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]