We have seen how the cloister life of the Middle Ages developed
meditative habits of mind, which were followed by a spirit of
inquiry on deep theological questions. We have now to consider a
great intellectual movement, stimulated by the effort to bring
philosophy to the aid of theology, and thus more effectually to
battle with insidious and rising heresies. The most illustrious
representative of this movement was Thomas of Aquino, generally
called Thomas Aquinas. With him we associate the Scholastic
Philosophy, which, though barren in the results at which it aimed,
led to a remarkable intellectual activity, and hence, indirectly,
to the emancipation of the mind. It furnished teachers who
prepared the way for the great lights of the Reformation.
Anselm had successfully battled with the rationalism of Roscelin,
and also had furnished a new argument for the existence of God. He
secured the triumph of Realism for a time and the apparent
extinction of heresy. But a new impulse to thought was given, soon
after his death, by a less profound but more popular and brilliant
man, and, like him, a monk. This was the celebrated Peter Abelard,
born in the year 1079, in Brittany, of noble parents, and a boy of
remarkable precocity. He was a sort of knight-errant of
philosophy, going from convent to convent and from school to
school, disputing, while a mere youth, with learned teachers,
wherever he could find them. Having vanquished the masters in the
provincial schools, he turned his steps to Paris, at that time the
intellectual centre of Europe. The university was not yet
established, but the cathedral school of Notre Dame was presided
over by William of Champeaux, who defended the Realism of Anselm.
To this famous cathedral school Abelard came as a pupil of the
veteran dialectician at the age of twenty, and dared to dispute his
doctrines. He soon set up as a teacher himself; but as Notre Dame
was interdicted to him he retired to Melun, ten leagues from Paris,
where enthusiastic pupils crowded to his lecture room, for he was
witty, bold, sarcastic, acute, and eloquent. He afterwards removed
to Paris, and so completely discomfited his old master that he
retired from the field. Abelard then applied himself to the study
of divinity, and attended the lectures of Anselm of Laon, who,
though an old man, was treated by Abelard with great flippancy and
arrogance. He then began to lee-tare on divinity as well as
philosophy, with extraordinary eclat. Students flocked to his
lecture room from all parts of Germany, Italy, France, and England.
It is said that five thousand young men attended his lectures,
among whom one hundred were destined to be prelates, including that
brilliant and able Italian who afterwards reigned as Innocent III.
It was about this time, 1117, when he was thirty-eight, that he
encountered Heloise,--a passage of his life which will be
considered in a later volume of this work. His unfortunate love
and his cruel misfortune led to a temporary seclusion in a convent,
from which, however, he issued to lecture with renewed popularity
in a desert place in Champagne, where he constructed a vast edifice
and dedicated it to the Paraclete. It was here that his most
brilliant days were spent. It is said that three thousand pupils
followed him to this wilderness. He was doubtless the most
brilliant and successful lecturer that the Middle Ages ever saw.
He continued the controversy which was begun by Roscelin respecting
universals, the reality or which he denied.
Abelard was not acquainted with the Greek, but in a Latin
translation from the Arabic he had studied Aristotle, whom he
regarded as the great master of dialectics, although not making use
of his method, as did the great Scholastics of the succeeding
century. Still, he was among the first to apply dialectics to
theology. He maintained a certain independence of the patristic
authority by his "Sic et Non," in which treatise he makes the
authorities neutralize each other by placing side by side
contradictory assertions. He maintained that the natural
propensity to evil, in consequence of the original transgression,
is not in itself sin; that sin consists in consenting to evil. "It
is not," said he, "the temptation to lust that is sinful, but the
acquiescence in the temptation;" hence, that virtue cannot be
tested without temptations; consequently, that moral worth can only
be truly estimated by God, to whom motives are known,--in short,
that sin consists in the intention, and not in act. He admitted
with Anselm that faith, in a certain sense, precedes knowledge, but
insisted that one must know why and what he believes before his
faith is established; hence, that faith works itself out of doubt
by means of rational investigation.
The tendency of Abelard's teachings was rationalistic, and
therefore he arrayed against himself the great champion of
orthodoxy in his day,--Saint Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux, the most
influential churchman of his age, and the most devout and lofty.
His immense influence was based on his learning and sanctity; but
he was dogmatic and intolerant. It is probable that the
intellectual arrogance of Abelard, his flippancy and his sarcasms,
offended more than the matter of his lectures. "It is not by
industry," said he, "that I have reached the heights of philosophy,
but by force of genius." He was more admired by young and worldly
men than by old men. He was the admiration of women, for he was
poet as well as philosopher. His love-songs were scattered over
Europe. With a proud and aristocratic bearing, severe yet
negligent dress, beautiful and noble figure, musical and electrical
voice, added to the impression he made by his wit and dialectical
power, no man ever commanded greater admiration from those who
listened to him. But he excited envy as well as admiration, and
was probably misrepresented by his opponents. Like all strong and
original characters, he had bitter enemies as well as admiring
friends; and these enemies exaggerated his failings and his
heretical opinions. Therefore he was summoned before the Council
of Soissons, and condemned to perpetual silence. From this he
appealed to Rome, and Rome sided with his enemies. He found a
retreat, after his condemnation, in the abbey of Cluny, and died in
the arms of his friend Peter the Venerable, the most benignant
ecclesiastic of the century, who venerated his genius and defended
his orthodoxy, and whose influence procured him absolution from the
Pope.
But whatever were the faults of Abelard; however selfish he was in
his treatment of Heloise, or proud and provoking to adversaries, or
even heretical in many of his doctrines, especially in reference to
faith, which he is accused of undermining, although he accepted in
the main the received doctrines of the Church, certainly in his
latter days, when he was broken and penitent (for no great man ever
suffered more humiliating misfortunes),--one thing is clear, that
he gave a stimulus to philosophical inquiries, and awakened a
desire of knowledge, and gave dignity to human reason, beyond any
man in the Middle Ages.
The dialectical and controversial spirit awakened by Abelard led to
such a variety of opinions among the inquiring young men who
assembled in Paris at the various schools, some of which were
regarded as rationalistic in their tendency, or at least a
departure from the patristic standard, that Peter Lombard, Bishop
of Paris, collected in four books the various sayings of the
Fathers concerning theological dogmas. He was also influenced to
make this exposition by the "Sic et Non" of Abelard, which tended
to unsettle belief. This famous manual, called the "Book of
Sentences," appeared about the middle of the twelfth century, and
had an immense influence. It was the great text-book of the
theological schools.
About the time this book appeared the works of Aristotle were
introduced to the attention of students, translated into Latin from
the Saracenic language. Aristotle had already been commented upon
by Arabian scholars in Spain,--among whom Averroes, a physician and
mathematician of Cordova, was the most distinguished,--who regarded
the Greek philosopher as the founder of scientific knowledge. His
works were translated from the Greek into the Arabic in the early
part of the ninth century.
The introduction of Aristotle led to an extension of philosophical
studies. From the time of Charlemagne only grammar and elementary
logic and dogmatic theology had been taught, but Abelard introduced
dialectics into theology. A more complete method was required than
that which the existing schools furnished, and this was supplied by
the dialectics of Aristotle. He became, therefore, at the close of
the twelfth century, an acknowledged authority, and his method was
adopted to support the dogmas of the Church.
Meanwhile the press of students at Paris, collected into various
schools,--the chief of which were the theological school of Notre
Dame, and the school of logic at Mount Genevieve, where Abelard had
lectured,--demanded a new organization. The teachers and pupils of
these schools then formed a corporation called a university
(Universitas magistrorum et Scholarium), under the control of the
chancellor and chapter of Notre Dame, whose corporate existence was
secured from Innocent III. a few years afterwards.
Thus arose the University of Paris at the close of the twelfth
century, or about the beginning of the thirteenth, soon followed in
different parts of Europe by other universities, the most
distinguished of which were those of Oxford, Bologna, Padua, and
Salamanca. But that of Paris took the lead, this city being the
intellectual centre of Europe even at that early day. Thither
flocked young men from Germany, England, and Italy, as well as from
all parts of France, to the number of twenty-five or thirty
thousand. These students were a motley crowd: some of them were
half-starved youth, with tattered, clothes, living in garrets and
unhealthy cells; others again were rich and noble,--but all were
eager for knowledge. They came to Paris as pilgrims flocked to
Jerusalem, being drawn by the fame of the lecturers. The quiet old
schools of the convents were deserted, for who would go to Fulda or
York or Citeaux, when such men as Abelard, Albert, and Victor were
dazzling enthusiastic youth by their brilliant disputations? These
young men also seem to have been noisy, turbulent, and dissipated
for the most part, "filling the streets with their brawls and the
taverns with the fumes of liquor. There was no such thing as
discipline among them. They yelled and shouted and brandished
daggers, fought the townspeople, and were free with their knocks
and blows." They were not all youth; many of them were men in
middle life, with wives and children. At that time no one finished
his education at twenty-one; some remained scholars until the age
of thirty-five.
Some of these students came to study medicine, others law, but more
theology and philosophy. The headquarters of theology was the
Sorbonne, opened in 1253,--a college founded by Robert Sorbon,
chaplain of the king, whose aim was to bring together the students
and professors, heretofore scattered throughout the city. The
students of this college, which formed a part of the university,
under the rule of the chancellor of Notre Dame, it would seem were
more orderly and studious than the other students. They arose at
five, assisted at Mass at six, studied till ten,--the dinner hour;
from dinner till five they studied or attended lectures; then went
to supper,--the principal meal; after which they discussed problems
till nine or ten, when they went to bed. The students were divided
into hospites and socii, the latter of whom carried on the
administration. The lectures were given in a large hall, in the
middle of which was the chair of the master or doctor, while
immediately below him sat his assistant, the bachelor, who was
going through his training for a professorship. The chair of
theology was the most coveted honor of the university, and was
reached only by a long course of study and searching examinations,
to which no one could aspire but the most learned and gifted of the
doctors. The students sat around on benches, or on the straw.
There were no writing-desks. The teaching was oral, principally by
questions and answers. Neither the master nor the bachelor used a
book. No reading was allowed. The students rarely took notes or
wrote in short-hand; they listened to the lectures and wrote them
down afterwards, so far as their memory served them. The usual
text-book was the "Book of Sentences," by Peter Lombard. The
bachelor, after having previously studied ten years, was obliged to
go through a three years' drill, and then submit to a public
examination in presence of the whole university before he was
thought fit to teach. He could not then receive his master's badge
until he had successfully maintained a public disputation on some
thesis proposed; and even then he stood no chance of being elevated
to a professor's chair unless he had lectured for some time with
great eclat. Even Albertus Magnus, fresh with the laurels of
Cologne, was compelled to go through a three years' course as a
sub-teacher at Paris before he received his doctor's cap, and to
lecture for some years more as master before his transcendent
abilities were rewarded with a professorship. The dean of the
faculty of theology was chosen by the suffrages of the doctors.
The Organum (philosophy of first principles) of Aristotle was first
publicly taught in 1215. This was certainly in advance of the seven
liberal arts which were studied in the old Cathedral schools,--
grammar, rhetoric, and dialectic (Trivium); and arithmetic,
geometry, music, and astronomy (Quadrivium),--for only the elements
of these were taught. But philosophy and theology, under the
teaching of the Scholastic doctors (Doctores Scholastici), taxed
severely the intellectual powers. When they introduced dialectics
to support theology a more severe method was required. "The method
consisted in connecting the doctrine to be expounded with a
commentary on some work chosen for the purpose. The contents were
divided and subdivided, until the several propositions of which it
was composed were reached. Then these were interpreted, questions
were raised in reference to them, and the grounds of affirming or
denying were presented. Then the decision was announced, and in
case this was affirmative, the grounds of the negative were
confuted."
Aristotle was made use of in order to reduce to scientific form a
body of dogmatic teachings, or to introduce a logical arrangement.
Platonism, embraced by the early Fathers, was a collection of
abstractions and theories, but was deficient in method. It did not
furnish the weapons to assail heresy with effect. But Aristotle
was logical and precise and passionless. He examined the nature of
language, and was clear and accurate in his definitions. His logic
was studied with the sole view of learning to use polemical
weapons. For this end the syllogism was introduced, which descends
from the universal to the particular, by deduction,--connecting the
general with the special by means of a middle term which is common
to both. This mode of reasoning is opposite to the method by
induction, which rises to the universal from a comparison of the
single and particular, or, as applied in science, from a collection
and collation of facts sufficient to form a certainty or high
probability. A sound special deduction can be arrived at only by
logical inference from true and certain general principles.
This is what Anselm essayed to do; but the Schoolmen who succeeded
Abelard often drew dialectical inferences from what appeared to be
true, while some of them were so sophistical as to argue from false
premises. This syllogistic reasoning, in the hands of an acute
dialectician, was very efficient in overthrowing an antagonist, or
turning his position into absurdity, but not favorable for the
discovery of truth, since it aimed no higher than the establishment
of the particulars which were included in the doctrine assumed or
deduced from it. It was reasoning in perpetual circles; it was
full of quibbles and sophistries; it was ingenious, subtle, acute,
very attractive to the minds of that age, and inexhaustible from
divisions and subdivisions and endless ramifications. It made the
contests of the schools a dialectical display of remarkable powers
in which great interest was felt, yet but little knowledge was
acquired. In one respect the Scholastic doctors rendered a
service: they demolished all dreamy theories and poured contempt on
mystical phrases. They insisted, like Socrates, on a definite
meaning to words. If they were hair-splitting in their definitions
and distinctions, they were at least clear and precise. Their
method was scientific. Such terms and expressions as are
frequently used by our modern transcendental philosophers would
have been laughed to scorn by the Schoolmen. No system of
philosophy can be built up when words have no definite meaning.
This Socrates was the first to inculcate, and Aristotle followed in
his steps.
With the Crusades arose a new spirit, which gave an impulse to
philosophy as well as to art and enterprise. "The primum mobile of
the new system was Motion, in distinction from the rest which
marked the old monastic retreats." An immense enthusiasm for
knowledge had been kindled by Abelard, which was further
intensified by the Scholastic doctors of the thirteenth century,
especially such of them as belonged to the Dominican and Franciscan
friars.
These celebrated Orders arose at a great crisis in the Papal
history, when rival popes aspired to the throne of Saint Peter,
when the Church was rent with divisions, when princes were
contending for the right of investiture, and when heretical
opinions were defended by men of genius. At this crisis a great
Pope was called to the government of the Church,--Innocent III.,
under whose able rule the papal power culminated. He belonged to
an illustrious Roman family, and received an unusual education,
being versed in theology, philosophy, and canon law. His name was
Lothario, of the family of the Conti; he was nephew of a pope, and
counted three cardinals among his relatives. At the age of twenty-
one, about the year 1181, he was one of the canons of Saint Peter's
Church; at twenty-four he was sent by the Pope on important
missions. In 1188 he was created cardinal by his uncle, Clement
III.; and in 1198 he was elected Pope, at the age of thirty-eight,
when the Crusades were at their height, when the south of France
was agitated by the opinions of the Albigenses, and the provinces
on the Rhine by those of the Waldenses. It was a turbulent age,
full of tumults, insurrections, wars, and theological dissensions.
The old monastic orders had degenerated and lost influence through
idleness and self-indulgence, while the secular clergy were
scarcely any better. Innocent cast his eagle eye into all the
abuses which disgraced the age and Church, and made fearless war
upon those princes who usurped his prerogatives. He excommunicated
princes, humbled the Emperor of Germany and the King of England,
put kingdoms under interdict, exempted abbots from the jurisdiction
of bishops, punished heretics, formed crusades, laid down new
canons, regulated taxes, and directed all ecclesiastical movements.
His activity was ceaseless, and his ambition was boundless. He
instituted important changes, and added new orders of monks to the
Church. It was this Pope who made auricular confession obligatory,
thus laying the foundation of an imperious spiritual sway in the
form of inquisitions.
A firm guardian of public morals, his private life was above
reproach. His habits were simple and his tastes were cultivated.
He was charitable and kind to the poor and unfortunate. He spent
his enormous revenues in building churches, endowing hospitals, and
rewarding learned men; and otherwise showed himself the friend of
scholars, and the patron of benevolent movements. He was a
reformer of abuses, publishing the most severe acts against
venality, and deciding quarrels on principles of justice. He had
no dramatic conflicts like Hildebrand, for his authority was
established. As the supreme guardian of the interests of the
Church he seldom made demands which he had not the power to
enforce. John of England attempted resistance, but was compelled
to submit. Innocent even gave the arch-bishopric of Canterbury to
one of his cardinals, Stephen Langton, against the wishes of a
Norman king. He made Philip II take back his lawful wife; he
nominated an emperor to the throne of Constantine; he compelled
France to make war on England, and incited the barons to rebellion
against John. Ten years' civil war in Germany was the fruit of his
astute policy, and the only great failure of his administration was
that he could not exempt Italy from the dominion of the Emperors of
Germany, thus giving rise to the two great political parties of the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries,--the Guelphs and Ghibellines.
To cement his vast spiritual power and to add to the usefulness and
glory of the Church, he not only countenanced but encouraged the
Mendicant Friars, established by Saint Francis of Assisi, and Saint
Dominic of the great family of the Guzmans in Spain. These men
made substantially the same offers to the Pope that Ignatius Loyola
did in after times,--to go where they were sent as teachers,
preachers, and missionaries without condition or reward. They
renounced riches, professed absolute poverty, and wandered from
village to city barefooted, and subsisting entirely on alms as
beggars. The Dominican friar in his black habit, and the
Franciscan in his gray, became the ablest and most effective
preachers of the thirteenth century. The Dominicans confined their
teachings to the upper classes, and became their favorite
confessors. They were the most learned men of the thirteenth
century, and also the most reproachless in morals. The Franciscans
were itinerary preachers to the common people, and created among
them the same religious revival that the Methodists did later in
England under the guidance of Wesley. The founder of the
Franciscans was a man who seemed to be "inebriated with love," so
unquenchable was his charity, rapt his devotions, and supernal his
sympathy. He found his way to Rome in the year 1215, and in
twenty-two years after his death there were nine thousand religious
houses of his Order. In a century from his death the friars
numbered one hundred and fifty thousand. The increase of the
Dominicans was not so rapid, but more illustrious men belonged to
this institution. It is affirmed that it produced seventy
cardinals, four hundred and sixty bishops, and four popes.
It was in the palmy days of these celebrated monks, before
corruption had set in, that the Dominican Order was recruited with
one of the most extraordinary men of the Middle Ages. This man was
Saint Thomas, born 1225 or 1227, son of a Count of Aquino in the
kingdom of Naples, known in history as Thomas Aquinas, "the most
successful organizer of knowledge," says Archbishop Trench, "the
world has known since Aristotle." He was called "the angelical
doctor," exciting the enthusiasm of his age for his learning and
piety and genius alike. He was a prodigy and a marvel of
dialectical skill, and Catholic writers have exhausted language to
find expressions for their admiration. Their Lives of him are an
unbounded panegyric for the sweetness of his temper, his wonderful
self-control, his lofty devotion to study, his indifference to
praises and rewards, his spiritual devotion, his loyalty to the
Church, his marvellous acuteness of intellect, his industry, and
his unparalleled logical victories. When he was five years of age
his father, a noble of very high rank, sent him to Monte Cassino
with the hope that he would become a Benedictine monk, and
ultimately abbot of that famous monastery, with the control of its
vast revenues and patronage. Here he remained seven years, until
the convent was taken and sacked by the soldiers of the Emperor
Frederic in his war with the Pope. The young Aquino returned to
his father's castle, and was then sent to Naples to be educated at
the university, living in a Benedictine abbey, and not in lodgings
like other students. The Dominicans and Franciscans held chairs in
the university, one of which was filled with a man of great
ability, whose preaching and teaching had such great influence on
the youthful Thomas that he resolved to join the Order, and at the
age of seventeen became a Dominican friar, to the disappointment of
his family. His mother Theodora went to Naples to extricate him
from the hands of the Dominicans, who secretly hurried him off to
Rome and guarded him in their convent, from which he was rescued by
violence. But the youth persisted in his intentions against the
most passionate entreaties of his mother, made his escape, and was
carried back to Naples. The Pope, at the solicitation of his
family, offered to make him Abbot of Monte Cassino, but he remained
a poor Dominican. His superior, seeing his remarkable talents,
sent him to Cologne to attend the lectures of Albertus Magnus, then
the most able expounder of the Scholastic Philosophy, and the
oracle of the universities, who continued his lectures after he was
made a bishop, and even until he was eighty-five. When Albertus
was transferred from Cologne to Paris, where the Dominicans held
two chairs of theology, Thomas followed him, and soon after was
made bachelor. Again was Albert sent back to Cologne, and Thomas
was made his assistant professor. He at once attracted attention,
was ordained priest, and became as famous for his sermons as for
his lectures. After four years at Cologne Thomas was ordered back
to Paris, travelling on foot, and begging his way, yet stopping to
preach in the large cities. He was still magister and Albert
professor, but had greatly distinguished himself by his lectures.
His appearance at this time was marked. His body was tall and
massive, but spare and lean from fasting and labor. His eyes were
bright, but their expression was most modest. His face was oblong,
his complexion sallow; his forehead depressed, his head large, his
person erect.
His first great work was a commentary of about twelve hundred pages
on the "Book of Sentences," in the Parma edition, which was
received with great admiration for its logical precision, and its
opposition to the rationalistic tendencies of the times. In it are
discussed all the great theological questions treated by Saint
Angustine,--God, Christ, the Holy Spirit, grace, predestination,
faith, free-will, Providence, and the like,--blended with
metaphysical discussions on the soul, the existence of evil, the
nature of angels, and other subjects which interested the Middle
Ages. Such was his fame and dialectical skill that he was taken
away from his teachings and sent to Rome to defend his Order and
the cause of orthodoxy against the slanders of William of Saint
Amour, an aristocratic doctor, who hated the Mendicant Friars and
their wandering and begging habits. William had written a book
called "Perils" in which he exposed the dangers to be apprehended
from the new order of monks, in which he proved himself a true
prophet, for ultimately the Mendicant Friars became subjects of
ridicule and reproach. But the Pope came to the rescue of his best
supporters.
On the return of Thomas to Paris he was made doctor of theology, at
the same time with Bonaventura the Franciscan, called "the seraphic
doctor," between whom and Thomas were intimate ties of friendship.
He had now reached the highest honor that the university could
bestow, which was conferred with such extraordinary ceremony that
it would seem to have been a great event in Paris at that time.
His fame chiefly rests on the ablest treatise written in the Middle
Ages,--the "Summa Theologica,"--in which all the great questions in
theology and philosophy are minutely discussed, in the most
exhaustive manner. He took the side of the Realists, his object
being to uphold Saint Augustine. He was, more a Platonist in his
spirit than an Aristotelian, although he was indebted to Aristotle
for his method. He appealed to both reason and authority. He
presented the Christian religion in a scientific form. His book is
an assimilation of all that is precious in the thinking of the
Church. If he learned many things at Paris, Cologne, and Naples,
he was also educated by Chrysostom, by Augustine, and Ambrose. "It
is impossible," says Cardinal Newman, and no authority is higher
than his, "to read the Catena of Saint Thomas without being struck
by the masterly skill with which he put it together. A learning of
the highest kind,--not mere literary book knowledge which may have
supplied the place of indexes and tables in ages destitute of these
helps, and when they had to be read in unarranged and fragmentary
manuscripts, but a thorough acquaintance with the whole range of
ecclesiastical antiquity, so as to be able to bring the substance
of all that had been written on any point to bear upon the text
which involved it,--a familiarity with the style of each writer so
as to compress in a few words the pith of the whole page, and a
power of clear and orderly arrangement in this mass of knowledge,
are qualities which make this Catena nearly perfect as an
interpretation of Patristic literature." Dr. Vaughan, in
eulogistic language, says "The 'Summa Theologica' may be likened to
one of the great cathedrals of the Middle Ages, infinite in detail
but massive in the grouping of pillars and arches, forming a
complete unity that must have taxed the brain of the architect to
its greatest extent. But greater as work of intellect is this
digest of all theological richness for one thousand years, in which
the thread of discourse is never lost sight of, but winds through a
labyrinth of important discussions and digressions, all bearing on
the fundamental truths which Paul declared and Augustine
systematized."
This treatise would seem to be a thesaurus of both Patristic and
Mediaeval learning; not a dictionary of knowledge, but a system of
truth severely elaborated in every part,--a work to be studied by
the Mediaeval students as Calvin's "Institutes" were by the
scholars of the Reformation, and not far different in its scope and
end; for the Patristic, the Mediaeval, and the Protestant divines
did not materially differ in reference to the fundamental truths
pertaining to God, the Incarnation, and Redemption. The Catholic
and Protestant divines differ chiefly on the ideas pertaining to
government and ecclesiastical institutions, and the various
inventions of the Middle Ages to uphold the authority of the
Church, not on dogmas strictly theological. A student in theology
could even in our times sit at the feet of Thomas Aquinas, as he
could at the feet of Augustine or Calvin; except that in the
theology which Thomas Aquinas commented upon there is a cumbrous
method, borrowed from Aristotle, which introduced infinite
distinctions and questions and definitions and deductions and
ramifications which have no charm to men who have other things to
occupy their minds than Scholastic subtilties, acute and logical as
they may be. Thomas Aquinas was raised to combat, with the weapons
most esteemed in his day, the various forms of Rationalism,
Pantheism, and Mysticism which then existed, and were included in
the Nominalism of his antagonists. And as long as universities are
centres of inquiry the same errors, under other names, will have to
be combated, but probably not with the same methods which marked
the teachings of the "angelical doctor." In demolishing errors and
systematizing truth he was the greatest benefactor to the cause of
"orthodoxy" that appeared in Europe for several centuries, admired
for his genius as much as Spencer and other great lights of science
are in our day, but standing preeminent and lofty over all, like a
beacon light to give both guidance and warning to inquiring minds
in every part of Christendom. Nor could popes and sovereigns
render too great honor to such a prodigy of genius. They offered
him the abbacy of Monte Cassino and the archbishopric of Naples,
but he preferred the life of a quiet student, finding in knowledge
and study, for their own sake, the highest reward, and pursuing his
labors without the impedimenta of those high positions which
involve ceremonies and cares and pomps, yet which most ambitious
men love better than freedom, placidity, and intellectual repose.
He lived not in a palace, as he might have lived, surrounded with
flatterers, luxuries, and dignities, but in a cell, wearing his
simple black gown, and walking barefooted wherever he went, begging
his daily bread according to the rules of his Order. His black
gown was not an academic badge, but the Dominican dress. His only
badge of distinction was the doctors' cap.
Dr. Vaughan, in his heavy and unartistic life of Thomas Aquinas,
has drawn a striking resemblance between Plato and the Mediaeval
doctor: "Both," he says, "were nobly born, both were grave from
youth, both loved truth with an intensity of devotion. If Plato
was instructed by Socrates, Aquinas was taught by Albertus Magnus;
if Plato travelled into Italy, Greece, and Egypt, Aquinas went to
Cologne, Naples, Bologna, and Rome; if Plato was famous for his
erudition, Aquinas was no less noted for his universal knowledge.
Both were naturally meek and gentle; both led lives of retirement
and contemplation; both loved solitude; both were celebrated for
self-control; both were brave; both held their pupils spell-bound
by their brilliant mental gifts; both passed their time in
lecturing to the schools (what the Pythagoreans were to Plato, the
Benedictines were to the angelical); both shrank from the display
of self; both were great dialecticians; both reposed on eternal
ideas; both were oracles to their generation." But if Aquinas had
the soul of Plato, he also had the scholastic gifts of Aristotle,
to whom the Church is indebted for method and nomenclature as it
was to Plato for synthesis and that exalted Realism which went hand
in hand with Christianity. How far he was indebted to Plato it is
difficult to say. He certainly had not studied his dialectics
through translations or in the original, but had probably imbibed
the spirit of this great philosopher through Saint Augustine and
other orthodox Fathers who were his admirers.
Although both Plato and Aristotle accepted "universals" as the
foundation of scientific inquiry, the former arrived at them by
consciousness, and the other by reasoning. The spirit of the two
great masters of thought was as essentially different as their
habits and lives. Plato believed that God governed the world;
Aristotle believed that it was governed by chance. The former
maintained that mind is divine and eternal; the latter that it is a
form of the body, and consequently mortal. Plato thought that the
source of happiness was in virtue and resemblance to God; while
Aristotle placed it in riches and outward prosperity. Plato
believed in prayer; but Aristotle thought that God would not hear
or answer it, and therefore that it was useless. Plato believed in
happiness after death; while Aristotle supposed that death ended
all pleasure. Plato lived in the world of abstract ideas;
Aristotle in the realm of sense and observation. The one was
religious; the other secular and worldly. With both the passion
for knowledge was boundless, but they differed in their conceptions
of knowledge; the one basing it on eternal ideas and the deductions
to be drawn from them, and the other on physical science,--the
phenomena of Nature,--those things which are cognizable by the
senses. The spiritual life of Plato was "a longing after love and
of eternal ideas, by the contemplation of which the soul sustains
itself and becomes participant in immortality." The life of
Aristotle was not spiritual, but intellectual. He was an
incarnation of mere intellect, the architect of a great temple of
knowledge, which received the name of Organum, or the philosophy of
first principles.
Thomas Aquinas, we may see from what has been said, was both
Platonic and Aristotelian. He resembled Plato in his deep and
pious meditations on the eternal realities of the spiritual world,
while in the severity of his logic he resembled Aristotle, from
whom he learned precision of language, lucidity of statement, and a
syllogistic mode of argument well calculated to confirm what was
already known, but not to make attainments in new fields of thought
or knowledge. If he was gentle and loving and pious like Plato, he
was also as calm and passionless as Aristotle.
This great man died at the age of forty-eight, in the year 1274, a
few years after Saint Louis, before his sum of theology was
completed. He died prematurely, exhausted by his intense studies;
leaving, however, treatises which filled seventeen printed folio
volumes,--one of the most voluminous writers of the world. His
fame was prodigious, both as a dialectician and a saint, and he was
in due time canonized as one of the great pillars of the Church,
ranking after Chrysostom, Jerome, Augustine, and Gregory the
Great,--the standard authority for centuries of the Catholic
theology.
The Scholastic Philosophy, which culminated in Thomas Aquinas,
maintained its position in the universities of Europe until the
Reformation, but declined in earnestness. It descended to the
discussion of unimportant and often frivolous questions. Even the
"angelical doctor" is quoted as discussing the absurd question as
to how many angels could dance together on the point of a needle.
The play of words became interminable. Things were lost sight of
in a barbarous jargon about questions which have no interest to
humanity, and which are utterly unintelligible. At the best,
logical processes can add nothing to the ideas from which they
start. When these ideas are lofty, discussion upon them elevates
the mind and doubtless strengthens its powers. But when the
subjects themselves are frivolous, the logical tournaments in their
defence degrade the intellect and narrow it. Nothing destroys
intellectual dignity more effectually than the waste of energies in
the defence of what is of no practical utility, and which cannot be
applied to the acquisition of solid knowledge. Hence the
Scholastic Philosophy did not advance knowledge, since it did not
seek the acquisition of new truths, but only the establishment of
the old. Its utility consisted in training the human mind to
logical reasonings. It exercised the intellect and strengthened
it, as gymnastics do the body, without enlarging it. It was
nothing but barren dialectics,--"dry bones," a perpetual fencing.
The soul cries out for bread; the Scholastics gave it a stone.
We are amazed that intellectual giants, equal to the old Greeks in
acuteness and logical powers, could waste their time on the
frivolous questions and dialectical subtilties to which they
devoted their mighty powers. However interesting to them, nothing
is drier and duller to us, nothing more barren and unsatisfying,
than their logical sports. Their treatises are like trees with
endless branches, each leading to new ramifications, with no
central point in view, and hence never finished, and which might be
carried on ad infinitum. To attempt to read their disquisitions is
like walking in labyrinths of ever-opening intricacies. By such a
method no ultimate truth could be arrived at, beyond what was
assumed. There is now and then a man who professes to have derived
light and wisdom from those dialectical displays, since they were
doubtless marvels of logical precision and clearness of statement.
But in a practical point of view those "masterpieces of logic" are
utterly useless to most modern inquirers. These are interesting
only as they exhibit the waste of gigantic energies; they do not
even have the merit of illustrative rhetoric or eloquence. The
earlier monks were devout and spiritual, and we can still read
their lofty meditations with profit, since they elevate the soul
and make it pant for the beatitudes of spiritual communion with
God. But the writings of the Scholastic doctors are cold, calm,
passionless, and purely intellectual,--logical without being
edifying. We turn from them, however acute and able, with blended
disappointment and despair. They are fig-trees, bearing nothing
but leaves, such as our Lord did curse. The distinctions are
simply metaphysical, and not moral.
Why the whole force of an awakening age should have been devoted to
such subtilties and barren discussion it is difficult to see,
unless they were found useful in supporting a theology made up of
metaphysical deductions rather than an interpretation of the
meaning of Scripture texts. But there was then no knowledge of
Greek or Hebrew; there was no exegetical research; there was no
science and no real learning. There was nothing but theology, with
the exception of Lives of the Saints. The horizon of human
inquiries was extremely narrow. But when the minds of very
intellectual men were directed to one particular field, it would be
natural to expect something remarkable and marvellously elaborate
of its kind. Such was the Scholastic Philosophy. As a mere
exhibition of dialectical acumen, minute distinctions, and logical
precision in the use of words, it was wonderful. The intricacy and
detail and ramifications of this system were an intellectual feat
which astonishes us, yet which does not instruct us, certainly
outside of a metaphysical divinity which had more charm to the men
of the Middle Ages than it can have to us, even in a theological
school where dogmatic divinity is made the most important study.
The day will soon come when the principal chair in the theological
school will be for the explanation of the Scripture texts on which
dogmas are based; and for this, great learning and scholarship will
be indispensable. To me it is surprising that metaphysics have so
long retained their hold on the minds of Protestant divines.
Nothing is more unsatisfactory, and to many more repellent, than
metaphysical divinity. It is a perversion of the spirit of
Christian teachings. "What says our Lord?" should be the great
inquiry in our schools of theology; not, What deductions can be
drawn from them by a process of ingenious reasoning which often,
without reference to other important truths, lands one in
absurdities, or at least in one-sided systems?
But the metaphysical divinity of the Schoolmen had great
attractions to the students of the Middle Ages. And there must
have been something in it which we do not appreciate, or it would
not have maintained itself in the schools for three hundred years.
Perhaps it was what those ages needed, the discipline through which
the mind must go before it could be prepared for the scientific
investigations of our own times. In an important sense the
Scholastic doctors were the teachers of Luther and Bacon.
Certainly their unsatisfactory science was one of the marked
developments of the civilization of Europe, through which the
Gothic nations must need pass. It has been the fashion to ridicule
it and depreciate it in our modern times, especially among
Protestants, who have ridiculed and slandered the papal power and
all the institutions of the Middle Ages. Yet scholars might as
well ridicule the text-books they were required to study fifty
years ago, because they are not up to our times. We should not
disdain the early steps by which future progress is made easy. We
cannot despise men who gave up their lives to the contemplation of
subjects which demand the highest tension of the intellectual
faculties, even if these exercises were barren of utilitarian
results. Some future age may be surprised at the comparative
unimportance of questions which interest this generation. The
Scholastic Philosophy cannot indeed be utilized by us in the
pursuit of scientific knowledge; nor (to recur to Vaughan's simile
for the great work of Aquinas) can a mediaeval cathedral be
utilized for purposes of oratory or business. But the cathedral is
nevertheless a grand monument, suggesting lofty sentiments, which
it would be senseless and ruthless barbarism to destroy or allow to
fall into decay, but which should rather be preserved as a precious
memento of what is most poetic and attractive in the Middle Ages.
When any modern philosopher shall rear so gigantic and symmetrical
a monument of logical disquisitions as the "Summa Theologica" is
said to be by the most competent authorities, then the sneers of a
Macaulay or a Lewes will be entitled to more consideration. It is
said that a new edition of this great Mediaeval work is about to be
published under the direct auspices of the Pope, as the best and
most comprehensive system of Christian theology ever written by
man.