The words “Guelf” and “Ghibelline” began to be used at the time of Frederick’s contest with the Emperor Otto. They are corruptions of “Welf” and “Waiblingen,” the family names of the two contestants. (Otto’s nephew was an ancestor of the British royal family.)
Innocent III died in 1216; Otto, whom Frederick had defeated, died in 1218. The new Pope, Honorius III, was at first on good terms with Frederick, but difficulties soon arose. First, Frederick refused to go on Crusade; then he had trouble with the Lombard cities, which in 1226 contracted an offensive and defensive alliance for twenty-five years. They hated the Germans; one of their poets wrote fiery verses against them: “Love not the folk of Germany; far, far from you be these mad dogs.” This seems to have expressed the general feeling in Lombardy. Frederick wanted to remain in Italy to deal with the cities, but in 1227 Honorius died, and was succeeded by Gregory IX, a fiery ascetic who loved Saint Francis and was beloved by him. (He canonized Saint Francis two years after his death.) Gregory thought nothing else so important as the Crusade, and excommunicated Frederick for not undertaking it. Frederick, who had married the daughter and heiress of the King of Jerusalem, was willing enough to go when he could, and called himself King of Jerusalem. In 1228, while still excommunicate, he went; this made Gregory even more angry than his previously not going, for how could the crusading host be led by a man whom the Pope had banned? Arrived in Palestine, Frederick made friends with the Mohammedans, explained to them that the Christians attached importance to Jerusalem although it was of little strategic value, and succeeded in inducing them peaceably to restore the city to him. This made the Pope still more furious—one should fight the infidel, not negotiate with him. However, Frederick was duly crowned in Jerusalem, and no one could deny that he had been successful. Peace between Pope and Emperor was restored in 1230.
During the few years of peace that followed, the Emperor devoted himself to the affairs of the kingdom of Sicily. By the help of his prime minister, Pietro della Vigna, he promulgated a new legal code, derived from Roman law, and showing a high level of civilization in his southern dominion; the code was at once translated into Greek, for the benefit of the Greek-speaking inhabitants. He founded an important university at Naples. He minted gold coins, called “augustals,” the first gold coins in the West for many centuries. He established freer trade, and abolished all internal customs. He even summoned elected representatives of the cities to his council, which, however, had only consultative powers.
This period of peace ended when Frederick again came into conflict with the Lombard League in 1237; the Pope threw in his lot with them, and again excommunicated the Emperor. From this time until Frederick’s death in 1250, the war was practically continuous, growing, on both sides, gradually more bitter, cruel, and treacherous. There were great fluctuations of fortune, and the issue was still undecided when the Emperor died. But those who attempted to be his successors had not his power, and were gradually defeated, leaving Italy divided and the Pope victorious.
Deaths of popes made little difference in the struggle; each new pope took up his predecessor’s policy practically unchanged. Gregory IX died in 1241; in 1243 Innocent IV, a bitter enemy of Frederick, was elected. Louis IX, in spite of his impeccable orthodoxy, tried to moderate the fury of Gregory and Innocent IV, but in vain. Innocent, especially, rejected all overtures from the Emperor, and used all manner of unscrupulous expedients against him. He pronounced him deposed, declared a crusade against him, and excommunicated all who supported him. The friars preached against him, the Muslims rose, there were plots among his prominent nominal supporters. All this made Frederick increasingly cruel; plotters were ferociously punished, and prisoners were deprived of the right eye and the right hand.
At one time during this titanic struggle, Frederick thought of founding a new religion, in which he was to be the Messiah, and his minister Pietro della Vigna was to take the place of Saint Peter.* He did not get so far as to make this project public, but wrote about it to della Vigna. Suddenly, however, he became convinced, rightly or wrongly, that Pietro was plotting against him; he blinded him, and exhibited him publicly in a cage; Pietro, however, avoided further suffering by suicide.
Frederick, in spite of his abilities, could not have succeeded, because the antipapal forces that existed in his time were pious and democratic, whereas his aim was something like a restoration of the pagan Roman Empire. In culture he was enlightened, but politically he was retrograde. His court was oriental; he had a harem with eunuchs. But it was in this court that Italian poetry began; he himself had some merit as a poet. In his conflict with the papacy, he published controversial statements as to the dangers of ecclesiastical absolutism, which would have been applauded in the sixteenth century, but fell flat in his own day. The heretics, who should have been his allies, appeared to him simply rebels, and to please the Pope he persecuted them. The free cities, but for the Emperor, might have opposed the Pope; but so long as Frederick demanded their submission they welcomed the Pope as an ally. Thus, although he was free from the superstitions of his age, and in culture far above other contemporary rulers, his position as Emperor compelled him to oppose all that was politically liberal. He failed inevitably, but of all the failures in history he remains one of the most interesting.
The heretics, against whom Innocent III crusaded, and whom all rulers (including Frederick) persecuted, deserve study, both in themselves and as giving a glimpse of popular feeling, of which, otherwise, hardly a hint appears in the writings of the time.
The most interesting, and also the largest, of the heretical sects were the Cathari, who, in the South of France, are better known as Albigenses. Their doctrines came from Asia by way of the Balkans; they were widely held in Northern Italy, and in the South of France they were held by the great majority, including nobles, who liked the excuse to seize Church lands. The cause of this wide diffusion of heresy was partly disappointment at the failure of the Crusades, but mainly moral disgust at the wealth and wickedness of the clergy. There was a wide-spread feeling, analogous to later puritanism, in favour of personal holiness; this was associated with a cult of poverty. The Church was rich and largely worldly; very many priests were grossly immoral. The friars brought accusations against the older orders and the parish priests, asserting abuse of the confessional for purposes of seduction; and the enemies of the friars retorted the accusation. There can be no doubt that such charges were largely justified. The more the Church claimed supremacy on religious grounds, the more plain people were shocked by the contrast between profession and performance. The same motives which ultimately led to the Reformation were operative in the thirteenth century. The main difference was that secular rulers were not ready to throw in their lot with the heretics; and this was largely because no existing philosophy could reconcile heresy with the claims of kings to dominion.
The tenets of the Cathari cannot be known with certainty, as we are entirely dependent on the testimony of their enemies. Moreover ecclesiastics, being well versed in the history of heresy, tended to apply some familiar label, and to attribute to existing sects all the tenets of former ones, often on the basis of some not very close resemblance. Nevertheless, there is a good deal that is almost beyond question. It seems that the Cathari were dualists, and that, like the Gnostics, they considered the Old Testament Jehovah a wicked demiurge, the true God being only revealed in the New Testament. They regarded matter as essentially evil, and believed that for the virtuous there is no resurrection of the body. The wicked, however, will suffer transmigration into the bodies of animals. On this ground they were vegetarians, abstaining even from eggs, cheese, and milk. They ate fish, however, because they believed that fishes are not sexually generated. All sex was abhorrent to them; marriage, some said, is even worse than adultery, because it is continuous and complacent. On the other hand, they saw no objection to suicide. They accepted the New Testament more literally than did the orthodox; they abstained from oaths, and turned the other
cheek. The persecutors record a case of a man accused of heresy, who defended himself by saying that he ate meat, lied, swore, and was a good Catholic.
The stricter precepts of the sect were only to be observed by certain exceptionally holy people called the “perfected”; the others might eat meat and even marry.
It is interesting to trace the genealogy of these doctrines. They came to Italy and France, by way of the Crasaders, from a sect called the Bogomiles in Bulgaria; in 1167, when the Cathari held a council near Toulouse, Bulgarian delegates attended. The Bogomiles, in turn, were the result of a fusion of Manichaeans and Paulicians. The Paulicians were an Armenian sect who rejected infant baptism, purgatory, the invocation of saints, and the Trinity; they spread gradually into Thrace, and thence into Bulgaria. The Paulicians were followers of Marcion (ca. A.D. 150), who considered himself to be following Saint Paul in rejecting the Jewish elements in Christianity, and who had some affinity with the Gnostics without being one of them.
The only other popular heresy that I shall consider is that of the Waldenses. These were the followers of Peter Waldo, an enthusiast who, in 1170, started a “crusade” for observance of the law of Christ. He gave all his goods to the poor, and founded a society called the “Poor Men of Lyons,” who practised poverty and a strictly virtuous life. At first they had papal approval, but they inveighed somewhat too forcibly against the immorality of the clergy, and were condemned by the Council of Verona in 1184. Thereupon they decided that every good man is competent to preach and expound the Scriptures; they appointed their own ministers, and dispensed with the services of the Catholic priesthood. They spread to Lombardy, and to Bohemia, where they paved the way for the Hussites. In the Albigensian persecution, which affected them also, many fled to Piedmont; it was their persecution in Piedmont in Milton’s time that occasioned his sonnet “Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints.” They survive to this day in remote Alpine valleys and in the United States.
All this heresy alarmed the Church, and vigorous measures were taken to suppress it. Innocent III considered that heretics deserved death, being guilty of treason to Christ. He called upon the King of France to embark upon a Crusade against the Albigenses, which was done in 1209. It was conducted with incredible ferocity; after the taking of Carcassonne, especially, there was an appalling massacre. The ferreting out of heresy had been the business of the bishops, but it became too onerous to be performed by men who had other duties, and in 1233 Gregory IX founded the Inquisition, to take over this part of the work of the episcopate. After 1254, those accused by the Inquisition were not allowed counsel. If condemned, their property was confiscated—in France, to the crown. When an accused person was found guilty, he was handed over to the secular arm with a prayer that his life might be spared; but if the secular authorities failed to burn him, they were liable to be themselves brought before the Inquisition. It dealt not only with heresy in the ordinary sense, but with sorcery and witchcraft. In Spain, it was mainly directed against crypto-Jews. Its work was performed mainly by Dominicans and Franciscans. It never penetrated to Scandinavia or England, but the English were quite ready to make use of it against Joan of Arc. On the whole, it was very successful; at the outset, it completely stamped out the Albigensian heresy.
The Church, in the early thirteenth century, was in danger of a revolt scarcely less formidable than that of the sixteenth. From this it was saved, very largely, by the rise of the mendicant orders; Saint Francis and Saint Dominic did much more for orthodoxy than was done by even the most vigorous popes.
Saint Francis of Assisi (1181 or 1182-1226) was one of the most lovable men known to history. He was of a well-to-do family, and in his youth Was not averse to ordinary gaieties. But one day, as he was riding by a leper, a sudden impulse of pity led him to dismount and kiss the man. Soon afterwards, he decided to forgo all worldly goods, and devote his life to preaching and good works. His father, a respectable business man, was furious, but could not deter him. He soon gathered a band of followers, all vowed to complete poverty. At first, the Church viewed the movement with some suspicion; it seemed too like the “Poor Men of Lyons.” The first missionaries whom Saint Francis sent to distant places were taken for heretics, because they practised poverty instead of (like the monks) only taking a vow which no one regarded as serious. But Innocent III was shrewd enough to see the value of the movement, if it could be kept within the bounds of orthodoxy, and in 1209 or 1210 he gave recognition to the new order. Gregory IX, who was a personal friend of Saint Francis, continued to favour him, while imposing certain rules which were irksome to the saint’s enthusiastic and anarchic impulses. Francis wished to interpret the vow of poverty in the strictest possible way; he objected to houses or churches for his followers. They were to beg their bread, and to have no lodging but what chance hospitality provided. In 1219, he travelled to the East and preached before the sultan, who received him courteously but remained a Mohammedan. On his return, he found that the Franciscans had built themselves a house; he was deeply pained, but the Pope induced or compelled him to give way. After his death, Gregory canonized him but softened his rule in the article of poverty.
In the matter of saintliness, Francis has had equals; what makes him unique among saints is his spontaneous happiness, his universal love, and his gifts as a poet. His goodness appears always devoid of effort, as though it had no dross to overcome. He loved all living things, not only as a Christian or a benevolent man, but as a poet. His hymn to the sun, written shortly before his death, might almost have been written by Akhnaton the sun-worshipper, but not quite—Christianity informs it, though not very obviously. He felt a duty to lepers, for their sake, not for his; unlike most Christian saints, he was more interested in the happiness of others than in his own salvation. He never showed any feeling of superiority, even to the humblest or most wicked. Thomas of Celano said of him that he was more than a saint among saints; among sinners he was one of themselves.
If Satan existed, the future of the order founded by Saint Francis would afford him the most exquisite gratification. The saint’s immediate successor as head of the order, Brother Elias, wallowed in luxury, and allowed a complete abandonment of poverty. The chief work of the Franciscans in the years immediately following the death of their founder was as recruiting sergeants in the bitter and bloody wars of Guelfs and Ghibellines. The Inquisition, founded seven years after his death, was, in several countries, chiefly conducted by Franciscans. A small minority, called the Spirituals, remained true to his teaching; many of these were burnt by the Inquisition for heresy. These men held that Christ and the Apostles owned no property, not even the clothes they wore; this opinion was condemned as heretical in 1323 by John XXII. The net result of Saint Francis’s life was to create yet one more wealthy and corrupt order, to strengthen the hierarchy, and to facilitate the persecution of all who excelled in moral earnestness or freedom of thought. In view of his own aims and character, it is impossible to imagine any more bitterly ironical outcome.
Saint Dominic (1170-1221) is much less interesting than Saint Francis. He was a Castilian, and had, like Loyola, a fanatical devotion to orthodoxy. His main purpose was to combat heresy, and he adopted poverty as a means to this end. He was present throughout the Albigensian war, though he is said to have deplored some of its more extreme atrocities. The Dominican Order was founded in 1215 by Innocent III, and won quick success. The only human trait known to me in Saint Dominic is his confession to Jordan of Saxony that he liked talking to young women better than to old ones. In 1242, the order solemnly decreed that this passage should be deleted from Jordan’s life of the founder.
The Dominicans were even more active than the Franciscans in the work of the Inquisition. They performed, however, a valuable service to mankind by their devotion to learning. This was no part of Saint Dominic’s intention; he had decreed that his friars were “not to learn secular sciences or liberal arts except by dispensation.” This rule was abrogated in 1259, after which date everythin
g was done to make a studious life easy for Dominicans. Manual labour was no part of their duties, and the hours of devotion were shortened to give them more time for study. They devoted themselves to reconciling Aristotle and Christ; Albertus Magnus and Thomas Aquinas, both Dominicans, accomplished this task as well as it is capable of being accomplished. The authority of Thomas Aquinas was so overwhelming that subsequent Dominicans did not achieve much in philosophy; though Francis, even more than Dominic, had disliked learning, the greatest names in the immediately following period are Franciscan: Roger Bacon, Duns Scotus, and William of Occam were all Franciscans. What the friars accomplished for philosophy will be the subject of the following chapters.
CHAPTER XIII
Saint Thomas Aquinas
THOMAS AQUINAS (b. 1225 or 1226, d. 1274) is regarded as the greatest of scholastic philosophers. In all Catholic educational institutions that teach philosophy his system has to be taught as the only right one; this has been the rule since a rescript of 1879 by Leo XIII. Saint Thomas, therefore, is not only of historical interest, but is a living influence, like Plato, Aristotle, Kant, and Hegel—more, in fact, than the latter two. In most respects, he follows Aristotle so closely that the Stagyrite has, among Catholics, almost the authority of one of the Fathers; to criticize him in matters of pure philosophy has come to be thought almost impious.* This was not always the case. In the time of Aquinas, the battle for Aristotle, as against Plato, still had to be fought. The influence of Aquinas secured the victory until the Renaissance; then Plato, who became better known than in the Middle Ages, again acquired supremacy in the opinion of most philosophers. In the seventeenth century, it was possible to be orthodox and a Cartesian; Malebranche, though a priest, was never censured. But in our day such freedoms are a thing of the past; Catholic ecclesiastics must accept Saint Thomas if they concern themselves with philosophy.
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