98 _n. 1_
    Carolingian study of, i. 236
    Clerical education in, i. 221-2
    Compend of, by Cassiodorus, i. 96
    _De nuptiis_ as concerned with, i. 71 _n. 3_
    Hugo of St. Victor on function of, ii. 67, 111
    Latin the medium for, ii. 109
    Law smattering included with, ii. 250
    Quadrivium:
      Boëthius on, i. 90 _and_ _n. 2_
      Chartres, at, i. 299
    Thierry’s encyclopaedia of, ii. 130
    Trivium:
      Chartres, at, i. =298-9=; ii. 163
      Courses of, as representing stages of mediaeval development, ii.
        331 _seqq._
    otherwise mentioned, i. 217; ii. 553

  Severinus, St., i. 192

  Severus, Sulpicius, i. 126 _n. 2_;
    Life of St. Martin by, i. 52, 84, 85 _n. 2_, =86=

  Sidonius, Apollinaris, i. 126 _n. 2_;
    cited, i. 117 _n. 1_, 140

  Siger de Brabant, ii. 401 _and_ _n._

  _Sippe_, i. 122

  Smaragdus, Abbot, i. 215

  Socrates, i. 34-5; ii. 7

  Songs, _see_ Poetry

  Sophists, Greek, i. 35

  Sorbon, Robert de, i. 544-5

  Sorcery, i. 46

  Spain:
    Antique, the, in relation to, before Middle Ages, i. 9
    Arabian philosophy in, ii. 390
    Church in, i. 9, 103, =118 and n.=
    Latinization of, i. 25-6 _and_ _n. 2_
    Moorish conquest of, i. 9, 118
    Visigoths in, i. 113, 116-=17 and n. 2=, 118

  _Stabat Mater_, i. 348

  Statius, ii. 229 _n._

  Statius Caecilius, i. 25

  Stephen IX., Pope, i. 263

  Stephen, St., sequence for festival of, ii. 211-13

  Stephen of Bourbon quoted, i. 365 _n._

  Stilicho, i. 112

  Stoicism:
    Emotion as regarded by, i. 330
    Nature of, i. =41=, 57, 59
    Neo-Platonism contrasted with, ii. 296
    Philosophy as classified by, ii. 312
    Roman law as affected by, ii. 232
    otherwise mentioned, i. 40, 70

  Strabo, Walafrid, _see_ Walafrid

  Suevi, i. 116-17 _and_ _n. 2_, =139=

  _Summae_, method of, ii. 306-7
    (_See also under_ Theology)

  _Summum bonum_, Aquinas’ discussion of, ii. 438 _seqq._, 456

  Switzerland, Irish monasteries founded in, i. 174

  Sylvester II., Pope (Gerbert of Aurillac), career of, i. 281-4;
    disputation with Otric, i. 289-91;
    estimate of, i. 281, =285-7=;
    love of the classics, i. =287-8=; ii. 110;
    Latin style of, ii. 160;
    logical studies of, ii. 332, 338, 339, 345;
    letters of, quoted, i. 283-7;
    estimated, i. 284-5;
    editions of works of, i. 280 _n._;
    _Libellus de rationali et ratione uti_, i. =292 n.=, 299;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 249; ii. 35

  Symbolism:
    Alanus’ _Anticlaudianus_ as exemplifying, ii. 94-103
    Angels as symbols, ii. 457
    Art, mediaeval, inspired by, i. 21
    Augustine and Gregory compared as to, i. 56-7
    Carolingian, nature and examples of, ii. 46-50
    Church edifices, of, ii. 78-82
    Dante permeated with, ii. 534, =552-5=
    Greek, nature of, ii. 56-7
    Hildegard’s visions, in, i. 456 _seqq._
    Marriage relationship, in, i. 413-14
    Mass, of the, ii. 77-8
    Mediaeval thought deeply impressed by, ii. =43=, 50 _n. 1_, =102=,
        =365=
    Mysticism in relation to, ii. 364
    Neo-Platonic, i. 52
    Ovid’s works interpreted by, ii. 230
    Patristic, i. =37=, =43-6=, 52, 53, 58, =80=
    Platonic, i. 36
    Raban’s addiction to, i. 223 _and_ _n. 2_
    _Signum et res_ classification, ii. 322-3
    Twelfth century--in Honorius of Autun, ii. 51 _seqq._;
      in Hugo of St. Victor, ii. 64 _seqq._
    Universal in mental processes, ii. 41, 552 _n._
    Universe explained by, ii. 64, 66 _seqq._
    otherwise mentioned, i. 15, 22

  Sytrio, Romualdus at, i. 378-9


  Tacitus, i. 78; ii. 134

  Tears, grace of, i. 370-1 _and_ _n._, 462, 463

  Templars, i. 531-5

  Tenth century, _see_ Carolingian period

  Tertullian, i. 5, 58, 87, 99, 171, 332, 344, 354 _n._; ii 152;
    paradox of, i. 51; ii. 297;
    _Adversus Marcionem_, i. 68

  Teutons (_See also_ Anglo-Saxons, Danes, Germans, Norsemen):
    Celts compared with, i. 125
    Characteristics of, i. 138
    Christianizing of:
      Manner of, i. =181-3=, =196-7=, 193;
        results of, i. 5, =170=-1
      Motives of converts, i. 193
    Customs of, i. 122, 139, 141, 523
    Law of, early, tribal nature of, ii. 245-7
    Rôle of, in mediaeval evolution, i. 125
    Roman Empire permeated by, i. 111 _seqq._

  Theodora, i. 242

  Theodore, Abp. of Canterbury, i. 184

  Theodoric of Freiburg, ii. 501 _n._

  Theodoric the Ostrogoth, i. 89, 91 _n. 2_, 93, =114-15=, 120-1, 138, 249;
    in legend, i. 145-6;
    Edict of, ii. 244 _n._

  Theodosius the Great, Emp., i. 112; ii. 272;
    Code of, ii. 240 _and_ _n. 2_, 241 _n. 2_, 242, =249=, =266-7 and n. 1=

  Theodulphus, Bp. of Orleans, i. =9=, 215;
    Latin diction of, ii. 160

  Theology, scholastic:
    Abaelard’s treatises on, _see under_ Abaelard
    Aquinas’ _Summa_ of, _see under_ Aquinas
    Argumentative nature of, ii. 292-3
    Augustinian character of, ii. 403
    Course of study in, ii. 388
    Importance of, as intellectual interest, ii. 287-8
    Logic in relation to, ii. =340 n.=, 346
    Mysticism of, ii. 363-4
    Natural sciences, etc., as handmaids to, ii. =67=, 111, 289, =486=,
        =492=, =496=, 500, 530;
      denial of the theory--by Duns, ii. 510;
      by Occam, ii. 519-520
      (_See also_ Physical science--Patristic attitude toward)
    Paris the centre for, ii. 283, =379=
    Philosophy in relation to, _see under_ Philosophy
    Practical, not speculative, regarded as, ii. 512, =515=, 519
    Scientific nature of, as regarded by Albertus, ii. 291, 430
    Scripture identified with, ii. 406, 408
    _Summae_ of--by Alexander of Hales, ii. 399;
      by Bonaventura, ii. 408;
      by Albertus Magnus, ii. 430-1;
      by Aquinas, _see under_ Aquinas
    Thirteenth-century study of, ii. 118-=120=

  Theophrastus, i. 38

  Theresa, St., i. 443 _n. 1_

  Theurgic practice, i. 46-8

  Thierry, Chancellor of Chartres, ii. 119, =370-1=;
    _Eptateuchon_ of, ii. 130 _and_ _n._

  Thirteenth century:
    Intellectual interests of, ultimate, ii. 287
    Latin prose styles of, ii. 179
    Papal position in, ii. 509
    Personalities of writers emergent in, ii. 436
    Theology and dialectic the chief studies of, ii. 118-=20=
    Three phenomena marking, ii. 378

  Thomas à Kempis, _De imitatione Christi_ by, ii. 185

  Thomas Aquinas, _see_ Aquinas

  Thomas of Brittany, _Tristan_ fragment by, i. 582

  Thomas of Cantimpré, ii. 428-9

  Thomas of Celano, Life of St. Francis by, quoted, i. 435, 436-8;
    style of the work, ii. 182-3

  Thucydides, _History of the Peloponnesian War_ by, i. 77-8

  Thuringia:
    Boniface’s work in, i. 197-8
    Merovingian rule in, i. 121

  Thuringians, language of, i. 145 _n. 2_

  Torriti, i. 347

  Trance, _see_ Ecstasy

  Trèves, i. =30=, 31, 192

  _Tristan_:
    Chrétien’s version of, i. 567
    Gottfried von Strassburg’s version of, i. 577-82

  Trivium, _see under_ Seven Liberal Arts

  Troubadours (trouvères), i. 572-3 _and_ _nn._

  Troy, tales of, in mediaeval literature, ii. 200, =224-5 and n. 2=,
        =227-9=

  True and the good compared, ii. 441, 512

  Truth, Guigo’s _Meditationes_ as concerning, i. 385-6

  Twelfth century:
    Classical studies at zenith in, ii. 117-118
    Growth in, various, i. 305-6
    Intellectual interests of, ultimate, ii. 287
    Literary zenith in, ii. 168, 205-6
    Mobility increased during, ii. 379


  Ulfilas, i. 192; ii. 221

  Ulpian--on _jus naturale_ and _jus gentium_, ii. 234 _and_ _n._;
    on _justitia_, _jus_ and _jurisprudentia_, ii. 237

  Ulster Cycle, Sagas of, i. 128 _and_ _n. 2_, 129 _seqq._

  Universals, _see under_ Scholasticism

  Universities, mediaeval (_For particular universities see their names_):
    Increase in (14th cent.), ii. 523
    Rise of, ii. 379, 381 _seqq._
    Studies at, ii. 388 _and_ _n._

  Urban II., Pope, ii. 175

  Urban IV., Pope, ii. 391-2, 434

  Utrecht, bishopric of, i. 197


  Vallombrosa, i. 377

  Vandals, i. 112, =113=, 120

  Varro, Terentius, i. 39, 71, 78

  Vercingetorix, i. 28

  Vernacular poetry, _see under_ Poetry

  Verse, _see_ Poetry

  Vikings, _see_ Danes _and_ Norsemen

  Vilgard, i. 259-60

  Vincent of Beauvais, _Speculum majus_ of, ii. 82 _and_ _n. 2_, 315-22

  Virgil, Bernard Silvestris’ _Commentum_ on, ii. 116-17 _and_ _n. 2_;
    Dante in relation to, ii. 535, 536, 539, 543

  Virgin Mary:
    Dante’s _Paradiso_ as concerning, ii. 551
    Hymns to, by Hugo of St. Victor, ii. 86-7, 92
    Interventions of, against the devil, i. 487, =490-2=
    Mediaeval attitude toward, i. 53, 54 _and_ =n. 2=; ii. =431=, =551=,
        558

  Virtues:
    Aquinas’ classification of, ii. 326-8
    Odilo’s _Cardinales disciplinae_, i. 295

  Virtues and vices, poetic treatment of--by Alanus, ii. 102 _n._;
    by De Lorris and De Meun, ii. 103

  Visigoths:
    Arianism of, i. 120
    Dacian settlement of, i. 112
    Gaul, Southern, kingdom in, i. 7, 112, =116=;
      Clovis’ conquest of, i. 121
    Roman law code promulgated by, _see_ Roman law--_Breviarium_
    Spain, in, i. 9, 113, 116-=17 and n. 2=, 118

  Visions:
    Examples of, i. 444-6, 451, 452-9
    Monastic atmosphere in, i. 184 _and_ _n. 2_
    Nature of, i. 443, 449 and _n. 3_, =450=, 451 _and_ _n._

  _Vita contemplativa_:
    Aquinas’ views on, ii. 443, =481-2=
    Hildebert on, ii. 144-5

  _Vitae sanctorum_, _see_ Saints--Lives of


  Walafrid Strabo, i. 100, =215=; ii. =332=;
    _Glossa ordinaria_ of, i. 16, =221 n. 2=; ii. =46=;
    _De cultura hortorum_, ii. 188 _n. 2_

  Waldenses, i. =365 n.=; ii. 34

  Walter of Lille (of Chatillon), _Alexandreis_ of, ii. 192 _and_ _n. 3_,
        230 _n. 1_

  Walther von der Vogelweide, political views of, ii. 33;
    attitude of, toward Papacy, ii. 34-6;
    piety and crusading zeal of, ii. 36;
    melancholy, ii. 36-7;
    _Minnelieder_ of, ii. 29-31;
    _Sprüche_, ii. 29, =32=, 36;
    _Tagelied_, ii. 30;
    _Unter der Linde_, ii. 30;
    otherwise mentioned, i. 475, =482=, 589; ii. 223

  _Wergeld_, i. =122=, 139; ii. =246=

  Will, primacy of, over intellect, ii. 512, 515

  William, Abbot of Hirschau, i. 315

  William II. (Rufus), King of England, i. 273, 275; ii. =138-9=

  William of Apulia, ii. 189 _and_ _n. 3_

  William of Champeaux--worsted by Abaelard, ii. 342-3;
    founds St. Victor, ii. 61, 143;
    Hildebert’s letter to, quoted, ii. 143

  William of Conches, ii. 132;
    studies and works of, ii. 372-3;
    _Summa moralium philosophorum_, ii. 134-5, 373 _and_ _n. 2_

  William of Malmsbury cited, i. 525

  William of Moerbeke, ii. 391

  William of Occam, _see_ Occam

  William of St. Thierry, ii. 300, 344

  Willibrord, St., i. 197

  Winifried-Boniface, St., i. 6, =197-200=, 308; ii. 273

  Wisdom, Aquinas on, ii. 481

  Witelo, _Perspectiva_ by, ii. 501 _n._

  Witiza of Aquitaine, i. 358-9

  Wolfram von Eschenbach, ii. 223;
    _Parzival_ by, i. 12 _n._, 149 _n. 1_, 152, 567, 571 _n. 2_,
        =589-613=; ii. =36=;
      estimate of the work, i. 588; ii. 29

  Women:
    Emotion regarding, i. 349-50
    Emotional Christ-love experienced by, i. 442, =459 seqq.=
    Fabliaux’ tone toward, i. 521 _n. 2_
    German prae-mediaeval attitude toward, i. 139, 150;
      mediaeval, ii. 31
    Monastic life, in:
      Abuses among, i. 491-2;
        Rigaud’s _Register_ as concerning, i. 479-480
      Consecration of, i. 337 _and_ _n._
      Gandersheim nuns, i. 311
      Visions of, i. 442 _seqq._, 463 _seqq._
    Monkish vilification of, i. =354 n.=, 521 _n. 2_, 532, =533=; ii. 58
    Romantic literature as concerned with, i. 564
    Romantic poems for audiences of, i. 565
    Walther von der Vogelweide on, ii. 31

  Worms, Concordat of (1122), i. 245 _n. 4_


  Xenophon’s _Cyropaedia_, i. 78


  Year-books (_Annales_), i. 234 _and_ =n. 1=

  Yves, Bp. of Chartres, i. 262 _n._; ii. =139=


  Zacharias, Pope, i. 199

  Zoology:
    Albertus Magnus’ works on, ii. 429
    Aristotle’s work in, i. 38
    _Physiologus_, i. =76-7 and n.=, 300; ii. 83


THE END


_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.



FOOTNOTES:

[1] See _post_, Chapter XXXVI., I.

[2] Lev. xxi. 20; Deut. xxiii. 1.

[3] Lucan, _Pharsalia_, viii. 94.

[4] Heloïse here in mediaeval fashion cites a number of examples from
Scripture showing the ills and troubles brought by women to men.

[5] Again she quotes to prove this, from Job and St. Gregory and Ambrose.

[6] Heloïse’s last _problema_ did not relate to Scripture, and may have
been suggested by her own life. “We ask whether one can sin in doing what
is permitted or commanded by the Lord?” Abaelard answers with a discussion
of what is permissible between man and wife.

[7] This letter of Heloïse is not extant.

[8] The _Tristan_ of Gottfried von Strassburg and the _Parzival_ of
Wolfram von Eschenbach have been given. One may also refer to works of
older contemporaries, _e.g._ to the _Aeneid_ of Heinrich von Veldeke,
translated (1184) from a French rendering of Virgil; and the two courtly
narrative poems, the _Erec_ and _Ivain_ (Knight of the Lion) taken from
Chrétien of Troies by Hartmann von Aue, who flourished as the twelfth
century was passing into the thirteenth.

[9] On Walther von der Vogelweide, see Wilmann, _Leben und Dichtung
Walthers, etc._ (Bonn, 1882); Schönbach, _Walther von der Vogelweide_ (2nd
ed., Berlin, 1895). The citations from his poems in this chapter follow
the Pfeiffer-Bartsch edition.

[10] No. 3 in the Pfeiffer-Bartsch edition.

[11] 184.

[12] 33.

[13] 22.

[14] 14, 16, 69.

[15] 18.

[16] 39.

[17] See _Lieder_, 46, 51, 56, 59, 61, 62, 71, 72, 75, 76, 77.

[18] A lucid account of this struggle is given in Luchaire, _Innocent
III._, vol. iii. (“La Papauté et l’Empire”), Paris, 1906.

[19] 81.

[20] From “Freidank in Auswahl,” in Hildebrand’s _Didaktik aus der Zeit
der Kreuzzüge_, p. 336 (Deutsche Nat. Lit.).

[21] 85, cf. 164.

[22] 110.

[23] 113, cf. 111, 112.

[24] 115, 116.

[25] 133. My statement of the opposition to the papacy might be much more
analytical, and contain further apt distinctions. But this would remove it
too far from the anti-papal feeling of the common man; and the period,
moreover, is not yet that of Occam and Marsilius of Padua--as to whom see
Gierke, _Political Theories of the Middle Age_, trans. by Maitland
(Cambridge, 1900).

[26] 88, 137.

[27] 158. Walter shared the crusading spirit. The inference that he was
himself a Crusader is unsafe; but he wrote stirring crusading poems, one
opening with a line that in sudden power may be compared with Milton’s

  “Avenge, O Lord, Thy slaughtered saints.”

  “Rich, hêrre, dich und dine muoter, megede kint.”
                                        167. See also 78, 79.

[28] 87.

[29] _Parzival_, i. 824.

[30] 186.

[31] 188.

[32] While an allegory is a statement having another consciously intended
meaning, metaphor is the carrying over or deflection of a meaning from its
primary application. According to good usage, which has kept these terms
distinct, allegory implies a definite and usually a sustained intention,
and suggests the spiritual; while metaphor suggests figures of speech and
linguistic changes often unconscious. Language develops through the
metaphorical (not allegorical) extension or modification of the meanings
of words. The original meaning sometimes is obscured (_e.g._ in _profane_
or _depend_), and sometimes continues to exist with the new one. In a vast
number of languages, such words as _straight_, _oblique_, _crooked_, seem
always to have had both a direct and a metaphorical meaning. Moral and
intellectual conceptions necessarily are expressed in phrases primarily
applicable to physical phenomena.

[33] Cf. Taylor, _Classical Heritage_, p. 97 _sqq._

[34] _Ante_, Chapters IV., V.

[35] _Contra Faustum_, xxii. 1-5.

[36] _Contra Faustum_, xxii. 66-68.

[37] Augustine’s method in this twenty-second Book is first to consider
the actual sinfulness or justification of these deeds, and afterwards to
take up in succession their typological significance. So, for example, he
discusses the blamefulness of Judah’s conduct with Tamar in par. 61-64 and
its typology in 83-86.

[38] _Contra Faustum_, xxii. 87. St. Ambrose, in his _Apologia Prophetae
David_, cap. iii. (Migne 14, col. 857), written some years before
Augustine’s treatise against Faustus, finds Bathsheba to signify the
“congregatio nationum quae non erat Christo legitimo quodam fidei copulata
connubio.”

[39] _Quaestiones in Vet. Testam. in Regum II._ (Migne 83, col. 411).
Isidore died A.D. 636 (_ante_, Chapter V.)

[40] _Comment. in Libros IV. Regum_, in lib. ii. cap. xi.; Migne, _Pat.
Lat._ 109, col. 98 (written in 834). On Rabanus and Walafrid see _ante_,
Chapter X.

[41] _Glossa ordinaria, Lib. Regum_, ii. cap. xi. (Migne 113, col. 571,
572).

[42] _Comment. in Matthaeum_ (Migne 107, col. 734).

[43] Migne 114, col. 67.

[44] It was the way of Bede in his commentaries to speak briefly of the
literal or historic meaning of the text, and then give the usual
symbolical interpretations, paying special attention to the significance
of the Old Testament narratives as types of the career of Christ (see
_e.g._ the beginning of the Commentary on Exodus, Migne 92, col. 285
_sqq._; and Prologue to the allegorical Commentary on Samuel, Migne 92,
col. 501, 502). For example, in the opening of the First Book of Samuel,
Elkanah is a type of Christ, and his two wives Peninnah and Hannah
represent the Synagogue and the Church. When Samuel is born to Hannah he
also is a type of Christ; and Bede says it need not astonish one that
Hannah’s spouse and Hannah’s son should both be types of Christ, since the
Mediator between God and man is at once the spouse and son of Holy Church:
He is her spouse as He aids her with His confidence and hope and love, and
her son when by grace He enters the hearts of those who believe and hope
and love. In _Samuelam_, cap. iii. (Migne 91, col. 508). Bede’s monastic
mind balked at the literal statement that Elkanah had two wives (see the
Prologue, Migne 91, col. 499).

[45] _Com. in Exodum_, Praefatio (Migne 108, col. 9).

[46] Migne 112, col. 849-1088. A number of these dictionaries were
compiled, the earliest being the _De formulis spiritalis intellegentiae_
of Eucherius, Bishop of Lyons, who died in 450, ed. by Pauly 1884. In the
later Middle Ages Alanus de Insulis (_post_, Chapter XXIX.) compiled one.

[47] These distinctions, not commonly observed, are frequently reiterated.
Says Hugo of St. Victor (see _post_, Chapter XXVIII.) in the Prologue to
his _De sacramentis_: “Divine Scripture, with threefold meaning, considers
its matter historically, allegorically, and tropologically. History is the
narrative of facts, and follows the primary meaning of words; we have
allegory when the fact which is told signifies some other fact in the
past, present, or future; and tropology when the narrated fact signifies
that something should be done.” Cf. Hugo’s _Didascalicon_, v. cap. 2,
where Hugo illustrates his meaning, and points out that this threefold
significance is not to be found in every passage of Scripture. In _ibid._
v. cap. 4, he gives seven curious rules of interpretation (Migne 176, col.
789-793). In his _De Scripturis, etc., praenotatiunculae_, cap. 3 (Migne
175, col. 11 _sqq._), Hugo speaks of the anagogical significance in the
place of the tropological.

[48] Raban’s Latin is “Ligabit earn ancillis suis”--the verse in Job xl.
24 reads “Ligabis earn ancillis tuis?” In the English version the verse is
Job xli. 5, “Wilt thou bind him for thy maidens?”

[49] “Per fidem me cognoverunt”; I surmise a _non_ is omitted.

[50] The Scriptural citations are omitted. Rabanus wrote an allegorical
_De laudibus sanctae crucis_ (Migne 107, col. 133-294), composed in metre
with prose explanations, which explain very little. The metrical portion
is a puzzle consisting of twenty-eight “figures,” or lineal delineations
interwoven in hexameter verses; the words and letters contained within
each figure “make sense” when read by themselves, and form verses in
metres other than hexameters. The whole is as incomprehensible in meaning
as it is indescribable in form. Angels, cherubim and seraphim, tetragons,
the virtues, months, winds, elements, signs of the Zodiac, and other
twelvefold mysteries, the days of the year, the number seven, the five
books of Moses, the four evangelists, the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit,
the eight beatitudes, the mystery of the number forty, the sacrament shown
by the number fifty,--all these and much besides contribute to the glory
of the Cross, and are delineated and arranged in cruciform manner, so as
to be included within the scope of the cross’s symbolical significance.

[51] Since allegory and the spirit of symbolism pervaded all mediaeval
thought, the present and two following chapters aim only at setting forth
the elements (with pertinent examples) of this quite limitless subject.

[52] See prefatory epistle to _Speculum ecclesiae_, Migne 172, col. 813.
Compare the prefatory epistle to the _Gemma animae_, _ibid._ col. 541, and
the Preface to the _Elucidarium_, _ibid._ col. 1109. Probably Honorius
died about 1130.

[53] We have these sermons only in Latin. Presumably a preacher using
them, gave them in that language or rendered them in the vernacular as he
thought fit.

[54] “Ommia legalia Christus nobis convertit in sacramenta spiritualia” is
Honorius’s apt phrase (which may be borrowed!), Migne 172, col. 842. His
special reference is to circumcision.

[55] Ps. xxxi. Vulgate; Ps. xxxii. 2, Authorized Version.

[56] _Speculum ecclesiae_, “Dominica XI.” (Migne 172, col. 1053 _sqq._).

[57] Yet, curiously enough, near the time when I was making the following
translation, I heard an elderly country clergyman preach substantially
this sermon of Honorius--wherever he may have culled it, perhaps from some
useful “Homiletical” Commentary.

[58] _Speculum ecclesiae_, “Dominica XIII.” (Migne 172, col. 1059-1061).

[59] _Speculum ecclesiae_, “Dominica in Septuagesima” (Migne 172, col.
855-857). Honorius may have forgotten the weariness of his supposed
audience; for his sermon goes on with further admonition as to how the
victory is to be won.

The allegorical interpretation of Scripture is exemplified in the whole
limitless mass of mediaeval sermons. Illustrations from St. Bernard’s
sermons on Canticles are given in Chapter XVII., also _post_, in Chapter
XXXVI., II.

[60] For the Eucharist in the Carolingian period see _ante_, Chapter X.
Berengar of Tours is spoken of in Chapter XII., IV.

[61] Many members in one body, one body in Christ (Rom. xii. 4, 5).

[62] Cf. _post_, Chapter XXXIII., V.

[63] The works of Hugo of Saint-Victor are contained in Migne’s
_Patrologia Latina_, 175-177 (Paris, 1854; the reprint of 1882 is full of
misprints). The Prolegomena (in French) of Mgr. Hugonin are elaborate and
valuable. Mignon, _Les Origines de la scholastique et Hugues de
Saint-Victor_ (2 vols., Paris, 1895), follows Hugonin’s writing and adds
little of value. An exposition of Hugo’s philosophy is to be found in
Stöckl, _Geschichte der Philosophie des Mittelalters_, Band I. pp. 305-355
(Mainz, 1864). On the authenticity of the writings ascribed to him see
Hauréau, _Les Œuvres de Hugues de Saint-Victor_ (2nd ed., Paris, 1886).
For Hugo’s position in the history of scholasticism and mysticism see
_post_, Chapter XXXVI., II.

[64] _Post_, Chapter XXXI., I.

[65] Hildebert’s letter is given _post_, Chapter XXX., III.

[66] On the neighbouring schools of Notre-Dame and St. Genevieve see
_post_, Chapter XXXVII.

[67] At the opening of his _Expositio in regulam beati Augustini_, Migne
176, col. 881, Hugo explains that the precepts under which a monastic
community lives are called the _regula_, and what we call a _regula_ is
called a _canon_ by the Greeks; and those are called _canonici_ or
_regulares_, who “juxta regularia praecepta sanctorum Patrum canonice
atque apostolice vivunt.” Thus the “regular canons” of St. Augustine were
monks who lived according to the rule ascribed to that saint. In the case
of the Victorines the rule was drawn up chiefly by Abbot Gilduin. See
Prolegomena to the works of _Hugo_, Migne 175, col. xxiv. _sqq._

[68] See the Prolegomena to the works of _Hugo de Saint-Victor_, by
Hugonin, Migne 175, col. xl. _sqq._

[69] _Didascalicon_, vi. 3 (Migne 176, col. 799). Other contents of this
work are given _post_, Chapter XXXVI., I.

[70] His death is touchingly described in a letter of Osbert, the canon in
charge of the infirmary. See Migne 175, col. xlvii and clxi.

[71] Hugo, _De arrha animae_, Migne 176, col. 954. Yet Hugo sometimes was
stung with an irrelevant pang for the German fatherland, which he had
left: “I have been an exile since my boyhood, and I know how the mind
grieves to forsake some poor hut’s narrow hearth, and how easily it may
then despise the marble hall and fretted roof” (_Didascalicon_, iii. 20;
Migne 176, col. 778). Compare the single letter of Hugo that has a
personal note, _Ep._ i. (Migne 176, col. 1011).

[72] The _De sacramentis Christianae fidei_ is printed in Migne 176, col.
174-618. It is thus a lengthy work.

[73] Hugo evidently refers to his _De Scripturis et scriptoribus sacris
praenotatiunculae_, and his various _Adnotationes elucidatoriae_, which
will be found printed in vol. 175 of Migne’s _Patrologia Latina_. In chap.
v. of the work first mentioned (Migne 175, col. 13) he speaks sensibly of
the folly of those who profess not to care for the literal historical
meaning of the sacred text, but, in ignorance, spring at once to very
inept allegorical interpretations.

[74] _De sacramentis_, Prologus (Migne 176, col. 183-185). A more
elementary statement may be found in _De Scripturis, etc._, cap. xiii.
(Migne 175, col. 20).

[75] God is perfect and utterly good. His beatitude cannot be increased or
diminished, but it can be imparted. Therefore the primal cause for
creating rational creatures was God’s wish that there should be partakers
of His beatitude. This reasoning may be Christian; but it is also close to
the doctrine of Plato’s _Timaeus_, which Hugo had read.

[76] Hugo also takes a wider view of the “place” of mankind’s restoration,
and finds that it includes (1) heaven, where the good are confirmed and
made perfect; (2) hell, where the bad receive their deserts; (3) the fire
of purgatory, where there is correction and perfecting; (4) paradise the
place of good beginnings; and (5) the world, the place of pilgrimage for
those who need restoring.

[77] “Sacramentum est corporale vel materiale elementum foris sensibiliter
propositum ex similitudine repraesentans, et ex institutione significans,
et ex sanctificatione continens aliquam invisibilem et spiritalem gratiam”
(pars ix. 2; Migne 176, col. 317). In spite of Hugo the old definition
held its ground, being adopted by Peter Lombard and others after him.

[78] Here we see clearly that the works of the Creation have the
sacramental quality of similitude and, in a way, the quality of
institution, since their similitude to spiritual things was intended by
the Creator for the instruction of man. They lack, however, the third
quality of sanctification, which enables the material _signum_ to convey
its spiritual _res_.

[79] _e.g._ the material of the sacrament, which may consist in things, as
in bread and wine, or in actions (as in making the sign of the cross), or
in words, as in the invocation of the Trinity. He also shows how faith
itself may be regarded as a sacrament, inasmuch as it is that whereby we
now see in a glass darkly and behold but an image. But we shall hereafter
see clearly through contemplation. Faith then is the image, _i.e._ the
sacrament, of the future contemplation which is the sacrament’s real
verity, the _res_.

[80] _De sacr._ lib. i. pars xi. cap. 1. The sacraments of the natural law
included tithes, oblations, and sacrifices. Hugo also considers the good
works which the natural law prescribed. This period ceases with the
written law given implicitly through Abraham and explicitly through Moses.
See _De sacr._ lib. i. pars xii. cap. i. Hugo appears to me to vary his
point of view regarding the natural law and its time, for sometimes he
regards it as the law prevailing till the time of Abraham or Moses, and
again as the law under which pagan peoples lived, who did not know the
Mosaic law.

[81] _De sacr._ lib. i. pars xi. cap. 6 (Migne 176, col. 346).

[82] Whoever should wish for further illustration of Hugo’s allegorical
methods may examine his treatises entitled _De arca Noë morali_ and _De
arca Noë mystica_ (Migne 176, col. 618-702), where every detail of the
Ark, which signifies the Church, is allegorically applied to the Christian
scheme of life and salvation. With these treatises, Hugo’s _De vanitate
mundi_ (Migne 176, col. 703-740) is connected. They will be referred to
when considering Hugo’s position in mediaeval philosophy, _post_, Chapter
XXXVI., II.

[83] See Duchesne, _Origines du culte chrétien_.

[84] See the epitaph from his tomb in S. Maria sopra Minerva in Rome,
given by Savigny, _Geschichte des Römischen Rechts_, v. 571 _sqq._, who
also gives a sketch of his life. With the work of Durandus, the _Gemma
animae_ of Honorius of Autun (Books I. II. III.; Migne 172, col. 541
_sqq._) should be compared, as marking a somewhat earlier stage in the
interpretation of the Liturgy. It also gives the symbolism of the church
and its parts, its ministers, and services.

[85] Every article worn or borne by the bishop (or celebrating priest) has
symbolic significance.

[86] All this (which is taken from Book IV. of the _Rationale_) is but the
first part of the Mass. The maze of symbolism increases in vastness and
intricacy as the office proceeds.

[87] Neh. iv.

[88] Matt. xix. 17.

[89] Many parts of the church have more than one significance. The windows
were said before to represent hospitality and pity.

[90] _Post_, Chapter XXXV., I.

[91] The application of Vincent’s work to the sculpture and painting of a
Gothic cathedral is due to Didron, _Iconographie chrétienne, histoire de
Dieu_, Introduction (1843). Other writers have followed him, like Émile
Male in his _L’Art religieux du XIII{e} siècle en France_ (2nd ed., Paris,
1902), to which the present writer is much indebted. It goes without
saying, that the sources from which Vincent drew (_e.g._ the works of
Albertus Magnus) likewise form a commentary upon the subjects of Gothic
glass and sculpture, and may even have suggested the manner of their
presentation.

[92] The opening verses of John’s Gospel account for this. Christ, or God
in the person of Christ, is shown in Old Testament scenes as early as the
fourth century upon sarcophagi in the Lateran at Rome.

[93] These subjects illustrated the series of events celebrated in the
calendar of church services.

[94] _Post_, pp. 86 _sqq._

[95] _Ante_, Chapter XXVII.

[96] So the composition and the arrangement of topics in the cathedral
sculpture and glass have scarcely the excellence of natural grouping. The
arrangement is intended to illustrate the series of successive acts making
up God’s own artist-composition, itself symbolical of His purpose in the
creation and redemption of man.

[97] Adam’s hymns are edited with notes and an introductory essay by L.
Gautier, _Œuvres poétiques d’Adam de S.-Victor_ (3rd ed., Paris, 1894). A
number of his hymns will be found in Migne 196, col. 1422 _sqq._; and also
in Clement’s _Carmina e poetis christianis excerpta_. On Adam’s verse see
_post_, Chapter XXXII., III.

[98] Dante draws much from Richard of St. Victor.

[99] See _post_, Chapter XXXII., III.

[100] Gautier, _o.c._ p. 46 (Migne 196, col. 1437).

[101] The Hebrews in bondage to the Egyptians are the symbol of all men in
the bonds of sin.

[102] As Christ expires the cherubim at the gate of Eden lower the flaming
sword, so that the men bathed with His blood may pass in.

[103] Isaac was always a type of Christ; his name was interpreted laughter
(_risus_) from Gen. xxi. 6: “And Sarah said, God hath made me to laugh, so
that all that hear will laugh with me.”

[104] Joseph another type of Christ.

[105] This serpent, _i.e._ Christ the rod of Aaron, safe from the devil’s
spite, consumes the false idols.

[106] The Brazen Serpent, a type of Christ. Cf. John iii. 14.

[107] Cf. Job xli. 1. The hook (_hamus_) is Christ’s divinity, whereby He
pierces the devil’s jaw.

[108] Cf. Isa. xi. 8. The guiltless child is Christ, and the cockatrice is
the devil.

[109] The children who mocked Elisha represent the Jews mocking Christ as
He ascended Calvary; the bear is Vespasian and Titus who destroy
Jerusalem.

[110] These again are types of Christ: David feigning madness among the
Philistines, 1 Sam. xxi. 12-15; the goat cast forth for the people’s sins,
Lev. xvi. 21, 22; and the sparrow in the rite of cleansing from leprosy,
Lev. xiv. 2-7.

[111] Samson a type of Christ, will not wed a woman of his tribe (Judges
xiv. 1-3) as Christ chooses the Gentiles; Samson bursts open Gaza’s gates
as Christ the gates of death and hell.

[112] The allusion here is to the statement of mediaeval Bestiaries that
the lion cub, when born, lies lifeless for three days, till awakened by
his father’s roar. The supernal mother is the Church triumphant.

[113] The body of Christ, _i.e._ the Church.

[114] A topic everywhere represented in church windows and cathedral
sculpture.

[115] Printed at the end of his _Paedagogus_; see Taylor, _Classical
Heritage of the Middle Ages_, pp. 253-255, where it is translated.

[116] Although the dogmas of Christianity were formulated by reason, they
were cradled in love and hate. Nowadays, in a time when dogmas are apt to
be thought useless clogs to the spirit, it is well for the
historically-minded to remember the power of emotional devotion which they
have inspired in other times.

[117] Gautier, _Œuvres d’Adam_ (1st ed., vol. i. p. 11); Gautier (3rd ed.,
p. 269) doubts whether this hymn is Adam’s. But for the purpose of
illustrating the symbolism of the twelfth-century hymn, the question of
authorship is not important.

[118] _Ante_, Chapter XXVII.

[119] In these closing lines the “salubre sacramentum” is in apposition to
“Ille de Samaria”--_i.e._ the “sacramentum” is the Saviour, who is also
typified by the Good Samaritan. In another hymn for Christmas, Adam speaks
of the concurrence in one _persona_ of Word, flesh, and spirit, and then
uses the phrase “Tantae rei sacramentum” (Gautier, _o.c._ p. 5). Here the
_sacramentum_ designates the visible human person of Christ, which was the
life-giving _signum_ or symbol of so great a marvel (_tantae rei_) as the
Incarnation. Adam has Hugo’s teaching in mind, and the full significance
of his phrase will appear by taking it in connection with Hugo’s
definition of the Sacrament, _ante_, Chapter XXVIII.

[120] Gautier, _o.c._ p. 10.

[121] The reference is to Aaron’s rod in Numbers xvii.

[122] The reference is to Gideon’s fleece, Judges vi. 37, which is a type
of the Virgin Mary.

[123] Gautier, _o.c._ 1st ed., i. 155 (Migne 196, col. 1464). In his third
edition, Gautier is doubtful of Adam’s authorship of this hymn because of
its irregular rhyme.

[124] Cf. Gautier’s notes to this hymn, Gautier, _o.c._ 1st ed., i.
159-167.

[125] Gautier, _o.c._ i. 168.

[126] Gautier, _o.c._ ii. 127.

[127] Gautier, 3rd ed., p. 186. This is in Migne 196, col. 1502.

[128] A charlatan in Salimbene’s Chronicle, _ante_, Chapter XXI., uses a
like phrase.

[129] For the data as to Alanus see the Prolegomena to Migne, _Pat. Lat._
210, which volume contains his works. See also Hauréau, _Mém. de l’acad.
des inscriptions et des belles lettres_, tome 32 (1886), p. 1, etc.; also
_Hist. lit. de France_, tome 16, p. 396, etc. On Alanus and his place in
scholastic philosophy, see _post_, Chapter XXXVI., III.

[130] Migne 210, col. 686-1012.

[131] Migne 210, col. 431-481. See _post_, Chapter XXXII., I.

[132] The significance of the title is not quite clear. The poem is
written in hexametre, and is not far from 4700 lines in length. It is
printed in Migne 210, col. 486-576; also edited by Thos. Wright, Master of
the Rolls Series, vol. 59, ii. (1872).

[133] The poem is highly imaginative in the delineation of its allegorical
figures.

[134] These curious lines are as follows:

  “O nova picturae miracula, transit ad esse
   Quod nihil esse potest! picturaque simia veri,
   Arte nova ludens, in res umbracula rerum
   Vertit, et in verum mendacia singula mutat.”
                            _Anticlaudianus_, i. cap. iv.
                                  (Migne 196, col. 491.)

[135] The allusion here is to the fate of Hippolytus, whose
chariot-horses, maddened by the wiles of Venus, dashed the chariot to
pieces and caused their lord’s death.

[136] i. cap. vi. Her garb and attributes are elaborately told. In the
latter part of the poem she is usually called Phronesis.

[137] A favourite commonplace; Heloïse uses it.

[138] The functions of these virgins, the Seven Liberal Arts, are
poetically told. The _Anticlaudianus_ is no text-book. But the poet
apparently is following the _De nuptiis Philologiae et Mercurii_ of
Martianus Capella, _ante_, Chapter IV.

[139] Compare the succession of Heavens in Dante’s _Paradiso_.

[140] One may recall Raphael’s painting of Theology on the ceiling of the
Stanza del Segnatura in the Vatican. It is impossible not to compare the
rôles of Alan’s Reason and Theology with those of Virgil and Beatrice in
the _Commedia_.

[141] Here we are back in the _Celestial Hierarchy_ of Dionysius the
Areopagite.

[142] As in Dante’s _Paradiso_.

[143] Most of these epithets of the Virgin come from allegorical
interpretations of the text of the Vulgate.

[144] Compare the final vision of Dante in _Paradiso_, xxxiii.

[145] The reader will notice the Platonism and Neo-Platonism of all this.

[146] Notice that the Arts are here equipping and perfecting the man for
his fight against sin;--which corresponds with the common mediaeval view
of the function of education.

[147] The poem gives a full description of Fortune and her house, and
unstable splendid gifts.

[148] But the different names of Alanus’s Virtues and Vices, and their
novel antagonisms, indicate an original view of morality with him. On the
_Psychomachia_ see Taylor, _Classical Heritage_, pp. 278 _sqq._ and 379.
Allegorical combats and _débats_ (both in Latin and in the vernacular
tongues) are frequent in mediaeval literature. Cf. _e.g._ _post_, Chapter
XXX. Again, in certain _parabolae_ ascribed to St. Bernard (Migne 183,
col. 757 _sqq._) the various virtues, Prudentia, Fortitude, Discretio,
Temperantia, Spes, Timor, Sapientia, are so naturally made to act and
speak, that one feels they had become personalities proper for poetry and
art. Compare Hildegard’s characterizations of the Vices, _ante_, Chapter
XIX.

[149] The English reader will derive much pleasure from F. S. Ellis’s
admirable verse translation: _The Romance of the Rose_ (Dent and Co.,
London, 1900). Each of the three little volumes of this translation has a
convenient synopsis of the contents. Those who would know what is known of
the tale and its authors should read Langlois’s chapter on it, in
_Histoire de la langue et de la littérature française_, edited by Petit de
Julleville. It may be said here, for those whose memories need refreshing,
that William de Lorris wrote the first part, some forty-two hundred lines,
about the year 1237, and died leaving it unfinished; John de Meun took up
the poem some thirty years afterwards, and added his sequel of more than
eighteen thousand lines.

[150] The names are Englished after Ellis’s translation.

[151] See _ante_, Chapter XXIII.; De Meun took much from the _De planctu
naturae_ of Alanus.

[152] _Post_, Chapter XXXIII.

[153] _Ante_, Vol. I. p. 213.

[154] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 172, col. 1056.

[155] _Ante_, Chapter XII., I.

[156] _Ante_, Chapter XIII., I.

[157] _Ante_, Chapter XXVIII.

[158] _Didascalicon_, iii. 4 (Migne 176, col. 768-769).

[159] _De vanitate mundi_, i. (Migne 176, col. 709, 710).

[160] _Ep._ 169 (Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 100, col. 441).

[161] _Opusc._ xiii.; _De perfectione monachi_, cap. xi. (Migne 144, col.
306). See _ante_, Chapter XVI.

[162] _Speculum ecclesiae_ (Migne 172, col. 1085).

[163] Sonnet 56.

[164] _Ep._ i. (Migne 119, col. 433).

[165] John approved of reading the _auctores_, for educational purposes,
and not confining the pupil to the _artes_. See _Metalogicus_, i. 23, 24
(Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 199, col. 453). On John, cf. _post_, Chapter XXXI. and
XXXVI., III.

[166] _Polycraticus_, Prologus (Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 199, col. 385).

[167] _Post_, Chapter XXXVI., III.

[168] I draw upon the extracts given in the thesis of M. Demimuid, _De
Bernardo Carnotensi grammatico professore et interprete Virgilii_ (Paris,
1873), who, as appears by his title, confuses the two Bernards.

[169] The author of a bastard epitome on the Trojan War, see _post_,
Chapter XXXII., IV.

[170] The above, in substance, is taken from Macrobius.

[171] _Post_, Chapter XXXVII.

[172] _Ante_, Chapter XXIX., II., and _post_, Chapter XXXVI., III.

[173] _Post_, Chapter XXXVI., I.

[174] For a successor or friendly rival to Chartres, in the interest taken
in grammar and classical literature, one should properly look to Orleans,
where apparently those studies continued to flourish. Cf. L. Delisle, “Les
Écoles d’Orléans au douzième siècle,” _Annuaire-Bulletin de la Societé de
l’Histoire de France_, t. vii. (1869), p. 139 _sqq._ In a _Bataille des
septs arts_, by Henri d’Andeli, of the first half of the thirteenth
century, Logic, from its stronghold of Paris, vanquishes Grammar, whose
stronghold is Orleans. In the conflict, with much symbolic truth,
Aristotle overthrows Priscian, _Histoire littéraire de la France_, t.
xxiii. p. 225.

[175] _Post_, Chapter XXXVII.

[176] See _post_, Chapter XLI. and XLII. for the work of Grosseteste.

[177] Cf. _post_, Chapter XXXIII. and XXXVII.

[178] Cf. Specht, _Geschichte des Unterrichtswesens in Deutschland, etc._
(Stuttgard, 1885), p. 75 and _passim_.

Yet how soon and with what childish prattle youths might begin to speak
and write Latin is touchingly shown by a boy’s letter, written from a
monastic school, to his parents. It just asks for various little things,
and its superscription is: “Parentibus suis A. agnus ablactatus pium
balatum”: which seems to mean: “To his parents, A, a weaned lamb, sends a
loving bah.” This and other curious little letters are ascribed to one
Robertus Metensis (_cir._ A.D. 900) (Migne 132, col. 533).

[179] See Thurot, _Histoire des doctrines grammaticales au moyen âge;
Notices et extraits des MSS._ vol. 22, part 2, p. 85. For what is said in
the preceding and following pages the writer’s obligations are deep to
this well-known work of Thurot, and to Reichling’s edition of the
_Doctrinale_ of Alexander de Villa-Dei (_Mon. Germ. paedagogica_, XII.,
Berlin, 1893). Paetow’s _Arts Course at Medieval Universities_ (University
of Illinois, 1910) treats learnedly of these matters.

[180] See Thurot, _o.c._ p. 204 _sqq._

[181] _Regere_, a mediaeval term not used in this sense by Priscian.

[182] See the _Einleitung_ to Reichling’s edition of the _Doctrinale_
already referred to; also Thurot, _De Alexandri de Villa-Dei doctrinali_
(Paris, 1850). The chief mediaeval rival of the _Doctrinale_ was the
_Graecismus_ of Eberhard of Bethune, written a little later. See Paetow,
_o.c._ p. 38.

[183] _Doctrinale_, line 1561 _sqq._

[184] _Doctrinale_, 1603 _sqq._

[185] _Doctrinale_, 2330-2331.

[186] See passage in Reichling’s _Einleitung_, p. xxvii.

[187] See _e.g._ _Une Grammaire latine inédite du XIII{e} siècle_, par Ch.
Fierville (Paris, 1886).

[188] See Reichling, _o.c._ _Einleitung_, p. xix; Thurot, _Not. et extr._
xxii. 2, p. 112 _sqq._

[189] See _e.g._ Thurot, _o.c._ p. 176 _sqq._; p. 216 _sqq._

[190] Thurot, _o.c._ pp. 126-127.

[191] Thurot, _o.c._ p. 127.

[192] _The Greek Grammar of Roger Bacon_, ed. by Nolan and Hirsch
(Cambridge, 1902).

[193] Bacon defines _idioma_ “as the determined peculiarity (_proprietas_)
of language, which one _gens_ uses after its custom; and another _gens_
uses another _idioma_ of the same language” (_Greek Grammar_, p. 26).
Dialect is the modern term.

[194] _Greek Grammar_, p. 27. Bacon appears to have followed Priscian
chiefly. As to whether he used Byzantine models, or other sources, see the
Introduction to Nolan and Hirsch’s edition of the _Greek Grammar_. These
thoughts inspiring Bacon’s _Grammar_ became a veritable metaphysics in the
_Grammatica speculativa_ ascribed to Duns Scotus, see _post_, Chapter
XLII.

[195] Cf. L. Rockinger, “Die Ars Dictandi in Italien,” _Sitzungsber.
bayerisch. Akad._, 1861, pp. 98-151. For examples of these _dictamina_,
see L. Delisle, “Dictamina Magistri Berardi de Neapoli” (a papal notary
equally versed in law and rhetoric), _Notices et extraits des MSS., etc._,
vol. 27, part 2, p. 87 _sqq._; Ch. V. Langlois, “Formulaires de lettres,”
etc., _Not. et ext._ vol. 32 (2), p. 1 _sqq._; _ibid._ vol. 34 (1), p. 1
_sqq._ and p. 305 _sqq._ and vol. 35 (2), p. 409 _sqq._

[196] For the history of this school in the eleventh century, see _ante_,
Chapter XII. III.

[197] The _Eptateuchon_ exists in manuscript. I have taken the above from
Clerval, _Les Écoles de Chartres au moyen âge_ (Chartres, 1895), p. 221
_sqq._ Thierry appears to have written a commentary on Cicero’s
_Rhetoric_. See _Mélanges Graux_, pp. 41-46.

[198] _Metalogicus_, i. cap. xxiv. (Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 199, col. 853-856).

[199] _Polycraticus_, vii. 13 (Migne 199, col. 666).

[200] _Metalogicus_, i. 24 (Migne 199, col. 856).

[201] Cf. Clerval, _o.c._ p. 211 _sqq._ and p. 227 _sqq._

[202] _Metalogicus_, iii. 4 (Migne 199, col. 900).

[203] Petrus Blesensis, _Epist._ 101 (Migne 207, col. 312).

[204] _Epist._ 92 (Migne 207, col. 289). These letters are cited by
Clerval.

[205] See _post_, Chapter XXXVI. I.

[206] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 171, col. 1007-1056.

[207] _Metalogicus_, i. 5.

[208] See _post_, Chapter XXXV. I.

[209] The works of Giraldus Cambrensis are published in Master of Rolls
Series, 21, in eight volumes. The last contains the _De instructione
principum_. Giraldus lived from about 1147 to 1220.

[210] _Ante_, Chapter VIII.

[211] Alcuin, _Ep._ 80 (Migne 100, col. 260).

[212] Alcuin, _Ep._ 113, _ad Paulinum patriarcham_ (Migne 100, col. 341).

[213] Traube, _Poëtae Lat. Aevi Carolini_ (_Mon. Germ._), 1, p. 243. Cf.
“Versus in laude Larii laci,” by Paulus Diaconus, _ibid._ p. 42.

[214] _Ante_, Chapter XII.

[215] _Post_, Chapter XXXVI. III.

[216] _Ep._ ii. 33 (Migne 171, col. 256). For the Latin text of this
letter see _post_, Chapter XXXI.

[217] For the entire poem, which is of interest throughout, see _post_,
Chapter XXXII. I.

[218] For the poem see Hauréau, _Mélanges poétiques d’Hildebert de
Lavardin_, p. 64 (Paris, 1882).

[219] Hauréau, _o.c._ p. 56.

[220] _Ibid._ p. 82.

[221] _Ibid._ p. 144.

[222] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 171, col. 1428. This volume of Migne also
contains the poems criticized and (some of them) edited by Hauréau in the
book already referred to.

[223] Hildebert, _Epis._ i. 1 (Migne 171, col. 141).

[224] Hildebert, _Ep._ i. 22 (Migne 171, col. 197).

[225] A technical illustration from Roman law.

[226] Hildeberti, _Ep._ ii. 12 (Migne 171, col. 172-177). Compare _Ep._ i.
17, consoling a friend on loss of place and dignities. Hildebert’s works
are in vol. 171 of Migne’s _Pat. Lat._ A number of his poems are more
carefully edited by Hauréau in _Notices et extraits des MSS., etc._, vol.
28, ii. p. 289 _sqq._; and some of them in vol. 29, ii. p. 231 _sqq._ of
the same series. The matter is more conveniently given by Hauréau in his
_Mélanges poétiques d’Hildebert de Lavardin_. On the man and his writings
see De servillers, _Hildebert et son temps_ (Paris, 1876); Hebert
Duperron, _De Venerabilis Hildeberti vita et scriptis_ (Bajocis, 1855);
also vol. xi. of _Hist. lit. de la France_; and (best of all) Dieudonné,
_Hildebert de Lavardin, sa vie, ses lettres, etc._ (Paris, 1898).

[227] It is well known that the great Latin prose, in spite of variances
of stylistic intent and faculty among the individual writers, was an
artistic, not to say artificial creation, formed under the influence of
Greek models. Cicero is the supreme example of this, and he is also the
greatest of all Latin prose writers. After his time some great writers
(_e.g._ Tacitus, Quintilian) preserved a like tradition; others (_e.g._
Seneca) paid less attention to it. And likewise on through the patristic
period, and the Middle Ages too, some men endeavoured to preserve a
classic style, while others wrote more naturally.

[228] Even as it is necessary, in order to appreciate some of the methods
of the Latin classical poetry, to realize that their immediate antecedents
lay in Greek Alexandrian literature rather than in the older Greek
Classics.

[229] See Taylor, _Classical Heritage_, chapter viii.

[230] A palpable difficulty in judging mediaeval Latin literature is its
bulk. The extant Latin classics could be tucked away in a small corner of
it. Every well-equipped student of the Classics has probably read them
all. One mortal life would hardly suffice to read a moderate part of
mediaeval Latin. And, finally, while there are histories of the classic
literature in every modern tongue, there exists no general work upon
mediaeval Latin writings regarded as literature. Ebert’s indispensable
_Allgemeine Geschichte der Literatur des Mittelalters_ ends with the tenth
century. The author died. Within the scope of its purpose Dr. Sandys’
_History of Classical Scholarship_ is compact and good.

[231] _Ante_, Chapter X.

[232] _Post_, Chapter XXXII., I.

[233] See Sandys, _History of Classical Scholarship_, i. 463-464.

[234] There was no attempt at classicism in the narrative in which he
recounted the _Translation_ of the relics of the martyrs Marcellinus and
Peter from Rome to his own new monastery at Seligenstadt (Migne 104, col.
537-594). It was an entertaining story of a pious theft, and one may be
sure that he wrote it more easily, and in a style more natural to himself
than that shown in his consciously imitative masterpiece.

[235] _Ep._ vi. (Migne 100, col. 146).

[236] _Ep._ xxxii. (Migne 100, col. 187).

[237] _Ep._ xxxiii. (Migne 100, col. 187).

[238] _Capitula ad Presbyteros_ (Migne 105, col. 202).

[239] See _ante_, Chapter XII.

[240] _Chronicon_, cap. 35 (Migne 139, col. 46). The sense is easy to
follow, but the impossible constructions render an exact translation quite
impossible. It is doubtful whether this Benedictus was an Italian. The
Italian writing of this period, like that of Liutprand, is easier than
among more painful students north of the Alps. But otherwise its qualities
are rarely more pronounced. Ease is shown, however, in the _Chronicon
Venetum_ of John the Deacon (d. cir. 1008). See _ante_, Chapter XIII.,
III.

[241] Migne 133. This work fills four hundred columns in Migne. On Odo see
_ante_, Chapter XII., II.

[242] Odo of Cluny, _Collationes_, lib. i. cap. i. (Migne 133, col. 519
and 520).

“Therefore God, Creator and Judge of mankind, although He have justly
driven our race from that felicity of Paradise, yet mindful of His
goodness, lest man all guilt should incur what he deserves, softens the
sorrows of this pilgrimage with many benefits.... Indeed the purpose of
that same Scripture is to press us from the depravities of this life. For
to that end with its dreadful utterances, as with so many goads, it pricks
our heart, that man struck by fear may shudder, and may recall to memory
the divine judgments which he is wont so easily to forget, cut off by lust
of the flesh and the solicitudes of earth.”

[243] Ruotgerus, _Vita Brunonis_, cap. 4 and 6; Pertz, _Mon. Germ.
Script._ iv. p. 254, and Migne 134, col. 944 and 946. A translation of
this passage is given _ante_, Vol. I., p. 310. See _ibid._, p. 314, for
the scholarship and writings of Hermannus Contractus, an eleventh-century
German. Ruotger’s clumsy Latin is outdone by the linguistic involutions of
the _Life of Wenceslaus_, the martyr duke of Bohemia, written toward the
close of the tenth century by Gumpoldus, Bishop of Mantua, who seems to
have cultivated classical rhetoric most disastrously (Pertz, _Mon. Germ.
Script._ iv. p. 211, and in Migne 135, col. 923 _sqq._).

[244] From Thurot, _Notices et extraits, etc._, 22 (2), p. 87, and p. 341
_sqq._, one may see that the principles of construction stated by
mediaeval grammarians followed the usage of mediaeval writers in adopting
a simpler or more natural order than that of classical prose. An extract,
for example, from an eleventh-century MSS. indicates the simple order
which this grammarian author approved: _e.g._ “Johannes hodie venit de
civitate; Petrus, quem Arnulfus genuit et nutrivit, intellexit multa”
(Thurot, p. 87).

[245] _Ante_, Chapter XXX., II.

[246] So likewise in regard to verse, the perfected two-syllable rhyme
came first in Italy, and more slowly in the North, although the North was
to produce better Latin poetry.

[247] _Ante_, Chapters XI., IV., and XVI.

[248] _Opusc._ xiv., _De ordine erimitarum_ (Migne 145, col. 329).

“We may see upon a tree a leaf ready to succumb beneath the wintry frosts,
and, with the sap of autumnal clemency consumed, even now about to fall,
so that it barely cleaves to the twig it hangs from, but displays most
evident signs of (its) light ruin. The blasts are quivering, wild winds
strike it from all sides, the mid-winter horror of heavy air congeals with
cold; and that you may marvel the more, the ground is strewn with the rest
of the leaves everywhere flowing down, and, with its locks laid low, the
tree is stripped of its grace; yet that alone, none other remaining,
endures, and, as the survivor of co-heirs, succeeds to the rights of the
brotherhood’s possession. What then is left to be understood from
consideration of this thing, save that a leaf of a tree cannot fall unless
it receive beforehand the divine command?”

This description is rhetorically elaborated; but Damiani commonly wrote
more directly, as in this sentence from a letter to a nobleman, in which
Damiani urges him not to fail in his duty to his mother through affection
for his wife: “Sed forte dices: mater mea me frequenter exasperat, duris
verbis meum et uxoris meae corda perturbat; non possumus tot injuriarum
probra perferre, non valemus austeritatis ejus et severae correptionis
molestias tolerare” (_Ep._ vii. 3; Migne 144, col. 466). This needs no
translation.

[249] _Ante_, Chapter XI., IV.

[250] _Proslogion_, cap. 24 (Migne 158, col. 239).

“Awaken now, my soul, and rouse all thy mind, and consider, as thou art
able, of what nature and how great is that Good (God). For if single goods
are objects of delight, consider intently how delightful is that good
which contains the joy of all goods; and not such as in things created we
have tried, but differing as greatly as differs the Creator from the
creature. For if life created is good, how good is the life creatrix! If
joyful is the salvation wrought, how joyful is the salvation which wrought
all salvation! If lovely is wisdom in the knowledge of things created, how
lovely is the wisdom which created all from nothing. In fine, if there are
many and great delectations in things delightful, of what quality and
greatness is delectation (_i.e._ the delectation that we take) in Him who
made the delights themselves!”

The reader may observe that the word-order of Anselm’s Latin is preserved
almost unchanged in the translation.

[251] “Meditatio II.” (Migne 158, col. 722).

“My soul is offended with my life. I blush to live; I fear to die. What
then remains for thee, O sinner, save that all thy life thou weepest over
all thy life, that it all may lament its whole self. But in this also is
my soul miserably wonderful and wonderfully miserable, since it does not
grieve as much as it knows itself (_i.e._ to the full extent of its
self-knowledge) but secure, is listless as if it knew not what it may be
suffering. O barren soul, what art thou doing? why art thou drowsing,
sinner soul? The Day of Judgment is coming, near is the great day of the
Lord, near and too swift the day of wrath, (that day!) day of tribulation
and distress, day of calamity and misery, day of shades and darkness, day
of cloud and whirlwind, day of the trump and the roar! O voice of the day
of the Lord--harsh! Why sleepest thou, soul lukewarm and fit to be spewed
out?”

[252] Perhaps it may seem questionable to treat Anselm as an Italian,
since he left Lombardy when a young man. Undoubtedly his theological
interests were affected by his northern environment. But his temperament
and language, his diction, his style, seem to me more closely connected
with native temperament.

[253] Annals for the year 1077 (Migne 146, col. 1234 _sqq._); also in
_Mon. Germ. Script._ iii.

[254] _Sermo xvi._ (Migne 183, col. 851). The power of this passage keeps
it from being hysterical. But the monkish hysteria, without the power, may
be found in the writings of St. Bernard’s jackal, William of St. Thierry,
printed in Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 180. Notice his _Meditationes_, for example;
also his _De contemplando Deo_, printed among St. Bernard’s works (Migne
184, col. 365 _sqq._).

[255] _Sermo xv._ (Migne 183, col. 847). Translated _ante_, Vol. I., p.
411.

[256] _Ep._ xii., _ad Guigonem_ (Migne 182, col. 116).

[257] Bernard, _Ep._ 112, _ad Gaufridum_ (Migne 182, col. 255). For
translation see _ante_, Vol. I., p. 398.

[258] _E.g._ _Ep._ i. and 144 (Migne 182, col. 70 and 300).

[259] _Ep._ 196, _ad Guidonem_ (Migne 182, col. 363). Translated _ante_,
Vol. I., p. 401. See also the preceding letter, 195.

[260] As to Jerome’s two styles see Goelzer, _La Latinité de St. Jerome_,
Introduction.

[261] _Ep._ ii. 33 (Migne 171, col. 256). Translation _ante_, Chapter
XXX., III.

[262] See _ante_, Chapter XXX., I.

[263] “Against that signal gift of parent nature and grace, a shameless
wrangler has stirred up an old calumny, condemned by the judgment of our
ancestors; and, seeking everywhere comfort for his ignorance, he hopes to
advance himself toward glory, if he shall see many like himself, see them
ignorant, that is to say. For he has this special tumour of arrogance,
that he would be making himself the equal of others, exalting his own good
qualities (if they exist), and depreciating those of others. And he deems
his neighbour’s defect to be his own advancement.

“Now it is indubitable to all truly wise, that Nature, kindest parent of
all, and best-ordering directress, among the other living beings which she
brought forth, distinguished man with the prerogative of reason and
ennobled him with the exercise of eloquence (or ‘with the use of speech’):
executing this with unremitting zeal and best-ordering decree, in order
that man who was pressed and dragged to the lowest by the heaviness of a
clodlike nature and the slowness of corporeal bulk, borne aloft as it were
by these wings might ascend to the heights, and by obtaining the crown of
true blessedness excel all others in happy reward. While Grace thus
fecundates Nature, Reason watches over the matters to be inspected and
considered; Nature’s bosom gives forth, metes out the fruits and faculty
of individuals; and the inborn love of good, stimulating itself by its
natural appetite, follows this (_i.e._ the good) either solely or before
all else, since it seems best adapted to the bliss descried” (_Metal._ i.
1; Migne 199, col. 825). These translations are kept close to the
original, in order to show the construction of the sentences.

[264] “There is another class of philosophers called the Ionic, and it
took its origin from the more remote Greeks. The chief of these was Thales
the Milesian, one of those seven who were called ‘wise.’ He, when he had
searched out the nature of things, shone among his fellows, and especially
stood forth as admirable because, comprehending the laws of astrology, he
predicted eclipses of the sun and moon. To him succeeded his hearer,
Anaximander, who (in turn) left Anaximenes as disciple and successor.
Diogenes, likewise his hearer, arose and Anaxagoras who taught that the
divine mind was the author of all things that we see. To him succeeded his
pupil Archelaus, whose disciple is said to have been Socrates, the master
of Plato, who, according to Apuleius, was first called Aristotle, but then
Plato from his breadth of chest, and was borne aloft to such height of
philosophy, by vigour of genius, by assiduity of study, by graciousness in
all his ways, and by sweetness and force of eloquence, that, as if seated
on the throne of wisdom, he has seemed to command by a certain ordained
authority the philosophers before and after him. And indeed Socrates is
said to have been the first to have turned universal philosophy to the
improvement and ordering of manners; since before him all had devoted
themselves chiefly to physics, that is to examining the things of nature”
(_Polycraticus_, vii. 5; Migne 199, col. 643).

[265] “The most excellent man concluded his oration, and by the power of
the blessed Peter absolved all who had taken the vow to go, and by the
same apostolic authority confirmed it; and he instituted a suitable sign
of this so honourable vow; and as a badge of soldiering (or knighthood),
or rather, of being about to soldier, for God, he took the mark of the
Lord’s Passion, the figure of a cross, made from material of any kind of
cloth, and ordered it to be sewed upon the tunics and cloaks of those
about to go. But if any one, after receiving this sign, or after making
open promise, should draw back from that good intent, by base repenting or
through affection for his kin, he ordained that he should be held an
outlaw utterly and perpetually, unless he turn and set himself again to
the neglected performance of his pledge.

“Furthermore, with terrible anathema he damned all who within the term of
three years should dare to do ill to the wives, children, or property of
those setting forth on this journey of God. And finally he committed to a
certain and praiseworthy man (a bishop of some city on the Po, whose name
I am sorry never to have found or heard) the care and regulation of the
expedition, and conferred his own authority upon him over the tribute (?)
of Christian people wherever they should come. Whereupon giving his
benediction, in the apostolic manner, he placed his hands upon him. How
sagaciously that one executed the behest, is shown by the marvellous
outcome of so great an undertaking” (Guibert of Nogent, _Gesta Dei per
Francos_, ii. 2; Migne 156, col. 702).

[266] _Hist. ecclesiastica_, pars iii. lib. xii. cap. 14 (Migne 188, col.
889-892). “Thomas, son of Stephen, approached the king, and offering him a
mark of gold, said: ‘Stephen, son of Airard, was my sire, and all his life
he served thy father (William the Conqueror) on the sea. For him, borne on
his ship, he conveyed to England, when he proceeded to England in order to
make war on Harold. In this manner of service serving him until death he
gave him satisfaction, and honoured with many rewards from him, he
flourished grandly among his people. This privilege, lord king, I claim of
thee, and the vessel which is called _White Ship_ I have ready, fitted out
in the best manner for royal needs.’ To whom the king said: ‘I grant your
petition. For myself indeed I have selected a proper ship, which I shall
not change; but my sons, William and Richard, whom I cherish as myself,
with much nobility of my realm, I commend now to thee.’

“Hearing these words the sailors were merry, and bowing down before the
king’s son, asked of him wine to drink. He ordered three measures of wine
to be given them. Receiving these they drank and pledged their comrades’
health abundantly, and with deep potations became drunk. At the king’s
order many barons with their sons went aboard the ship, and there were
about three hundred, as I opine, in that fatal bark. Then two monks of
Tiron, and Count Stephen with two knights, also William of Rolmar, and
Rabellus the chamberlain, and Edward of Salisbury, and a number of others,
went out from it, because they saw such a crowd of wanton showy youth
aboard. And fifty tried rowers were there and insolent marines, who having
seized seats in the ship were brazening it, forgetting themselves through
drunkenness, and showed respect for scarcely any one. Alas! how many of
them had minds void of pious devotion toward God!--‘Who tempers the
exceeding rages of the sea and air.’ And so the priests, who had gone up
there to bless them, and the other ministrants who bore the holy water,
they drove away with derision and loud guffaws; but soon after they paid
the penalty of their mocking.

“Only men, with the king’s treasure and the vessels holding the wine,
filled the keel of Thomas; and they pressed him eagerly to follow the
royal fleet which was already cutting the waves. And he himself, because
he was silly from drink, trusted in his skill and that of his satellites,
and rashly promised to outstrip all who were now ahead of him. Then he
gave the word to put to sea. At once the sailors snatched their oars, and
glad for another reason because they did not know what hung before their
eyes, they adjusted their tackle, and made the ship start over the sea
with a great bound. Now while the drunken rowers were putting forth all
their strength, and the wretched pilot was paying slack attention to
steering his course over the gulf, upon a great rock which daily is
uncovered by the ebbing wave and again is covered when the sea is at
flood, the left side of _White Ship_ struck violently, and with two
timbers smashed, all unexpectedly the ship, alas! was capsized. All cried
out together in such a catastrophe; but the water quickly filling their
mouths, they perished alike. Two only cast their hands upon the boom from
which hung the sail, and clinging to it a great part of the night, waited
for some aid. One was a butcher of Rouen named Berold, and the other a
well-born lad named Geoffrey, son of Gislebert of Aquila.

“The moon was then at its nineteenth in the sign of the Bull, and lighted
the earth for nearly nine hours with its beams, making the sea bright for
navigators. Captain Thomas after his first submersion regained his
strength, and bethinking himself, pushed his head above the waves, and
seeing the heads of those clinging to some piece of wood, asked, ‘What has
become of the king’s son?’ When the shipwrecked answered that he had
perished with all his companions, ‘Miserable,’ said he, ‘is my life
henceforth.’ Saying this, and evilly despairing, he chose to sink there,
rather than meet the fury of the king enraged for the destruction of his
child, or undergo long punishment in chains.”

[267] _Post_, Chapter XLI.

[268] _Opus majus_, pars i. cap. 6.

[269] _Op. maj._ ii. cap. 14.

[270] _Op. maj._ iii. 1.

[271] _Op. maj._ ii. 14.

[272] For translation see _post_, Chapter XXXIV.

[273] _Post_, Chapter XXXVIII.

[274] _Itinerarium mentis in Deum_, Prologus, 2.

[275] _Ibid._ cap. vii. 6. For translations see _post_, Chapter XXXVIII.

[276] _Vita prima_, cap. xi. Translated _ante_, Vol. I., p. 427, note 1.

[277] _Spec. perfectionis_, ed. Sabatier, cap. 53. Translated _ante_, Vol.
I., p. 427.

[278] _Ibid._ cap. 93. Translated _ante_, Vol. I., p. 432.

[279] Cap. li., ed. Graesse.

“Annunciation Sunday (Advent) is so called, because on that day by an
angel the advent of the Son of God in the flesh was announced, for it was
fitting that the angelical annunciation should precede the incarnation,
for a threefold reason. For the first reason, of betokening the order,
that to wit the order of reparation should answer to the order of
transgression. Accordingly as the devil tempted the woman, that he should
draw her to doubt and through doubt to consent and through consent to
fall, so the angel announced to the Virgin, that by announcing he should
arouse her to faith and through faith to consent and through consent to
conceiving God’s son. For the second reason, of the angelic ministry,
because since the angel is God’s minister and servant, and the blessed
Virgin was chosen in order that she might be God’s mother, and it is
fitting that the minister should serve the mistress, so it was proper that
the annunciation to the blessed Virgin should take place through an angel.
For the third reason, of repairing the angelical fall. Because since the
incarnation was made not only for the reparation of the human fall, but
also for the reparation of the angelical catastrophe, therefore the angels
ought not to be excluded. Accordingly as the sex of the woman does not
exclude her from knowledge of the mystery of the incarnation and
resurrection, so also neither the angelical messenger. Behold, God twice
announces to a woman by a mediating angel, to wit the incarnation to the
Virgin Mary and the resurrection to the Magdalene.” The order of the Latin
words is scarcely changed in the translation.

[280] In order that no reader may be surprised by the absence of
discussion of the antique antecedents of the more particular genres of
mediaeval poetry (Latin and Vernacular), I would emphasize the
impossibility of entering upon such exhaustless topics. Probably the very
general assumption will be correct in most cases, that genres of mediaeval
poetry (_e.g._ the Conflicts or _Débats_ in Latin and Old French) revert
to antecedents sufficiently marked for identification, in the antique
Latin (or Greek) poetry, or in the (extant or lost) productions of the
“low” Latin period from the third century downward. An idea of the
difficulty and range of such matters may be gained from Jeanroy, _Les
Origines de la poésie lyrique en France au moyen âge_ (Paris, 1889), and
the admirable review of this work by Gaston Paris in the _Journal des
savants_ for 1891 and 1892 (four articles). Cf. also Batiouchkof in
_Romania_, xx. (1891), pages 1 _sqq._ and 513 _sqq._

[281] Cf. Taylor, _Classical Heritage of the Middle Ages_, chap. ix.

[282] There is much verse from noted men, Alcuin, Paulus Diaconus,
Walafrid Strabo, Rabanus Maurus, Theodulphus. It is all to be found in the
collection of Dümmler and Traube, _Poetae Latini aevi Carolini_ (_Mon.
Germ._ 1880-1896).

[283] It is amusing to find a poem by Walafrid Strabo turning up as a
favourite among sixteenth-century humanists. The poem referred to, “De
cultura hortorum” (_Poet. Lat. aev. Car._ ii. 335-350), is a poetic
treatment of gardening, reminiscent of the Georgics, but not imitating
their structure. It has many allusions to pagan mythology.

[284] _Post_, p. 193 _sqq._

[285] _Ante_, Vol. I., p. 147.

[286] _Ante_, Chapter XI., III.

[287] The following leonine hexameters are attributed to Donizo:

  “Chrysopolis dudum Graecorum dicitur usu,
   Aurea sub lingua sonat haec Urbs esse Latina,
   Scilicet Urbs Parma, quia grammatica manet alta,
   Artes ac septem studiose sunt ibi lectae.”
                      Muratori, _Antiquitates_, iii. p. 912.

[288] William was a few years older than Donizo, and died about the year
1100. His hero is Robert Guiscard, and his poem closes with this bid for
the favour of his son, Roger:

  “Nostra, Rogere, tibi cognoscis carmina scribi,
   Mente tibi laeta studuit parere Poeta:
   Semper et auctores hilares meruere datores;
   Tu duce Romano Dux dignior Octaviano,
   Sis mihi, quaeso, boni spes, ut fuit ille Maroni.”
                              Muratori, _Scriptores_, v. 247-248.

[289] Muratori, _Script._ v. 407-457.

[290] Muratori, _Script._ vi. 110-161; also in Migne.

[291] Written at the close of the twelfth century. On these people see
Ronca, _Cultura medioevale e poesia Latina d’ Italia_ (Rome, 1892).

[292] Muratori, vii. pp. 349-482; Waitz, _Mon. Germ._ xxii. 1-338. Godfrey
lived from about 1120 to the close of the century. The _Pantheon_ was
completed in 1185. Cf. L. Delisle, _Instructions du comité des travaux
historiques, etc._; _Littérature latine_, p. 41 (Paris, 1890).

[293] _Matthaei Vindocinensis ars versificatoria_, L. Bourgain (Paris,
1879).

[294] _Ante_, Chapter XXX., III.

[295] Text from Hauréau, _Les Mélanges poetiques d’Hildebert de Lavardin_,
p. 60: also in _Notices des manuscrits de la bib. nat._ t. 28, 2nd part
(1878), p. 331.

[296] Hauréau gives a critical text of the _Carmen ad Astralabium filium_,
in _Notices et extraits, etc._, 34, part ii., p. 153 _sqq._ Other not
unpleasing instances of elegiac verse are afforded by the poems of Baudri,
Abbot of Bourgueil (d. 1130). They are occasional and fugitive
pieces--_nugae_, if we will. See L. Delisle, _Romania_, i. 22-50.

[297] The substance of this poem has been given _ante_, Chapter XXIX. On
Alanus see also _post_, Chapter XXXVI., III.

[298] It is printed in Migne 209. Cf. _post_, p. 230, note 1.

[299] The _Ligurinus_ is printed in tome 212 of Migne’s _Patrol. Lat._ On
its author see Pannenborg, _Forschungen zur deutschen Geschichte_, Band
ii. pp. 161-301, and Band xiii. pp. 225-331 (Göttingen, 1871 and 1873).

[300] Alanus de Insulis, _De planctu naturae_ (Migne 210, col. 447). A
translation of the work has been made by D. M. Moffat (New York, 1908).
For other examples of Sapphic and Alcaic verses see Hauréau in _Notices et
extraits, etc._, 31 (2), p. 165 _sqq._

[301] Wilhelm Meyer, a leading authority upon mediaeval Latin
verse-structure, derives the principle of a like number of syllables in
every line from eastern Semitic influence upon the early Christians. See
_Fragmenta Burana_ (Berlin, 1901), pp. 151, 166. That may have had its
effect; but I do not see the need of any cause from afar to account for
the syllabic regularity of Latin accentual verse.

[302] Again Wilhelm Meyer’s view: see _l.c._ and the same author’s
“Anfänge der latein. und griech. rhythmischen Dichtung,” _Abhand. der
Bairish. Akad. Philos., philol. Klasse_, 1886.

[303] _Poet. Lat. aev. Car._ i. 116. Cf. Ebert, _Gesch. etc._ ii. 86. For
similar verses see those on the battle at Fontanetum (A.D. 841), _Poet.
Lat. aev. Car._ ii. 138, and the carmen against the town of Aquilegia,
_ibid._ p. 150.

[304] Cf. _ante_, Vol. I., pp. 227, 228.

[305] Traube, _Poetae Lat. aevi Car._ iii. p. 731. Cf. Ebert, _Gesch.
etc._ ii. 169 and 325.

[306] _Poet. Lat. aev. Car._ iii. 733.

[307] Du Meril, _Poésies populaires latines_, i. 400.

Perhaps the most successful attempt to write hexameters containing rhymes
or assonances is the twelfth-century poem of Bernard Morlanensis, a monk
of Cluny, beginning with the famous lines:

  “Hora novissima, tempora pessima sunt, vigilemus.
   Ecce minaciter imminet arbiter ille supremus.”

Bernardi Morlanensis, _De contemptu mundi_, ed. by Thos. Wright, Master of
the Rolls Series, vol. 59 (ii.), 1872. Bernard says in his Preface, as to
his measures: “Id genus metri, tum dactylum continuum exceptis finalibus,
tum etiam sonoritatem leonicam servans....”

[308] “Carmina Mutinensia,” _Poet. Lat. aev. Car._ iii. 703. The poem has
forty-two lines, of which the above are the first four. The usual date
assigned is 924, but Traube in _Poet. aev. Car._ has put it back to 892.

[309] See further text and discussion in Traube, “O Roma nobilis,”
_Abhand. Bairish. Akad. Philos., philol. Klasse_, 1891.

[310] The verbal Sequence or _prosa_ was thus a species of _trope_. Tropes
were interpolations or additions to the older text of the Liturgy. The
Sequences were the tropes appended to the last Alleluia of the _Gradual_,
the psalm chanted in the celebration of the Mass, between the reading of
the Epistle and the Gospel. Cf. Leon Gautier, _Poésie liturgique au moyen
âge_, chap. iii. (Paris, 1886); _ibid._ _Œuvres poétiques d’Adam de
Saint-Victor_, p. 281 _sqq._ (3rd ed., Paris, 1894).

[311] On the Sequence see Leon Gautier, _Poésie liturgique au moyen âge_
(Paris, 1886), _passim_, and especially the comprehensive summary in the
notes from p. 154 to p. 159. Also see Schubiger, _Die Sängerschule St.
Gallus_ (1858), in which many of Notker’s Sequences are given with the
music; also v. Winterfeld, “Die Dichterschule St. Gallus und Reichenau,”
_Neue Jahrbücher f. d. klassisch. Altertum_, Bd. v. (1900), p. 341 _sqq._

The present writer has found Wilhelm Meyer’s _Fragmenta Burana_ (Berlin,
1901) most suggestive; and in all matters pertaining to mediaeval Latin
verse-forms, use has been made of the same writer’s exhaustive study:
“Ludus de Antichristo und über lat. Rythmen,” _Sitzungsber. Bairisch.
Akad. Philos., philol. Klasse_, 1882. See also Ch. Thurot, “Notices, etc.,
de divers MSS. latins pour servir à l’histoire des doctrines grammaticales
au moyen âge,” in vol. xxii. (2) of _Notices et extraits des MSS._ pp.
417-457.

[312] “May our trumpet be guided mightily by God’s right hand, and may He
hear our prayers with gentle and tranquil ear: for our praise will be
accepted if what we sing with the voice a pure conscience sings likewise.
And that we may be able, let us all beseech divine aid to be always
present with us.... O good King, kind, just, and pitying, who art the way
and the door, unlock the gates of the kingdom for us, we beg, and pardon
our offences, that we may praise thy name now and through all the ages.”

[313] G. M. Dreves, “Die Prosen der Abtei St. Martial zu Limoges,” p. 59
(vol. vii. of Dreves’s _Analecta hymnica medii aevi_; Leipzig, 1889). “Let
every band sing with fount renewed and the Spirit’s grace with joyful
praise and clear mind. Now is made good the tenth part (_i.e._ the fallen
angels), undone by fault; and thus that celestial casting out is made good
in divine praise. Lo! the bright day of the Lord gleams through the broad
spaces of the world: in which all the redeemed people exult because
everlasting death is destroyed.”

[314] Published by Boucherie, “Mélanges Latins, etc.,” _Revue des langues
romanes_, t. vii. (1875), p. 35.

“Alleluia! O flock, proclaim joy; with melodious praise utter deeds divine
now fixed by revealed doctrine. Through the great sacrifice of Christ thou
art liberated from death; the gates of hell destroyed, opened are heaven’s
doors. Now He rules all things celestial and terrestrial by eternal power;
wherein by the Father’s authority He gives judgment always just.”

[315] See Gautier, _Poésie liturgique_, p. 147 _sqq._ It came somewhat
earlier in Italy. See Ronca, _Cultura medioevale, etc._, p. 348 _sqq._
(Rome, 1892).

[316] While Sequences may be called hymns, all hymns are not Sequences.
For the hymn is the general term designating a verbal composition sung in
praise of God or His saints. A Sequence then would be a hymn having a
peculiar history and a certain place in the Liturgy.

[317] Contained in Migne 178, col. 1771 _sqq._ They have not been properly
edited or even fully published.

[318] Reference should also be made to the six laments (_planctus_)
composed by Abaelard (Migne 178, col. 1817-1823). They are powerful
elegies, and exhibit a richness and variety of poetic measures. It may be
mentioned that the pure two-syllable rhyme is found in hymns ascribed to
Saint Bernard.

[319] Leon Gautier, the editor of the _Œuvres poétiques d’Adam de
Saint-Victor_, in his third edition of 1894, has thrown out from among
Adam’s poems our first and third examples. On Adam see _ante_, Chapter
XXIX., II.

[320] Gautier, _Œuvres poétiques d’Adam de Saint-Victor_, i. 174.

[321] Gautier, _o.c._ 3rd edition, p. 87.

[322] Gautier, _o.c._ 1st edition, i. 201.

[323] Did the Sequence exert an influence upon Hrotsvitha, the tiresome
but unquestionably immortal nun of Gandersheim, who flourished in the
middle and latter part of the tenth century? She wrote narrative poems,
like the _Gesta Ottonis_ (Otto I.) in leonine hexameters. Her pentameter
lines also commonly have a word in the middle rhyming with the last
syllable of the line. But it is in those famous pious plays of hers,
formed after the models of Terence, that we may look for a kind of writing
corresponding to that which was to progress to clearer form in the
Sequence. Without discussing to what extent the Latin of these plays may
be called rhythmical, one or two things are clear. It is filled with
assonances and rude rhymes, usually of one syllable. It has no clear
verse-structure, and the utterances of the _dramatis personae_ apparently
observe no regularity in the number of syllables, such as lines of verse
require.

[324] For these and other songs, written after the manner of Sequences,
see Du Meril, _Poésies pop. lat._ i. p. 273 _sqq._ They are also printed
by Piper in _Nachträge zur älteren deutschen Lit._ (Deutsche Nat. Lit.) p.
206 _sqq._ and p. 234 _sqq._ See also W. Meyer, _Fragmenta Burana_, p. 174
_sqq._ and Ebert, _Allgemeine Gesch. etc._ ii. 343 _sqq._

[325] Du Meril, _ibid._ i. p. 285.

[326] Wil. Meyer, _Fragmenta Burana_, p. 180.

[327] The best text of the “Phillidis et Florae altercatio” is Hauréau’s
in _Notices et extraits_, 32 (1), p. 259 _sqq._ The same article has some
other disputes or _causae_, e.g. _causa pauperis scholaris cum
presbytero_, p. 289.

[328] Du Meril, _Poésies pop. lat._ ii. p. 108 _sqq._ The piece is a
cento, and its tone changes and becomes brutal further on. The poems, from
which are taken the preceding citations, are to be found in Wright’s
_Latin Poems commonly attributed to Walter Mapes_ (London, 1841, Camden
Society); _Carmina Burana_, ed. J. A. Schmeller; “Gedichte auf K.
Friedrich I. (archipoeta),” in vol. iii. of Grimm’s _Kleinere Schriften_.
Cf. also Hubatsch, _Die lateinischen Vagantenlieder_ (Gorlitz, 1870). The
best texts of many of these and other “Carmina Burana,” and such like
poems, are to be found in the contributions of Hauréau to the _Notices et
extraits, etc._; especially in tome 29 (2), pp. 231-368; tome 31 (1), p.
51 _sqq._

[329] _Ante_, Vol. I., p. 145.

[330] _Ante_, Chapter IX., II. and III.

[331] For generous samples of it, see _Geistliche Lit. des Mittelalters_,
ed. P. Piper (Deutsche National Literatur).

[332] For this novel, a Greek original is usually assumed; but the Middle
Ages had it only in a sixth-century Latin version. It was copied in
_Jourdain de Blaie_, a _chanson de geste_. See Hagen, _Der Roman von König
Apollonius in seinen verschiedenen Bearbeitungen_ (Berlin, 1878). The
other Greek novels doubtless would have been as popular had the Middle
Ages known them. In fact, the _Ethiopica_ of Heliodorus, and others of
these novels, did become popular enough through translations in the
sixteenth century.

[333] Hugo of St. Victor says in the twelfth century: “Apud gentiles
primus Darhes Phrygius Trojanam historiam edidit, quam in foliis palmarum
ab eo scriptam esse ferunt” (_Erud. didas._ iii. cap. 3; Migne 176, col.
767).

On the Trojan origin of the Franks, Britons, and other peoples, see Joly
in his “Benoit de St. More et le Roman de Troie,” pp. 606-635 (_Mem. de la
Soc. des Antiquaires de Normandie_, vol. vii. 3{me} ser., 1869); also
Graf, _Roma nella memoria, etc., del medio aevo_. The Trojan origin of the
Franks was a commonplace in the early Middle Ages, see _e.g._ Aimoinus of
Fleury in beginning of his _Historia Francorum_, Migne 139, col. 637.

On Dares the Phrygian and Dictys the Cretan see “Dares and Dictys,” N. E.
Griffin (_Johns Hopkins Studies_, Baltimore, 1907); Taylor, _Classical
Heritage_, pp. 40 and 360 (authorities); also, generally, L. Constans,
“L’Épopée antique,” in Petit de Julleville’s _Histoire de la langue et de
la littérature française_, vol. i. (Paris, 1896).

[334] Joseph of Exeter or de Iscano, as he is called, at the close of the
twelfth century composed a Latin poem in six books of hexameters entitled
_De bello Trojano_. It is one of the best mediaeval productions in that
metre. The author followed Dares, but his diction shows a study of Virgil,
Ovid, Statius, and Claudian. See J. J. Jusserand, _De Josepho Exoniensi
vel Iscano_ (Paris, 1877); A. Sarradin, _De Josepho Iscano, Belli Trojani,
etc._ (Versailles, 1878).

[335] _Eneas_, ed. by Salverda de Grave (Halle, 1891), lines 7857-9262.

[336] _Roman de Troie_, 5257-5270, ed. Joly; “Benoit de St. More et le
Roman de Troie, etc.,” _Mem. de la Soc. des Antiquaires de Normandie_,
vol. vii. 3{me} ser., 1869. On its sources see also L. Constans, in Petit
de Julleville’s _Hist. de la langue et de la litt. française_, vol. i. pp.
188-220.

[337] _Roman de Troie_, 13235 _sqq._

[338] The _Roman de Thebes_, the third of these large poems, is temperate
in the adaptation and extension of its theme. Its ten thousand or more
lines of eight-syllable rhyming verse are no longer than the _Thebaid_ of
Statius, and as a narrative make quite as interesting reading. Statius,
who lived under Domitian, was a poet of considerable skill, but with no
genius for the construction of an epic. His work reads well in patches,
but does not move. Several books are taken up with getting the Argive army
in motion, and when the reader and Jove himself are wearied, it moves
on--to the next halt. And so forth through the whole twelve books. See
Nisard, _Études sur les poètes latins de la décadence_, vol. i. p. 261
_sqq._ (2nd ed., Paris, 1849); Pichon, _Hist. de la litt. lat._ p. 606
(2nd ed., Paris, 1898). The _Roman de Thebes_ was not drawn directly from
the work of Statius, but through the channels, apparently, of intervening
prose compendia. It also evidently drew from other works, as it contains
matters not found in Statius’s _Thebaid_. It is easy, if not inspiring
reading. The style is clear, and the narrative moves. Of course it
presents a general mediaevalizing of the manners of Statius’s somewhat
fustian antique heroes; it introduces courtly love (_e.g._ the love
between Parthonopeus and Antigone, lines 3793 _sqq._), mediaeval
commonplaces, and feudal customs. It drops the antique conception of
accursed fate as a fundamental motive of the plot, substituting in its
place the varied play of romantic and chivalric sentiment.

Leopold Constans has made the _Roman de Thebes_ his own. Having followed
the story of Oedipus through the Middle Ages in his _Légende d’Œdipe,
etc._ (Paris, 1881) he has corrected some of his views in his critical
edition of the poem, “Le Roman de Thèbes,” 2 vols., 1890 (_Soc. des
anciens textes français_), and has treated the same matters more popularly
in Petit de Julleville’s _Hist. de la langue et de la litt. française_,
vol. i. pp. 170-188. These works fully discuss the sources, date, and
language of the poem, and the later redactions in prose and verse through
Europe.

[339] On Pseudo-Callisthenes see Paul Meyer, _Alexandre le Grand dans la
littérature française du moyen âge_ (Paris, 1886); Taylor, _Classical
Heritage, etc._, pp. 38 and 360. In the last quarter of the twelfth
century Walter of Lille, called also Walter of Chatillon, wrote his
_Alexandreis_ in ten books of easy-flowing hexameters. It is printed in
Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 209, col. 463-572. Cf. _ante_, page 192. His work shows
that a mediaeval scholar-poet could reproduce a historical theme quite
soberly. His poem was read by other bookmen; but the Alexander of the
Middle Ages remained the Alexander of the fabulous vernacular versions.

[340] See Gaston Paris, “Chrétien Légouais et autres imitateurs d’Ovide,”
_Hist. litt. de la France_, t. xxix., pp. 455-525.

[341] The words “nexum mancipiumque” are more formal and special than the
English given above.

[342] The early law had as yet devised no execution against the debtor’s
property.

[343] The jurisconsults whose opinions were authoritative flourished in
the second and third centuries. The great five were Gaius, Julian,
Papinian, Ulpian, Paulus. Inasmuch as these jurisconsults of the Empire
were members of the Imperial (or, later, Praetorian) Auditory, they were
judges in a court of last resort, and their “responsa” were decisions of
actual cases. They subsequently “digested” them in their books. See Munroe
Smith, “Problems of Roman Legal History,” _Columbia Law Review_, 1904, p.
538.

[344] _Dig._ i. 1 (“De Just. et jure”) 1. See Savigny, _System des
heutigen römischen Rechts_, i. p. 109 _sqq._ Apparently some of the
jurists (_e.g._ Gaius, _Ins._ i. 1) draw no substantial distinctions
between the _jus naturale_ and the _jus gentium_. Others seem to
distinguish. With the latter, _jus naturale_ might represent natural or
instinctive principles of justice common to all men, and _jus gentium_,
the laws and customs which experience had led men to adopt. For instance,
_libertas_ is _jure naturali_, while _dominatio_ or _servitus_ is
introduced _ex gentium jure_ (_Dig._ i. 5, 4; _Dig._ xii. 6, 64). _Jus
gentium_ represented common expediency, but its institutions (e.g.
_servitus_) might or might not accord with natural justice. For
_manumissio_ as well as _servitus_ was _ex jure gentium_ (_Dig._ i. 1, 4),
and so were common modes and principles of contract. Ulpian’s notion of
the _jus naturale_ as pertaining to all animals, and _jus gentium_ as
belonging to men alone, was but a catching classification, and did not
represent any commonly followed distinction.

[345] _Constitutio_ is the more general term, embracing whatever the
emperor announces in writing as a law. The term rescript properly applies
to the emperor’s written answers to questions addressed to him by
magistrates, and to the decisions of his Auditory rendered in his name.

[346] For this whole matter, see vol. i. of Savigny’s _System des heutigen
römischen Rechts_; Gaius, _Institutes_, the opening paragraphs; and the
first two chapters of the first Book of Justinian’s _Digest_.

[347] _Dig._ i. 3, 32.

[348] _Dig._ i. 3, 10, and 12.

[349] _Dig._ i. 3, 14.

[350] _Ibid._ 39.

[351] _Dig._ l. 17, 30.

[352] _Dig._ l. 17, 31.

[353] _Ibid._ 54.

[354] _Ibid._ 202.

[355] _Dig._ l. 16, 24; _Ibid._ 17, 62.

[356] _Cod. Theod._ (ed. by Mommsen and Meyer) i. 1, 5.

[357] With the Theodosian Code the word _lex_, _leges_, begins to be used
for the _constitutiones_ or other decrees of a sovereign.

[358] From the constitution directing the compilation of the _Digest_,
usually cited as _Deo auctore_.

[359] The original plan of Theodosius embraced the project of a Codex of
the jurisprudential law. See his constitution of the year 429 in _Theod.
C._ i. 1, 5. Had this been carried out, as it was not, Justinian’s
_Digest_ would have had a forerunner.

[360] _Juliani epitome Latina Novellarum Justiniani_, ed. by G. Haenel
(Leipzig, 1873).

[361] Conrat, _Ges. der Quellen und Lit. des röm. Rechts_, pp. 48-59, and
161 _sqq._; Mommsen, _Zeitschrift für Rechtsges_. 21 (1900), _Roman.
Abteilung_, pp. 150-155.

[362] Ed. by Bluhme, _Mon. Germ. leges_, iii. 579-630. Cf. Tardif,
_Sources du droit français_, 124-128. A code of Burgundian law had already
been made.

[363] Edited by Haenel, with the epitomes of it in parallel columns, under
the name of _Lex Romana Visigothorum_ (Leipzig, 1849). See Tardif, _o.c._
129-143.

[364] _Cod. Theod._ i. 4, 3; _Brev._ i. 4, 1.

[365] On these epitomes and glosses see Conrat, _Ges. der Quellen, etc._,
pp. 222-252. Mention should be made of the Edict of Theodoric the
Ostrogoth, a piece of legislation contemporary with the _Breviarium_ and
the _Papianus_. In pursuance of Theodoric’s policy of amalgamating Goths
and Romans, the Edict was made for both (_Barbari Romanique_). Its sources
were substantially the same as those of the _Breviarium_, except that
Gaius was not used. The sources are not given verbatim, but their contents
are restated, often quite bunglingly. Naturally a Teutonic influence runs
through this short and incomplete code, which contains more criminal than
private law. No further reference need be made to it because its influence
practically ceased with the reconquest of Italy by Justinian. It is edited
by Bluhme, in _Mon. Ger. leges_, v. 145-169. See as to it, Savigny,
_Geschichte des röm. Rechts_, ii. 172-181; Salvioli, _Storia del diritto
italiano_, 3rd ed., pp. 45-47.

[366] Cf. Brunner, _Deutsche Rechtsgeschichte_, i. p. 109 _sqq._

[367] For the characteristics and elements of early Teutonic law see
Brunner, _Deutsche Rechtsgeschichte_, Bd. i.

[368] See Brunner, _Deutsche Rechtsgeschichte_, i. p. 254 _sqq._, and
338-340.

[369] “Adversus Gundobadi legem,” c. 4 (_Mon. Germ. leges_, iii. 504). As
to Agobard see _ante_, Vol. I. p. 232.

[370] The matter is suggested here only in its general aspects. The
details present every kind of complication (for some purposes to-day a
court will apply the law of the litigant’s domicile). The _professio_
(_professus sum_ or _professa sum_), by which a man or woman formally
declares by what law he or she lives, remained common in Italy for five
centuries after Pippin’s conquest, and indicates the legal situation
there, especially of the Teutonic newcomers.

[371] One sees an analogy in the fortunes of the Boëthian translations of
the more advanced treatises of Aristotle’s _Organon_. They fell into
disuse (or never came into use) and so were “lost” until they came to
light, _i.e._ into use, in the last part of the twelfth century.

[372] See Conrat, _Ges. der Quellen_, pp. 182-187.

[373] See Conrat, _Ges. der Quellen, etc._, pp. 162-166, 168-182, 192-202,
240-252.

[374] See Salvioli, _Storia di diritto italiano_, 3rd ed., 1899, pp.
84-90; ibid. _L’ Istruzione pubblica in Italia nei secoli VIII. IX. X._;
Tardif, _Hist. des sources du droit français_, p. 281 _sqq._; Savigny,
_Geschichte, etc._, iv. pp. 1-9; Fitting, “Zur Geschichte der
Rechtswissenschaft im Mittelalter,” _Zeitschrift für Rges. Sav. Stift.,
Roman. Abteil._, Bd. vi., 1885, pp. 94-186; ibid. _Juristische Schriften
des früheren Mittelalters_, 108 _sqq._ (Halle, 1876).

[375] A contemporary notice speaks of the enormous number of judges,
lawyers, and notaries in Milan about the year 1000. Salvioli, _L’
Istruzione pubblica, etc._, p. 78. It is hard to imagine that no legal
instruction could be had there.

[376] The evidence is gathered in different parts of Savigny’s
_Geschichte_.

[377] _De parentelae gradibus_, see Savigny, _Geschichte_, Bd. iv. p. 1
_sqq._

[378] See Savigny, _Geschichte_, Bd. ii. pp. 134-163 (the text is
published in an Appendix to that volume, pp. 321-428); Conrat, _Ges. der
Quellen, etc._, pp. 420-549; Tardif, _Hist. des sources du droit
français_, pp. 213-246.

[379] This follows the so-called Tübingen MSS., the largest immediate
source of the _Petrus_. As well-nigh the entire substance of the _Petrus_
is drawn from the immediately prior compilations (which are still
unpublished) its characteristics are really theirs.

[380] Apparently the chief magistrate of Valence: “Valentinae civitatis
magistro magnifico.”

[381] _Petri exceptiones_, iii. 69.

[382] _Petrus_, i. 66.

[383] See Conrat, _Ges. der Quellen, etc._, 550-582; Tardif, _Hist. des
sources, etc._, pp. 207-213; Fitting, _Zeitschrift für Rges._ Bd. vi. p.
141. It is edited by Bocking (Berlin, 1829) under the title of _Corpus
legum sive Brachylogus juris civilis_.

[384] For instance, _Brach._ ii. 12, “De juris et facti ignorantia,” is
short and clear. It follows mainly _Digest_ xxii. 6.

[385] _Summa Codicis des Irnerius_, ed. by Fitting (Berlin, 1894). See
Introduction, and also Fitting in _Zeitschrift für Rechtsgeschichte_, Bd.
xvii. (1896), _Romanische Abteilung_, pp. 1-96.

[386] Cf. _Summa Codicis Irnerii_, vii. 23, and vii. 31. 1.

[387] _Summa Codicis Irnerii_, i. 14. The corresponding passages in
Justinian’s Codification are _Dig._ i. 3, lex 12 and 38, and _Codex_ vii.
45, lex 13.

[388] _Summa Codicis Irnerii_, vii. 22 and 23. The chief Justinianean
sources are _Dig._ xli. 2, and _Cod._ xii. 32.

[389] See Salvioli, _Manuale, etc._, pp. 65-68; ibid. _L’ Istruzione
pubblica in Italia_, pp. 72-75; Brunner, _Deutsche Rechtsgeschichte_, i.
p. 387 _sqq._

[390] _Post_, Chapter XXXV., I.

[391] The Bologna school is commonly called the school of the glossators.
Their work was to expound the law of Justinian; and their glosses, or
explanatory notes, were the part of their writings which had the most
permanent influence. The glosses were originally written between the lines
or on the margins of the codices of the _Digest_, _Codex_, _Novels_, and
_Institutes_.

[392] Savigny gives examples of Irnerius’s glosses in an appendix to the
fourth volume of his _Geschichte_. Pescatore (_Die Glossen des Irnerius_,
Greifswald, 1888) maintains that Savigny overstates the difference between
the interlinear and the marginal glosses of Irnerius.

[393] On Placentinus see Savigny, _Geschichte_, iv. pp. 244-285.

[394] _Proemium_ to _De var. actionum_, given by Savigny, iv. p. 540.

[395] This is from the _proemium_ attached to one old edition, and is
given in Sav. _Ges._ iv. p. 245. In an appendix, p. 542, Savigny gives an
even more florid _proemium_ to the _Summa Codicis_ from a manuscript.

[396] On Azo, see Savigny, _Ges._ v. pp. 1-44.

[397] Quoted by Savigny. On Accursius see Sav. _Ges._ v. pp. 262-305.

[398] On Bartolus see Savigny, _Ges. etc._ vi. pp. 137-184.

[399] Cf. Savigny, _Ges._ v. pp. 222-261.

[400] “Ecclesia vivit lege Romana,” _Lex Ribuaria_, 58. This was
universally recognized, although the individual _clericus_ might remain
amenable to the law of his birth.

[401] For these matters see primarily the sixteenth book of the Theodosian
Code, and book i. chap. 27. Also the suspected _Constitutiones
Sirmondianae_ attached to that Code. Justinian’s _Codex_ and _Novellae_
add much. Zorn, in his _Kirchenrecht_, p. 29 _sqq._, gives a convenient
synopsis of the matter.

[402] One observes that the opening chapter of Justinian’s _Digest_ speaks
of _jurisprudentia_ as knowledge of divine as well as human matters.

[403] _Decretum_, i. dist. viii. c. i.

[404] _Decretum_, i. dist. ix. c. xi.; see _ibid._ dist. xiii., opening.

[405] Tardif, _Sources du droit canonique_, p. 175 _sqq._, has been
chiefly followed here.

[406] On the above matters see (with the authorities and bibliographies
therein given) Maasen, _Geschichte der Quellen, etc., der canonischen
Rechts_ (Bd. i., to the middle of the ninth century); Tardif, _Sources du
droit canonique_ (Paris, 1887); Zorn, _Lehrbuch des Kirchenrechts_
(Stuttgart, 1888); Gerlach, _Lehrbuch des catholischen Kirchenrechts_ (5th
edition, Paderborn, 1890); Hinschius, _Decretales pseudo-Isidorianae_
(Leipzig, 1863); _Corpus juris canonici_, ed. by Friedberg (Leipzig,
1879-1881).

[407] Jurisdiction of the ecclesiastical courts embraced marriage and
divorce, wills and inheritance, and, by virtue of their surveillance of
usury and vows and oaths, practically the whole relationship between
debtor and creditor.

[408] Volume ii. of R. W. and A. J. Carlyle’s _History of Mediaeval
Political Theory in the West_ (1909) maintains that the statements of
papal pretensions which were incorporated in the recognized collections of
_Decretals_ were less extreme than those emanating from the papacy under
stress of controversy.

[409] See Gierke, _Political Theories of the Middle Ages_, trans. by
Maitland (Cambridge, 1900), p. 22 _sqq._ and notes. I would express my
indebtedness to this book for these pages on mediaeval political theories.
Dunning’s _History of Political Theories_ is a convenient outline;
Carlyle’s _History of Mediaeval Political Theory_ gives the sources
carefully.

[410] Occasionally _studium_ (knowledge, study, or science) is introduced
as a third part or element of the human community or of human life. Thus
in the famous statement of Jordanes of Osnabrück--the Romans received the
Sacerdotium, the Germans the Imperium, the French the Studium. See Gierke,
_Political Theories_, p. 104, note 8.

[411] Cf. Gierke, _o.c._ p. 109, note 16. But compare Carlyle, _o.c._ vol.
ii. part ii. chaps. vii.-xi.

[412] Even toward the close of the Middle Ages Marsilius of Padua was
almost alone in positing the absolute supremacy of the State, says Gierke.

[413] See Gierke, _o.c._ p. 144, note 131, and compare notes 132, 133, and
183 for attacks upon the plenary power of the pope.

[414] Gierke, _o.c._ pp. 31-32, and p. 139, notes 107 and 108.

[415] _Dig._ i. 4, 1; Gierke, _o.c._ p. 39 and pp. 146, 147.

[416] Gierke, _o.c._ p. 64.

[417] Gierke, _o.c._ p. 172, note 256. Cf. _ante_, p. 268.

[418] See Gierke, _o.c._ pp. 73-86, and corresponding notes.

[419] Little will be said in these pages of palpable crass heretics like
the Cathari, for example. The philosophic ideas of such seem gathered from
the flotsam and jetsam of the later antique world; their stock was not of
the best, and bore little interesting fruit for later times. Such
mediaeval heresies present no continuous evolution like that of the proper
scholasticism. Progress in philosophy and theology came through _academic_
personages, who at all events laid claim to orthodoxy. All lines of
advance leading on to later phases of philosophic, scientific, and
religious thought, lay within the labours of such, some of whom, however,
were suspected or even condemned by the Church, like Eriugena, Abaelard,
or Roger Bacon. But these men did not stand apart from orthodox academic
circles, and were never cast out by the Church. Thought and learning in
the Middle Ages were domiciled in monastic, episcopal, or university
circles; and these were at least conventionally orthodox.

It has been said, to be sure, that the heresy of one generation becomes
the orthodoxy of another; but this is true only of tendencies like those
of Abaelard, which represent the gradual expansion and clearing up of
scholastic processes. For the time they may be condemned, perhaps because
of the vain and contentious character of the suspected thinker; but in the
end they are recognized as admissible.

The Averroists constitute an apparent exception. Yet they were a
philosophic and academic sect, whose heresy consisted in an implicit
following of Aristotle as interpreted by Averroes. Moreover, they sought
to save their orthodoxy by their doctrine of the two kinds of truth,
philosophic and theological or dogmatic. It is not clear that much
fruitful thought came from their school. The positions of Siger de
Brabant, a prominent Averroist and contemporary of Aquinas, are referred
to _post_, Chapter XXXVII. The best account of Averroism is Mandonnet’s
_Siger de Brabant et l’averroisme latin au XIII{e} siècle_ (a second
edition, Louvain, is in preparation). See also De Wulf, _Hist. of Medieval
Philosophy_ (3rd. ed., Longmans, 1909) p. 379 _sqq._ with authorities
cited.

[420] Called also his _Summa philosophica_, to distinguish it from his
_Summa theologiae_.

[421] _Summa theologiae_, i. i., quaestio i. art. 1-8.

[422] _Post_, Chapter XXXVI., I.

[423] Even the Averroists were more mediaeval than Greek, inasmuch as they
professed to follow Aristotle implicitly. Cf. _post_, Chapter XXXVII., at
the end.

[424] A touch of “salvation,” or salvation’s need, is on Plato when his
“philosophy” becomes a consideration of death (μελέτη θανάτου) and a
process of growing as like to God (ὁμοίωσις θεῷ) as man can. _Phaedo_, 80
E, and _Theaetetus_, 176 A.

[425] _Historia calamitatum_, cap. 9 and 10. Cf. _post_, p. 303.

[426] _Post_, Chapter XLI.

[427] _Ante_, p. 298. I cannot avoid referring to Abaelard several times
before considering the man and his work more specifically, and in the
proper place; _post_, Chapter XXXVI. I.

[428] _Introductio ad theologiam_, lib. ii. (Migne 178, col. 1039).

[429] See Denifle, “Die Sentenzen Abaelard’s und die Bearbeitungen seiner
Theologia,” _Archiv für Literatur und Kirchengeschichte_, i. p. 402 _sqq._
and p. 584 _sqq._ Also Picavet, “Abélard et Alexander de Hales, créateurs
de la méthode scholastique,” _Bib. de l’école des hautes études, sciences
religieuses_, t. vii. p. 221 _sqq._

[430] Two extracts, one from the _Sentences_ and one from the _Summa_,
touching the same matter, will illustrate the stage in the scholastic
process reached by Peter Lombard, about the year 1150, and that attained
by Thomas Aquinas a hundred years later.

The Lombard’s _Four Books of Sentences_ are divided into _Distinctiones_,
with sub-titles to the latter. Distinctio xlvi. of the first Book bears
the general title: “The opinion (_sententia_) declaring that the will of
God which is himself, cannot be frustrated, seems to be opposed by some
opinions.” The first subdivision of the text begins: “Here the question
rises. For it is said by the authorities above adduced [the preceding
Distinctio had discussed “The will of God which is His essence, one and
eternal”] that the will of God, which is himself, and is called His good
pleasure (_beneplacitum_) cannot be frustrated, because by that will
_fecit quaecumque voluit in caelo et in terra_, which--witness the
Apostle--_nihil resistit_. [I leave the Scriptural quotations in Latin, so
as to mark them.] It is queried, therefore, how one should understand what
the Apostle says concerning the Lord, 1 Tim. 2: _Qui vult omnes homines
salvos fieri_. For since all are not saved, but many are damned, that
which God wills to take place, seems not to take place (become, _fieri_),
the human will obstructing the will of God. The Lord also in the Gospel
reproaching the wicked city, Matt, xxiii., says: _Quoties volui congregare
filios tuos, sicut gallina congregat pullos suos sub alis, et noluisti_.
Thus it might seem from these, that the will of God may be overcome by the
will of men, and, resisted by the unwillingness of the weakest, the Most
Strong may prove unable to do what He willed. Where then is that
omnipotence by which in _coelo et terra_, according to the Prophet, _omnia
quaecumque voluit fecit_? And how does nothing withstand His will, if He
wished to gather the children of Jerusalem, and did not? For these sayings
seem indeed to oppose what has been stated.”

The second paragraph proceeds: “But let us see the solution, and first
hear how what the Lord said should be understood. For it was not intended
to mean (as Augustine says, _Enchiridion_, c. 97, solving this question)
that the Lord wished to gather the children of Jerusalem, and did not do
what He willed because she would not; but rather she did not wish her
children to be gathered by Him, yet in spite of her unwillingness (_qua
tamen nolente_) He gathered all He willed of her children.... And the
sense is: As many as I have gathered by my will, always effective, I have
gathered, thou being unwilling. Hence it is evident that these words of
the Lord are not opposed to the authorities referred to.”

(Paragraph 3) “Now it remains to see how the aforesaid words do not
contradict what the Apostle said of the Lord: _Vult omnes homines salvos
fieri_. Because of these words many have wandered from the truth, saying
that God willed many things which did not come to pass. But the saying is
not thus to be understood, as if God willed any to be saved, and they were
not. For who can be so impiously foolish as to say that God cannot change
the evil wills of men to good when and where He will? Surely what is said
in Psalm 113, _Quaecumque voluit fecit_, is not true, if He willed
anything and did not accomplish it. Or,--(and this is still more shameful)
for that reason He did not do it, because what the Omnipotent willed to
come to pass, the will of man obstructed. Hence when we read in Holy
Scripture _velit omnes homines salvos fieri_, we should not detract from
the will of omnipotent God, but understand the text to mean that no man is
saved except whom He wills to be saved: not that there is no man whom He
does not will to be saved, but that no man may be saved except whom He
wills should be saved.... Thus also is to be understood the text from John
i.: _Illuminat omnem hominem venientem in hunc mundum_; not as if there is
no man who is not lighted, but that none is lighted save from Him....”

The next and fourth paragraph takes up the problem whether evil, that is
sin, takes place by the will of God, or He unwilling (_eo nolente_). “As
to this, divers men thinking diversely have been found in contradiction.
For some say that God wills evils to be or become (_esse vel fieri_) yet
does not will evils. But others say that He neither wills evils to be nor
to become. Yet these and those agree in declaring that God does not will
evils. Yet each with arguments as well as authorities strives to make good
his assertion.” We will not follow the Lombard through this thorny
problem. He cuts his way with passages from his chief patristic authority,
Augustine, and in the end concludes: “Leaving this and other like foolish
opinions, and favouring the sounder view, which is more fully sanctioned
by the testimonies of the Saints, we may say that God neither wills evils
to become, nor wills that they should not become, nor yet is He unwilling
(_nolle_) that they should become. All that He wills to become, becomes,
and all that He wills not to become does not become. Yet many things
become which He does not will to become, as every evil.”

Thus the Lombard. Now let us see how Thomas, in his _Summa theologiae_,
Pars Prima, Quaestio xix. Articulus ix. expounds the point: _utrum
voluntas Dei sit malorum_.

“As to the ninth articulus thus one proceeds. (1) It seems [_Videtur_,
formula for stating the initial argument which will not be approved] that
the will of God is [the cause] of evils. For God wills every good that
becomes (_i.e._ comes into existence). But it is good that evils should
come; for Augustine says in the _Enchiridion_: ‘Although those things
which are evils, in so far as they are evils, are not goods; yet it is
good (_bonum_) that there should be not only goods (_bona_) but evils.’
Therefore God wills evils.”

“(2) Moreover [_Praeterea_, Thomas’s regular formula for introducing the
succeeding arguments, which he will not approve] Dionysius says, iv. cap.
_de divinis nominibus_: ‘There will be evil making for the perfection of
the whole.’ And Augustine says in the _Enchiridion_: ‘Out of all (things)
the admirable beauty of the universe arises; wherein even that which is
called evil, well ordered and set in its place, commends the good more
highly; since the good pleases more, and is the more praiseworthy, when
compared with evil.’ But God wills everything that pertains to the
perfection and grace of the universe; since this is what God chiefly wills
in His creation. Therefore God wills evils.”

“(3) Moreover, the occurrence and non-occurrence of evils (_mala fieri, et
non fieri_) are contradictory opposites. But God does not will evils not
to occur; because since some evils do occur, the will of God would not be
fulfilled. Therefore God wills evils to occur.”

“_Sed contra est_ [Thomas’s formula for stating the opinion which he will
approve] what Augustine says in his book of Eighty-three Questions: ‘No
wise man is the author of man’s deterioration; yet God is more excellent
than any wise man; much less then, is God the author of any one’s
deterioration. But He is said to be the author when He is spoken of as
willing anything. Therefore man becomes worse, God not willing it. But
with every evil, something becomes worse. Therefore God does not will
evils.’”

“_Respondeo dicendum quod_ [Thomas’s formula for commencing his
elucidation] since the reason (or ground or cause, _ratio_) of the good is
likewise the reason of the desirable (as discussed previously), evil is
opposed to good: it is impossible that any evil, as evil, should be
desired, either by the natural appetite or the animal, or the
intellectual, which is will. But some evil may be desired _per accidens_,
in so far as it conduces to some good. And this is apparent in any
appetite. For the natural impulse (_agens naturale_) does not aim at
privation or destruction (_corruptio_); but at form, to which the
privation of another form may be joined (_i.e._ needed, _conjungitur_);
and at the generation of one, which is the destruction of another. Thus a
lion, killing a stag, aims at food, to which is joined the killing of an
animal. Likewise the fornicator aims at enjoyment, to which is joined the
deformity of guilt.

“Thus evil which is joined to some good, is privation of another good.
Never, therefore, is evil desired, not even _per accidens_, unless the
good to which the evil is joined appears greater than the good which is
annulled through the evil. But God wills no good more than His goodness;
yet He wills some one good more than some other good. Hence the evil of
guilt, which destroys relationship to divine good (_quod privat ordinem ad
bonum divinum_), God in no way wills. But the evil of natural defect, or
the evil of penalty, He wills in willing some good to which such evil is
joined; as, in willing righteousness He wills penalty; and in willing that
the order of nature be preserved, He wills certain natural corruptions.

“_Ad primum ergo dicendum_ [Thomas’s formula for commencing his reply to
the first false argument] that certain ones have said that although God
does not will evils, He wills evils to be or become: because, although
evils are not goods, yet it is good that evils should be or become. They
said this for the reason that those things which are evil in themselves,
are ordained for some good; and they deemed this ordainment involved in
saying _mala esse vel fieri_. But that is not said rightly. Because evil
is not ordained for good _per se_ but _per accidens_. For it is beyond the
sinner’s intent, that good should come of it; just as it was beyond the
intent of the tyrants that from their persecutions the patience of the
martyrs should shine forth. And therefore it cannot be said that such
ordainment for good is involved in saying that it is good for evil to be
or become: because nothing is adjudged according to what pertains to it
_per accidens_ but according to what pertains to it _per se_.”

“_Ad secundum dicendum_ that evil is not wrought for the perfection or
beauty of the whole except _per accidens_, as has been shown. Hence this
which Dionysius says that evil makes for the perfection of the whole may
lead to an illogical conclusion.”

“_Ad tertium dicendum_ that although the occurrence and non-occurrence of
evils are opposed as contradictories; yet to will the occurrence and to
will the non-occurrence of evils, are not opposed as contradictories,
since both one and the other may be affirmative. God therefore neither
wills the occurrence nor the non-occurrence of evils; but wills to permit
their occurrence. And this is good.”

[431] _Ante_, Chapter XII.

[432] _Ante_, pp. 289 _sqq._

[433] The _Speculum majus_ of Vincent of Beauvais will afford the
principal example of the resulting hybrid arrangement.

[434] Ludwig Baur, _Dominicus Gundissalinus, De divisione philosophiae_
(Baeumker’s _Beiträge_, Münster, 1903), p. 193 _sqq._, to which I am
indebted for what I have to say in the next few pages.

[435] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 64, col. 10 _sqq._

[436] These works were written near the middle of the twelfth century.
Gundissalinus was Archdeacon of Segovia and drew upon Arab writings.

[437] See L. Baur, _Gundissalinus, etc._, p. 376 _sqq._

[438] The treatise is not printed. Its captions are given by L. Baur in
his _Gundissalinus_, pp. 368-375, from which I have borrowed what I give
of them.

[439] _Liber de praedicabilibus_ (tome 1 of Albertus’s works), which in
scholastic logic means the five “universals,” genus, species, difference,
property, accident, (also called the _quinque voces_) discussed in
Porphyry’s Introduction to the _Categories_. The _Categories_ themselves
are called _praedicamenta_.

[440] The above gives the arguments of chapters i. and ii. of the work.
One notices that Albertus in this exposition of the subject of Porphyry’s
treatise, is using the _method_ which Thomas brings to syllogistic
perfection in his _Summa_.

[441] It was printed, more than once, in the late fifteenth century; the
most readable edition is that printed at Douai in 1624, in four huge
folios.

[442] Boundless as the work appears, neither in mental powers, nor
learning, nor in massiveness of achievement, is its author to be compared
with Albertus Magnus. The _De universo_ of Rabanus Maurus, Migne 111, col.
9-612, is in its arrangement and method a forerunner of Vincent’s
_Speculum_. Later predecessors were the English Franciscan Bartolomaeus,
whose encyclopaedic _De proprietatibus rerum_ was written a little before
the middle of the twelfth century (see Felder, _Studien in
Franciscanerorder, etc._, pp. 251-253); and Lambertus Audomarensis (St.
Omer) with his _Liber floridus_, a general digest of knowledge,
historical, ecclesiastical, and natural, taken from many writers, an
account of which is given in Migne 163, col. 1004 _sqq._

[443] Here, of course, we have the hands of Esau, but the voice of
Augustine and Orosius!

[444] The above is from cap. 9 of liber i. of the _Speculum doctrinale_.

[445] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 34, col. 246-485.

[446] _Ante_, p. 290.

[447] The three theological virtues are _fides_, _spes_, and _caritas_.
They are called thus because _Deum habent pro objecto_; and because they
are poured (_infunduntur_) into us by God alone. They are distinguished
from the moral and intellectual virtues because their object surpasses our
reason, while the object of the moral and intellectual virtues can be
comprehended by human reason (_Summa_, _Pars prima secundae_, Quaestio
lxii., Art. 1-4).

[448] ἕξις μετὰ λόγου ἀληθοῦς ποιητική, Arist. _Nich. Ethics_, vi. 4.

[449] One notes that these two, like many other of the vices enumerated,
are vices in that they are extremes, in the Aristotelian sense.

[450] We are at Quaestio clxxi. of _Secunda secundae_.

[451] The order which Thomas would have followed in the unfinished
conclusion of his _Summa theologiae_, may be inferred from the order of
the last half of Book IV. of his _Contra Gentiles_, or indeed from the
last part of the fourth Book of the Lombard’s _Sentences_.

[452] _Ante_, Chapter XII.

[453] There were, of course, attempts at translation, notably those of
Notker the German (see _ante_, Vol. I., p. 308) and Alfred’s translation
of Boëthius’s _De consolatione_. But such were made only of the popular
parts of Scripture (_e.g._ the Psalms) or of very elementary profane
treatises. To what extent Notker’s translations were used, is hard to say.
But at all events any one really seeking learning, studied and worked and
thought in the medium of Latin; for the bulk of the patristic writings
never were translated; and when the works of Aristotle had at last reached
the Middle Ages in the Latin tongue, they were studied in that tongue.
Because of the crudeness of the vernacular tongues, the Latin classics
were even more untranslatable in the tenth or eleventh century than now.

One may add, that it was fortunate for the progress of mediaeval learning
that Latin was the _one_ language used by all scholars in all countries.
This facilitated the diffusion of knowledge. How slow and painful would
have been that diffusion if the different vernacular tongues had been used
in their respective countries, for serious writing.

[454] _Ante_, Chapter XII., I.

[455] _Eruditio didascalica_, i. cap. 12 (Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 176, col.
750).

[456] Cf. Abelson, _The Seven Liberal Arts_ (New York, 1906).

[457] I am speaking generally, that is to say, omitting for the present
the aberrant or special or intrusive tendencies found in a man like Roger
Bacon, for example. They were of importance for what was to come
thereafter; but are not broadly representative of the Middle Ages.

[458] St. Anselm, _Epist._ lib. iii. 41, _ad Fulconem_ (Migne, _Pat. Lat._
158, col. 1192). So Roscellin showed in his own case how problems
primarily logical could pass over to metaphysics or theology. Likewise,
although on the other side of the controversy, one, Odo of Tournai, a good
contemporary realist, found realism an efficient aid in explaining the
transmission of original sin; since for him all men formed but one
substance, which was infected once for all by the sin of the first
parents. Cf. Hauréau, _Hist. de la philosophie scholastique_, i. pp.
297-308; De Wulf, _Hist. of Medieval Philosophy_, p. 156, 3rd ed.

[459] Abaelard, _Hist. calamitatum_, chap. 2.

[460] _Ante_, Chapter XXV.

[461] _Ante_, Chapter XII., I.

[462] Abaelard’s _Dialectica_ was published by Cousin, _Ouvrages inédits
d’Abélard_ (Paris, 1836). For a thorough exposition of Abaelard’s logic
see Prantl, _Ges. der Logik_, ii. p. 160 _sqq._

[463] _I.e._ as positive, comparative, and superlative.

[464] Cousin, _Ouvr. inédits_, p. 175. Cf. Aristotle’s _Categories_, ii.
v. 20. The opening of _Pars tertia_ of Abaelard’s _Dialectica_ (in
Cousin’s edition, p. 324 _sqq._) affords an interesting example of this
logical analysis and reconstruction of statement, which seems to originate
in sheer grammar, and then advance beyond it.

[465] Cousin, _o.c._ pp. 190, 192.

[466] Cousin, _o.c._ p. 331.

[467] Prantl’s _Geschichte der Logik_, vol. ii., contains an exhaustive
discussion of the various phases of this controversy: its language is
little less difficult than that of the twelfth-century word-twisters.

[468] Cousin, _o.c._ pp. 434, 435.

[469] _Theologia Christiana_, iv. (Migne 178, col. 1284).

[470] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 178, col. 1641.

[471] _Ante_, p. 292.

[472] _Scito te ipsum_, cap. 13 (Migne 178, col. 653).

[473] _Scito te ipsum_, cap. 19 (Migne 178, col. 664).

[474] Migne 178, col. 1615.

[475] _Ante_, pp. 304 _sqq._

[476] This has been published by Stölzle: _Abaelards 1121 zu Soissons
verurteilter Tractatus de Unitate et Trinitate divina_ (1891).

[477] Migne 178, col. 1123-1330; Cousin and Jourdain, _P. Abaelardi
opera_, ii. pp. 357-566 (1859).

[478] Migne 178, col. 979-1114; Cousin and Jourdain, _o.c._ pp. 1-149.

[479] _Ante_, Chapter XXXV., I.

[480] Bernard, _Ep._ 338 (Migne 182, col. 542).

[481] Whose sacramental theory of the Creation has already been given at
length, _ante_, Chapter XXVIII. For the incidents of Hugo’s life see the
same chapter. Bibliography, note to page 61. See also Ostler, “Die
Psychologie des Hugo von St. Viktor” (Baeumker’s _Beiträge_, Münster,
1906).

[482] _De script._ cap. 2 (Migne 175, col. 11).

[483] _De script._ cap. 2 (Migne 175, col. 10).

[484] _Summa sententiarum_ (Migne 176, col. 42-174); also under title of
_Tractatus theologicus_, wrongly ascribed to Hildebert of Lavardin, in
Migne 171, col. 1067-1150.

[485] Migne 176, col. 740-838.

[486] I think of no previous work so closely resembling the _Erud. didas._
as the _Institutiones divinarum et saecularum lectionum_ of Cassiodorus.

[487] _Erud. did._ i. 2.

[488] Here one sees the source of much that we quoted from Vincent de
Beauvais, _ante_, Chapter XXXV., 1.

[489] Lib. iii. cap. 13 _sqq._

[490] _Erud. did._ iii. cap. 20. Cf. _ante_, p. 63.

[491] _Ante_, Chapter XXVIII.

[492] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 175, col. 115 _sqq._

[493] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 175, col. 923 _sqq._

[494] The following consideration of the mysticism of Christian
theologians is not intended to include other forms of “mysticism”
(Pantheistic, poetical, pathological, neurotic, intellectual, and
sensuous) within or without the Christian pale.

[495] _Ante_, p. 42 _sqq._

[496] _Ante_, Chapter XXVIII.

[497] Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 176, col. 617-680.

[498] _De arca Noe morali_, i. cap. 2 (Migne 176, col. 621).

[499] Migne 176, col. 681-703. With Hugo’s pupil, Richard of St. Victor,
this constant allegory, especially the constant allegorical use of
Scripture names, becomes pedantic, _precieux_, impossible. See _e.g._ his
_Benjamin major_ in Migne 196, col. 64-202.

[500] _De arrha animae_, Migne 176, col. 951-970.

[501] Migne 182, col. 727-808. A translation is announced by George Lewis
in the Oxford Library of Translations.

[502] _De consid._ lib. ii. cap. 2.

[503] Migne 183, col. 789 _sqq._ Chapter XVII., _ante_, is devoted to
Bernard, and his letters and sermons.

[504] Ed. by Willner (Baeumker’s _Beiträge_, Münster, 1903).

[505] See _ante_, Chapter XXX., 1.

[506] Bernardus Silvestris, _De mundi universitate_, i. 2 (ed. by Barach
and Wrobel; Innsbrück, 1876). As to Bernard Silvestris, see Clerval,
_Écoles de Chartres au moyen âge_, p. 259 _sqq._ and _passim_; also
Hauréau (who confuses him with Bernard of Chartres), _Hist. de la phil.
scholastique_, ii. 407 _sqq._

[507] See Hauréau, _Hist. etc._ ii. 447-472; R. L. Poole, _Illustrations
of Mediaeval Thought_, chap. vi. His _Liber de sex principiis_ is printed
in Migne 188, col. 1257-1270.

[508] Werner, “Die Kosmologie und Naturlehre des scholastischen
Mittelalters, mit specialler Beziehung auf Wilhelm von Conches,”
_Sitzungsb. K. Akad., philos. Klasse_, 1873, Bd. lxxv.; Hauréau, _Hist.
etc._ i. 431-446; ibid. _Singularités littéraires, etc._

[509] _Ante_, Vol. I., p. 251.

[510] _Ante_, Chapter XXX., I.

[511] Under another title, _Moralis philosophia de honesto et utile_, it
has been ascribed to Hildebert of Lavardin, Migne 171, col. 1007-1056.

[512] For examples of John’s Latin, see _ante_, p. 173.

[513] See _e.g._ his treatment of logic in Lib. III. and IV. of the
_Metalogicus_ (Migne 199).

[514] _Polycraticus_, ii. 19-21 _sqq._ There is now a critical edition of
this work by C. C. J. Webb (_Joannis Saresberiensis Policratici libri
VIII._; Clarendon Press, 1910).

[515] _Polycraticus_, lib. vii., is devoted to a history of antique
philosophy.

[516] _Polycraticus_, vii. cap. 10.

[517] _Polycrat._ vii. cap. 11.

[518] Migne 199, col. 955.

[519] _Ante_, Chapter XXIX., 11. and XXXII., 1.

[520] The works of Alanus are collected in Migne, _Pat. Lat._ 210. What
follows in the text is much indebted to M. Baumgartner, “Die Philosophie
des Alanus de Insulis” (Baeumker’s _Beiträge_, Münster, 1896).

[521] All this is thoroughly done by Baumgartner, _o.c._

[522] See Baumgartner, p. 76 _sqq._ and citations.

[523] What I have felt obliged to say upon the organization of mediaeval
Universities, I have largely drawn from Rashdall’s _Universities of Europe
in the Middle Ages_ (Oxford, 1895). The subject is too large and complex
for independent investigation, except of the most lengthy and thorough
character. Extracts from illustrative mediaeval documents, with
considerable information touching mediaeval Universities, are brought
together by Arthur O. Norton in his _Mediaeval Universities_ (Readings in
the History of Education, Harvard University, 1909). For the Paris
University, the most important source is the _Chartularium Universitatis
Parisiensis_, ed. by Denifle and Chatelain (1889-1891). See also Ch.
Thurot, _L’Organisation de l’enseignement dans l’Université de Paris_
(Paris, 1850), and Denifle, _Die Universitäten des Mittelalters_ (Berlin,
1885).

[524] What has been said applies to the Bologna Law University. That had
been preceded by a school of Arts, and later there grew up a flourishing
school of Medicine, where surgery was also taught. These schools became
affiliated Universities, but never equalled the Law University in
importance.

[525] The Masters who taught were called _Regentes_.

[526] Both civil and canon law were studied till 1219, when a Bull of
Honorius III. forbade the study of the former at Paris.

[527] See _post_, p. 399.

[528] Mr. Rashdall’s.

[529] Rashdall, _o.c._ ii. p. 341.

[530] Oxford lay in the diocese of Lincoln.

[531] For the course of medicine and the list of books studied or lectured
on, especially at Montpellier, from which we have the most complete list,
see Rashdall, ii. p. 118 _sqq._ and _ibid._ p. 780. In _Harvard Studies in
Classical Philology_, vol. xx., 1909, C. H. Haskins publishes An
unpublished List of Text-books, belonging to the close of the twelfth
century, when classical studies had not as yet been overshadowed by
Dialectic. See also, generally, Paetow, _The Arts Course at Medieval
Universities_ (Univ. of Illinois, 1910).

[532] See generally, Carra de Vaux, _Avicenne_ (Paris, 1900); also
_Gazali_, by the same author.

[533] Whoever will read the two monographs of the Baron Carra de Vaux,
_Avicenne_ and _Gazali_, will be struck by the closely analogous courses
of Moslem and Christian thought; each showing the parallel phases of
scholastic rationalism (reliant upon reason and rational authority) and
scholastic theological piety, or mysticism (reliant upon the authority of
Revelation and sceptical as to the validity of human reason).

[534] See for this matter Mandonnet, O.P., _Aristote et la mouvement
intellectuel du moyen âge_, contained in his _Siger de Brabant_, and
printed separately; De Wulf, _History of Medieval Philosophy_, 3rd ed.,
pp. 243-253 and authorities; C. Marchesi, _L’ Etica Nicomachea nella
tradizione medievale_ (Messina, 1904).

[535] _Ante_, Chapter V.

[536] _Constitutiones des Prediger-Ordens vom Jahre 1228_, Prologus; H.
Denifle, _Archiv für Litt. und Kirchenges. des Mittelalters_, Bd i.
(1885), p. 194.

[537] See Felder, _Wissenschaftlichen Studien im Franciskanerorden_, p. 24
(Freiburg im Breisgau, 1904); a valuable work.

[538] See Felder, _o.c._ p. 29.

[539] _Constitutiones, etc._, cap. 28-31.

[540] Cf. Felder, _o.c._ p. 107 _sqq._

[541] Cf. Felder, _o.c._ p. 177 _sqq._

[542] From Denifle, _Universitäten des Mittelalters_, i. 99, note 192.

[543] See generally, Mandonnet, _Siger de Brabant et l’averroisme latin au
moyen âge_ (Fribourg, Switzerland, 1899); Baeumker (_Beiträge_, 1898),
_Die Impossibilia des Siger von Brabant_; De Wulf, _Hist. of Medieval
Philosophy_, 3rd ed., p. 379 _sqq._ (Longmans, 1909).

[544] Albert was born probably in 1193, and died in 1280; Bacon was born
some twenty years later, and died about 1292. Bonaventura was born in
1221, and Thomas in 1225 or 1227; they both died in 1274.

[545] So Raphael represents them in his “School of Athens.”

[546] Bonaventura, _Sermo IV._, Quaracchi edition, tome v. p. 572 (cited
by De Wulf, _Hist. etc._ p. 304, note). With all their
Augustinian-Platonism, the Franciscans made a good second to the
Dominicans in the study of Aristotle, as is proved by the great number of
commentaries upon his works by members of the former Order. See Felder,
_o.c._ p. 479.

[547] _Epist. de tribus quaestionibus_, § 12.

[548] Tome v. (Quaracchi ed.) pp. 319-325.

[549] This is from § 26, the last in the work. Bonaventura has already
said (§ 7): “Omnes istae cognitiones ad cognitionem Sacrae Scripturae
ordinantur, in ea clauduntur et in illa perficiuntur, et mediante illa ad
aeternam illuminationem ordinantur.” (“All kinds of knowledge are ordained
for the knowledge of Holy Scripture, are in it enclosed and thereby are
perfected; and through its mediation are ordered for eternal
illumination.”)

[550] It is contained in tomes i.-iv. of the Quaracchi edition.

[551] T. v. pp. 201-291.

[552] _Breviloquium_, Prologus.

[553] One feels the reality of Bonaventura’s distinctions here between
theology and philosophy. They are enunciations of his religious sense, and
possess a stronger validity than any elaborate attempt to distinguish by
argument between the two. Thomas distinguishes them with excellent
reasoning. It lacks convincingness perhaps from the fact that Thomas’s
theology is so largely philosophy, as Roger Bacon said.

[554] As this chapter opens a _pars_, it begins with a recapitulation of
what has preceded and a summary of what is to come. The specific topic of
the chapter commences here.

[555] _I.e._ the desiderative, rational, and irascible elements in man.

[556] Bonaventura closely follows Hugo of St. Victor’s _De sacramentis_,
see _ante_, Chap. XXVIII., especially p. 72.

[557] _Opera_, t. v. pp. 295-313.

[558] _Vir desideriorum_, Dan. ix. 23 (Vulgate).

[559] The _Breviloquium_ and _Itinerarium_ are conveniently edited by
Hefele in a little volume (Tübingen, 1861).

[560] Albertus, _Metaphysicorum libri XIII._, lib. i. tract. 1, cap. 4.

[561] _Physic._ lib. viii. tract. 1, cap. 14.

[562] _Poster. Analyt._ lib. i. tract. 1, cap. 1. This and the previous
citation are from Mandonnet’s _Siger de Brabant_.

[563] _Ethic._ lib. vi. tract. 2, cap. 25.

[564] Carus, _Ges. der Zoologie_, p. 231.

[565] Ernst Meyer, _Ges. der Botanik_, Bd. iv. p. 77.

[566] The works of Albertus were edited by the Dominican Jammy in
twenty-one volumes (Lyons, 1651); they are reprinted by Borgnet (Paris,
1890 _et seq._). My references to volumes follow Jammy’s edition.

[567] See _ante_, pp. 314 _sqq._

[568] Prantl, _Ges. der Logik_, iii. 89 _sqq._, calls him an “unklarer
Kopf,” incapable of consistent thinking.

[569] This is the view of A. Schneider, _Die Psychologie Alberts des
Grossen_ (Baeumker’s _Beiträge_, Münster, 1903). The author presents
analytically the disparate elements--Aristotelian, Neo-Platonic, and
theological-Augustinian, which are found in Albert’s writings.

[570] See Endriss, _Albertus Magnus als Interpret der Aristotelischen
Metaphysik_ (Munich, 1886).

[571] The above is mainly drawn from E. Meyer’s _Ges. der Botanik_, Bd.
iv. pp. 38-78.

[572] _Ante_, Volume I. p. 76.

[573] See Carus, _Geschichte der Zoologie_, pp. 211-239.

[574] _Sum. theol. pars prima_, tract. I, quaest. ii.

[575] _Ante_, Chapter XXXV., I.

[576] Tome xx. p. 41_a_.

[577] The _Vita_ of Thomas by Guilielmus de Thoco, _Acta sanctorum_,
Martius, tome i. folio 657 _sqq._ (March 7), is wretchedly confused.

[578] _Vita_, cap. iii. § 15.

[579] One may see the truth of this by comparing the treatment of a matter
in Albert’s _Summa theologiae_ with the corresponding sections in Thomas.
For example, compare Albert’s _Summa theol. prima_, Tract. vii. Quaest.
xxx.-xxxiii., on _generatio_, _processio_, _missio_ of the divine persons,
with Thomas, _Sum. theol. prima_, Quaest. xxvii. and xliii.

[580] John of Damascus, an important Greek theologian of the eighth
century, often cited by Thomas.

[581] Quaestiones are the larger divisions of the argument.

[582] _Pars prima_, Qu. xvi. Art. 3.

[583] _Pars prima_, Qu. lxxxii. Art. 3.

[584] _Prima sec._ Qu. iv. Art. 2.

[585] _Prima sec._ Qu. iv. Art. 3.

[586] _Sum. Phil. contra Gentiles_, iii. 37.

[587] One cannot avoid applying the masculine pronouns to God, and to the
angels also. But, of course, this is a mere convenience of speech. Thomas
ascribes no sex either to God or the angels.

[588] It will, of course, be borne in mind, that Thomas’s use of _videre_
and _visio_ to express man’s perception of God’s essential nature, does
not mean a physical but an intellectual seeing.

[589] Given _ante_, pp. 290 _sqq._

[590] _Secundum quod est in actu_, _i.e._ in realized actuality as
distinguished from potentiality (Aristotelian conceptions).

[591] The foregoing is taken from the thirteen _articuli_ into which
Quaestio xii. is divided.

[592] _Pars prima_, Quaestio xxxii. Art. 1.

[593] _Quaestiones disputatae: De Veritate_, x. 6. Citing Rom. i. 20.

[594] Prooemium to Qu. xiv. _Pars prima_.

[595] Qu. xiv. Art. 2--a point which Thomas reasons out in interesting
scholastic Aristotelian fashion, but in language too technical to
translate.

[596] _Pars prima_, Qu. xiv. Art. 11.

[597] _Pars prima_, Qu. xv. Art. 1-3.

[598] _Pars prima_, Qu. xxvi. Art. 2.

[599] _Pars prima_, Qu. xliv. Art. 3.

[600] _Pars prima_, Qu. xlv. Art. 1.

[601] _Summa theol. pars prima_, Qu. l. As heretofore, I follow the
exposition of the _Summa theologiae_. But Thomas began a large and almost
historical treatment of angels in his unfinished _Tract. de substantiis
separatis, seu de Angelorum natura_ (unfinished, in _Opuscula theol._). He
has another and important tractatus, _De cognitione Angelorum, Quaestiones
disput. de veritate_, viii.

[602] _Pars prima_, Qu. l. Art. 1. Thomas goes on to contradict Aristotle,
in holding _quod nullum ens esset nisi corpus_.

[603] All that has been given concerning the knowledge of angels relates
to what they know through their own natures as created. Further
enlightenment (as with men) comes through grace as soon as they become
_beati_ through turning to good. _Pars prima_, Qu. lxii. Art. 1 _sqq._

[604] _Ante_, Chapter XXXV., 1.

[605] A burning controversy between the Averroists and the orthodox
schoolmen.

[606] This is the substance of Qu. lxxxix. Art. 1.

[607] _Pars prima_, Qu. xix. Art. 1.

[608] _Pars prima_, Qu. lxxxii. and lxxxiii.

[609] _Pars prima_, Qu. xx. 1.

[610] _Summa theol._, _Pars secunda secundae_, Qu. xvii. Art 8.

[611] _Pars secunda secundae_, Qu. xxiv. Art. 8.

[612] _Pars secunda secundae_, Qu. xxvi. Art. 4 and 5.

[613] _Pars prima secundae_, Qu. cix. _sqq._

[614] Another reading is _delectatio_, _i.e._ enjoyment.

[615] Bacon’s _Opus majus_ was edited in incomplete form by Jebb in 1733,
and reprinted in 1750 at Venice. This edition is superseded by that of
Bridges, in two volumes, published with the _Moralis philosophia_ and
_Multiplicatio specierum_ by the Clarendon Press in 1897. The text of this
edition had many errors, which have been corrected by a third volume
published in 1900 by Williams and Norgate, who are now the publishers of
the three volumes. In 1859 Brewer edited the _Opus tertium_, the _Opus
minus_, and _Compendium philosophiae_ for the Master of the Rolls Series.

“An unpublished Fragment of a work by Roger Bacon” was discovered by F. A.
Gasquet in the Vatican Library, and published in the _English Historical
Review_ for July 1897. It appears to be a letter to Clement IV., written
in 1267.

In 1861 appeared the excellent monograph by Émile Charles, entitled _Roger
Bacon, sa vie, ses ouvrages, ses doctrines_. To this one still must turn
for extracts from the _Compendium theologiae_, and the _Communia
naturalium_. The last-named work, with the _Compendium philosophiae_ and
the _Multiplicatio specierum_ (which appears not to be an intrinsic part
of the _Opus majus_), may have been composed as parts of what was to be
the writer’s _Opus principale_. Bacon’s _Greek Grammar_ has been edited by
Nolan and Hirsch (Cambridge, 1902).

[616] _Opus tertium_, chap. xxv. p. 91 (Brewer’s text).

[617] _Opus tertium_, chap. xvii. (pp. 58-59, Brewer’s ed.).

[618] Brewer, _R. Bacon, Opera inedita_, p. 1.

[619] _Opus tertium_, pp. 7 and 8.

[620] In _Opus tertium_, chap. iii. (Brewer, p. 15), Bacon plainly tells
the pope the difficulties in which he had been placed by this injunction
of secrecy: “The first cause of delay came through those who are over me.
Since you have written nothing to them in my excuse, and I could not
reveal to them your secret, they insisted with unspeakable violence that I
should obey their will; but I refused, because of the bond of your
mandate, which bound me to your work, notwithstanding any order from my
prelates. And, of a surety, as I was not excused by you, I met with
obstacles too great and many to enumerate.... And another obstacle, enough
to defeat the whole business, was the lack of funds.”

[621] These are, of course, the _Opus majus_, the _Opus minus_, and the
_Opus tertium_; also the _Vatican Fragment_, the position of which is not
quite clear; but it is part of the writings of this year, and constitutes
apparently the introductory letter to Clement.

[622] The authority for this is the _Chronica XXIV., Generalium Ordinis
Minorum_; see Bridges, vol. iii. p. 158.

[623] See _Op. tertium_, p. 26 _sqq._ (Brewer).

[624] _Opus majus_, pars ii. end of chap. v. and beginning of chap. vi.
(Bridges, iii. p. 49); see _Op. tertium_ (Brewer), p. 81.

[625] _Op. maj._ pars ii. chap. xv. (Bridges, iii. p. 71).

[626] _Op. tertium_, p. 39.

[627] _Op. maj._ pars ii. (Bridges, iii. pp. 69-70). Cf. _ante_, p. 180.

[628] The reference seems to be to the _Ethics_ and _Politics_.

[629] _Compendium studii_, p. 424 (Brewer).

[630] _Op. tertium_, p. 14.

[631] _Op. tertium_, p. 30.

[632] _Compendium studii phil._, p. 429 (Brewer).

[633] _Ibid._ p. 398--written in 1271.

[634] I follow the paging of Bridges, vol. iii. These four causes of error
are also given in _Opus tertium_, p. 69, _Compendium studii_, p. 414
(Brewer), and the Gasquet _Fragment_, p. 504.

[635] _Op. maj._ pp. 2 and 3.

[636] P. 322 _sqq._ (Brewer).

[637] _Opus tertium_, p. 102.

[638] _Ante_, p. 128.

[639] As, _e.g._ where he says that it would have been better for the
Latins “that the wisdom of Aristotle should not have been translated, than
to have been translated with such perverseness and obscurity.” _Compend.
studii_, p. 469, (Brewer).

[640] See _Opus majus_, pars iii.

[641] _Opus majus_, Bridges, vol. i. p. 106.

[642] Commonly called “mathematica.”

[643] _Opus majus_ (Bridges, i. p. 253). Bacon goes into this matter
elaborately.

[644] Cf. S. Vogl, _Die Physik Roger Bacos_ (Erlangen, 1906). Gives
Bacon’s sources.

[645] _Opus minus_, pp. 367-371.

[646] _Opus majus_, pars v. dist. iii. (Bridges, ii. p. 159 _sqq._).

[647] A contemporary of Bacon named Witelo composed a _Perspectiva_ about
1270, following an Arab source; and a few years later a Dominican,
Theodoric of Freiburg, was devoted to optics, and wrote on light, colour,
and the rainbow. Baeumker, “Witelo, ein Philosoph und Naturforscher des
XIII. Jahrh.” (_Beiträge, etc._, Münster, 1908); Krebs, “Meister Dietrich,
sein Leben, etc.” (Baeumker’s _Beiträge_, 1906).

[648] With Bacon, _experientia_ does not always mean observation; and may
mean either experience or experiment.

[649] See Charles, _Roger Bacon_, pp. 17-18.

[650] _Ante_, pp. 313-315. Duns Scotus puts clearly the double aspect of
logic, which Albertus Magnus approached: “It should be understood that
logic is to be considered in two ways. First, in so far as it is _docens_
(instructs, holds its own school): and from its own necessary and proper
principles proceeds to necessary conclusions, and is therefore a science.
Secondly, in so far as we use it, by applying it to those matters in which
it is used: and then it is not a science” (_Super universalia Porphyrii_,
Quaestrio i., Duns Scotus, _Opera_, t. i. p. 51).

[651] The two aspects of the experimental science appear in the following
statement from the Gasquet _Fragment_: “The _antepenultima_ science is
called experimental; and is the mistress of those which precede it; for it
excels the others in three chief prerogatives. One is that all the
sciences except this either use arguments alone to prove their
conclusions, like the purely speculative sciences, or possess general and
imperfect experiences. But only the perfect experience (_experientia
perfecta_, _i.e._ the scientific experiment or observation), sets the mind
at rest in the light of truth; which is certain and is proved in that part
[of my work]. Wherefore it was necessary that there should be one science
which should certify for us, all the magnificent truths of the other
sciences, through the truth of experience, and this is that whereof I say
that it is called _scientia experimentalis_ of its own right from the
truth of experience (_per autonomasiam ab experienciae veritate_); and I
show by the illustration of the rainbow and other things, how this
prerogative is reserved to that science.

“The second prerogative is the dignity which relates to those chief truths
which, although they are to be formulated (_nominandae_) in the terms
(_vocabulis_) of the other sciences, yet the other sciences cannot furnish
(_procurare_) them; and of this character are the prolongation of life
through remedies to counteract the lack of a hygienic regimen from
infancy, or constitutional debility inherited from parents who have not
followed such a regimen. I shall show how it is possible thus to prolong
life to the term set by God. But men, through neglecting the rules of
health, pass quickly to old age, and die before reaching that term. The
art of medicine is not able to furnish (_dare_) these remedies, nor does
it; but it says they are possible (_sed fatetur ea possibilia_), and so
experimental science has devised remedies known to the wisest men alone,
by which the ills of old age are delayed, or are mitigated when they
arrive.

“The third prerogative of this science belongs to it _secundum se et
absolute_; for here it leaves the two ways already touched on, and
addresses itself to all things which do not concern the other sciences,
save that often it requires the service of the others. As a mistress it
commands the others as servants ... and orders them to do its work, and
furnish the wise instruments which it uses; as navigation directs the art
of carpentry, to make a ship for it; and the military art directs the
forger’s art to make it a breastplate and other arms. In like manner, this
science [the experimental], as a mistress, directs geometry to make it a
burning-glass, which shall set on fire things near or far, one of the most
sublime wonders that can come to pass through geometry. So it commands the
other sciences in all the wonderful and hidden things of nature and art”
(pp. 510-511).

[652] _Opus tertium_, chap. xxviii.

[653] _Opus majus_, pars vi. 1 (Bridges, ii. p. 169).

[654] _Ibid._ p. 171. Doubtless the meaning of the above is connected with
Bacon’s view of the Aristotelian _intellectus agens_, which he takes to
signify the direct illumination of the mind of man by God. “All the wisdom
of philosophy is revealed by God and given to the philosophers, and it is
Himself that illuminates the minds of men in all wisdom. That which
illuminates our minds is now called by the theologians _intellectus
agens_. But my position is that this _intellectus agens_ is God
_principaliter_, and secondarily, the angels, who illuminate us” (_Opus
tertium_, p. 74; cf. _Op. majus_, pars i. chap. v.).

[655] _Compendium studii_ (Brewer), p. 397.

[656] _De secretis operibus artis et naturae, et de nullitate magiae_, p.
533 (Brewer). Cf. Charles, _Roger Bacon_, p. 296 _sqq._

[657] The most convenient edition of the works of Joannes Duns Scotus is
that published by Vives, at Paris (1891 _sqq._) in twenty-six volumes. It
is little more than a reprint of Wadding’s Edition.

[658] See Seeberg, _Die Theologie des Johannes Duns Scotus_ (Leipzig,
1900), p. 8 _sqq._, a work to which the following pages owe much.

[659] Grosseteste’s philosophical or theological works are still
unpublished or very difficult of access; and there is no sufficient
exposition of his doctrines.

[660] Seeberg, _o.c._ p. 16 _sqq._

[661] See De Wulf, _History of Medieval Philosophy_, p. 363 _sqq._

[662] See Seeberg, _o.c._ p. 34 _sqq._

[663] The kernel of Duns’s proof is contained in the following passage,
which is rather simple in its Scotian Latin: “Dicendum, quod Universale
est ens, quia sub ratione non entis, nihil intelligitur: quia
intelligibile movet intellectum. Cum enim intellectus sit virtus passiva
(per Aristotelem 3, de Anima, cont. 5 et inde saepe), non operatur, nisi
moveatur ab objecto; non ens non potest movere aliquid ut objectum; quia
movere est entis in actu; ergo nihil intelligitur sub ratione non entis.
Quidquid autem intelligitur, intelligitur sub ratione Universalis: ergo
illa ratio non est omnino non ens” (_Super universalia Porphyrii_,
Quaestio iv.).

[664] Cf. the far from clear exposition in Seeberg, _o.c._ p. 86 _sqq._
and 660 _sqq._

[665] _Miscell. quaest._ 6, 18, cited by Seeberg, _o.c._ p. 114.

[666] The last two or three pages have been drawn mainly from Seeberg,
_o.c._ p. 113 _sqq._ In discussing Duns Scotus, I have given less from his
writings than has been my wont with other philosophers. And for two
reasons. The first, as I frankly avow, is that I have read less of him
than I have of his predecessors. With the exception of such a curious
treatise as the (doubtful) Grammatica _speculativa_ (tome i. of the Paris
edition); and the elementary, and comparatively lucid, _De rerum
principio_ (tome iv. of the Paris edition)--with these exceptions Duns is
to me unreadable. My second reason for omitting excerpts from his
writings, is that I wished neither to misrepresent their quality, nor to
cause my reader to lay down my book, which is heavy enough anyhow! If I
selected lucid and simple extracts, they would give no idea of the
intricacy and prolixity of Duns. His commentary on the _Sentences_ fills
thirteen tomes of the Paris edition! No short and simple extract will
illustrate _that_! On the other hand, I could not bring myself by lengthy
or impossible quotations to vilify Duns. It is unjust to expose a man’s
worst features, nakedly and alone, to those who do not know his better
side and the conditions which partly explain the rest of him.

[667] _Quodlibetalia_, i. Qu. 14, cited by De Wulf, _o.c._ p. 422.

[668] _Expos. aurea_, cited by De Wulf, _o.c._ p. 423, whose exposition of
Occam’s theory I have followed here.

[669] On Occam, see Seeberg’s article in Hauck’s _Encyclopaedia_; Siebeck,
“Occams Erkenntnislehre, etc.,” in _Archiv für Ges. der Philosophie_, Bd.
x., Neue Folge (1897).

[670] Quoted by Seeberg.

[671] De Wulf, _o.c._ p. 425.

[672] In view of the enormous literature upon Dante, popular as well as
learned, it would be absurd to give any bibliographical, biographical or
historical information as to his works, himself, or his Italian
circumstances.

[673] _De mon._ ii. 3.

[674] _De mon._ ii. chaps. 4, 10, 12.

[675] _De mon._ iii. 4 _sqq._

[676] All this seems supported by _Conv._ i. 1, and ii. 13, the main
explanatory chapters of the work.

[677] _Conv._ iii. 12.

[678] e.g. “_benigna volontade_,” _Par._ xv. 1.

[679] Cf. A. d’Ancona, _I Precursori di Dante_ (Florence, 1874); M. Dods,
_Forerunners of Dante_ (Edinburgh, 1903); A. J. Butler, _Forerunners of
Dante_ (Oxford, 1910); Hettinger, _Göttliche Komödie_, p. 79 (2nd ed.,
Freiburg im Breisgau, 1889). Mussafia, “Monumenti antichi di dialetti
italiani,” _Sitzungsber. philos. hist. Classe_ (Vienna Academy), vol. 45,
1864, p. 136 _sqq._, gives two old Italian _descriptions_, one of the
heavenly Jerusalem, the other of the infernal Babylon.

[680] 2 Cor. xii. 2; _Paradiso_, i. 73-75.

[681] _Ante_, Chapter XIX.

[682] _Ante_, pp. 98-100.

[683] The coarseness of _Inf._ xxi. 137-139 is of a piece with the way of
mediaeval art in making demons horrible through a grotesquely indecent
rendering of their persons.

[684] e.g. _Inf._ xviii. 100 _sqq._; and _Inf._ xxviii. and xxix.

[685] _Inf._ viii. 37 _sqq._; xxxii. 97 _sqq._; xxxiii. 116 and 149.

[686] Cf. Moore, _Dante Studies_, vol. ii. pp. 266-267.

[687] Any one who looks through the first volume of Tiraboschi’s great
_Storia della letteratura italiana_, written in the early part of the
nineteenth century, will find a generous acceptance of myth as fact; just
as he would find the same in the _Histoire ancienne_ of the good Rollin,
written a century or more before.

[688] Dante has frequently been spoken of as the “first scholar” of his
time. I do not myself know enough regarding the scholarship of every
scholar in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries to confirm or deny
this. Personally, I do not regard him as a Titanic scholar, like Albertus
Magnus for example. He studied all the classic Latin authors available.
Doubtless he had a memory corresponding to his other extraordinary powers.
His also was the intellectual point of view, and the intellectual interest
in knowledge and its deductions. His view of life was as intellectual as
that of Aquinas. But as Dante’s powers of plastic visualization were
unequalled, so also, it seems to me, were his faculties of using as a poet
what he had acquired as a scholar. Regarding the extent of Dante’s use and
reading of the Classics, nothing could be added to Dr. Moore’s _Studies in
Dante_, First Series; though I think what Dr. Moore has to say of “Dante
and Aristotle” would have cast a more direct light upon the matter, had he
cited as far as possible from the Latin translation probably used by
Dante, instead of from the original Greek.

[689] _Inf._ iv. 88. Cf. Moore, _Studies in Dante_, i. p. 6. The
application of the term _satirist_ to Horace is peculiarly mediaeval.

[690] _Inf._ iv. 131.

[691] _Inf._ ii. 20.

[692] _Par._ xx. 68.

[693] _Purg._ xxv. 22.

[694] _Inf._ xviii. 83 _sqq._

[695] _Inf._ xxvi. 88 _sqq._

[696] _Purg._ xii.

[697] _Purg._ xv.

[698] According to Dr. Moore, Dante quotes or refers to the “Vulgate more
than 500 times, to Aristotle more than 300, Virgil about 200, Ovid about
100, Cicero and Lucan about 50 each, Statius and Boëthius between 30 and
40 each, Horace, Livy, and Orosius between 10 and 20 each,”--and other
scattering references.

[699] _Inf._ xxxiii. 4; _Aen._ ii. 3.

[700] _Par._ ii. 16.

[701] _Aen._ vi. 309; _Inf._ iii. 112.

[702] _Aen._ vi. 700; _Purg._ ii. 80.

[703] _Purg._ i. 135; cf. _Aen._ vi. 143 “Primo avulso non deficit alter,
etc.”

[704] See _Inf._ xxxi.; _Purg._ xii. 25 _sqq._

[705] _Purg._ vi. 118: “O highest Jove that wast on earth crucified for
us.”

[706] _Par._ i. 13 _sqq._; _Par._ ii. 8.

[707] The _provenance_, etc., of Dante’s classification of sins in the
_Inferno_, like everything else in Dante, has been interminably discussed.
The reference to the _De officiis_ of Cicero is due to Dr. Moore. See
“Classification of Sins in the _Inferno_ and _Purgatorio_,” _Studies in
Dante_, 2nd Series. Also cf. Hettinger, _Die göttliche Kömödie_, pp.
159-162, and notes 6 and 23 on p. 204 and 207 (2nd ed., Freiburg in
Breisgau, 1889). Dante’s main statement is in _Inf._ xi.

[708] In whom does not the awful anguish of the suicides (_Inf._ xiii.)
arouse grief and horror?

[709] _Inf._ xvi. 59. They are more respectable than the blessed denizens
of the Heaven of Venus, _Par._ ix.

[710] _Inf._ xix.

[711] _Inf._ vi. 103 _sqq._

[712] The intellectual temperament finds voice in many great expressions,
which are very Dante and also very Thomas, as _Par._ xxviii. 106-114;
xxix. 17; xxx. 40-42.

[713] _Inf._ iii. 18.

[714] Hettinger, _o.c._ p. 254.

[715] _Aeneid_ vi. 327 _sqq._; Hettinger, _o.c._ p. 226.

[716] See Taylor, _Classical Heritage_, p. 162.

[717] These are pointed out in the Commentaries (_e.g._ Scartazzini’s) and
in many monographs. Hettinger’s _Göttliche Kömödie_ is serviceable: also
Moore’s _Studies in Dante_ and Toynbee’s _Dante Studies_.

[718] _Purg._ i. 71; John viii. 36.

[719] _Purg._ i. 89.

[720] _Purg._ iii. 34 _sqq._

[721] _Purg._ iv. 4 _sqq._

[722] _Purg._ v. 105 _sqq._

[723] _Purg._ vii. 54; iv. 133-135.

[724] Cf. _e.g._ _Purg._ xii. 109.

[725] _Purg._ xv. 40 _sqq._

[726] _Purg._ xvi. 64 _sqq._

[727] _Purg._ xvii. 85 _sqq._, and xviii.; Hettinger, _o.c._ p. 235
_sqq._, and pp. 261-264.

[728] _Purg._ xxiii. 72; xxvi. 14.

[729] _Purg._ xxv. The notes in Hettinger, _o.c._, are quite full in
citations of passages from Thomas and other scholastics.

[730] Thomas, _Summa_, iii. Qu. 89, Art. 5.

[731] As it is rather in _Par._ xxvii. 76 _sqq._

[732] _Par._ iii. 52, 64, 89.

[733] _Par._ iv.

[734] _Par._ xi. 1 _sqq._

[735] _Par._ xiv.

[736] _Par._ xv. 10.

[737] _Par._ xix. 40 _sqq._

[738] _Par._ xx.

[739] _Par._ xxiv.-xxvi.

[740] Typified in St. Bernard, _Par._ xxxi. and following. Suitable
reasons for this choice may be suggested by the extracts from Bernard’s
_De deligendo Deo_ and _Sermons on Canticles_, _ante_, Chapter XVII.

[741] _Conv._ ii. 13. The symbolism inherent in all human mental processes
seems indicated by the argument of Aquinas (_ante_, p. 466) that the mind
knows “the particular through sense and imagination; ... it must turn
itself to images in order to behold the universal nature existing in the
particular.” This is a necessity of our half material nature.

[742] _Convito_ ii. 1. Letter to Can Grande, par. 7.

[743] In the Can Grande letter, having stated this fourfold significance,
Dante does _not_ proceed to exemplify it in the interpretation which
follows of the opening lines of the _Paradiso_. Possibly those lines did
not admit of the fourfold interpretation; yet, in general, Dante does not
try to carry it out in practice, any more than other mediaeval writers
commonly.

[744] _Convito_ ii. ch. 14 and 15.

[745] Doubtless the commentator habit is fixed in the nature of man; but
it was pre-eminently mediaeval. We have seen enough elsewhere of the
multiplication of Commentaries on the _Sentences_ of the Lombard and other
scholastic works. Dante’s friend, Guido Cavalcanti, wrote a little poem
beginning _Donna mi priego_, upon which we have eight Commentaries, the
first from Egidio Colonna in 1316.

[746] Yet, however obvious the meaning, tying the pole of the Chariot to
the Tree of Life was a great stroke (_Purg._ xxxii. 49).

[747] There is a piece of allegory in the _Paradiso_ which almost gets on
one’s nerves, _i.e._ the ceaseless whirling of the blessed spirits,
usually in wheel formations: _e.g._ _Par._ xii. 3; xxi. 81; xxiv. 10
_sqq._: cf. x. 145; xiii. 20.

[748] One notes that all the symbolizing personages of the poem--Virgil,
Statius, Matilda, Lia, Beatrice--have literal reality, however subtle or
far-reaching may be the allegorical intendment with which the poet has
invested them.

[749] See _e.g._ _Par._ xxxi. 67.

[750] Cf. De Sanctis, _Storia della letteratura italiana_, i. p. 46 _sqq._

[751] Compare _Purg._ xxvii. 34 _sqq._; xxx.; xxxi.; _Par._ xviii. 13
_sqq._; xxiii.; xxx.; xxxi.; xxxii. 8.



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Transcriber’s Notes:

Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_.

Passages in bold are indicated by =bold=.

Superscripted characters are indicated by {superscript}.





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