The Friar and the Cipher by Lawrence Goldstone Page A
Authors: Lawrence Goldstone
Tags: Fiction
Ads: Link
translations and the commentaries of Averroës shook Christian orthodoxy. There were indeed some passages in this new Aristotle that called into question not only the old, accepted, logical Aristotle but also some fundamental tenets of the Christian faith. Three elements in particular seemed devastating.
First, Aristotle said quite specifically in the
Metaphysics
that the universe was eternal, with no beginning or end, that it had simply “always been.” The Bible, on the other hand, said equally specifically that God had created the heavens and the earth in a finite period by an act of will. Second, Aristotle claimed that after death an individual's soul blended into what he called “the tenth intelligence,” a kind of generalized soul that was surprisingly reminiscent of the discredited Plotinus. This was taken (correctly) to mean that Aristotle denied the immortality of the individual soul as Christians recognized it, which therefore rendered the concepts of heaven and hell meaningless. Without the promise of heaven—or the fear of hell—the authority of the Church to create and enforce standards of behavior would erode considerably.
The big one, however, the problem that seemed utterly irreconcilable with the Christian faith, was the Aristotelian division (as interpreted by Averroës) of truth into two distinct forms—that which could be known by reason (philosophy) and that which must be accepted by faith (religion). While the division of reason and faith was not in itself repugnant to Christians—it had, after all, been a cornerstone of St. Augustine's work—faith being
subordinate
to reason, consigned as the
lesser
truth (as Aristotle seemed to have clearly stated), was anathema. If philosophy was to represent the highest level of knowledge, what would happen to the rule of God and, worse, the rule of God's agents on earth—the pope and his cardinals, bishops, and priests?
In short, what Aristotle presented in these new translated works, in vastly greater detail and breadth than the old, was a philosophy of science itself, a theory of how to make sense of it all and use the knowledge for human advancement. The man who had given the Church not only its method of learning but also its fundamental truths of nature, such as the geocentric universe and the composition of matter as mixtures of the four basic elements of air, fire, water, and earth, was now saying that the fundamental tenets of Christianity—to say nothing of the Bible—that the very manner in which Christians viewed this world, and the world beyond, were
wrong
.
Michael Scot's translations reinforced the already powerful pull toward secular knowledge that had begun with the translated manuscripts from Spain. The new knowledge from the south was proving both irresistible and inexorable in the north, and for the first time large numbers of students from across Europe came to cities such as Paris to study Aristotle rather than the
Sentences
. That, in turn, led to a radical increase in the number—and influence—of masters who taught only science or the arts and often were not even members of the clergy themselves. Still, control of education had always been a cornerstone of ecclesiastic power, and, since in the past no one outside the clergy had been much interested in schooling, many theologians felt that it would be a simple matter to seize control of the universities.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dogma, Drink, and Dissent:
The University of Paris
• • •
BY THE TIME ROGER BACON WENT TO SCHOOL IN 1228, about ten universities had been founded across Europe. Of these, the undeniable apex was Paris. Paris had been the beneficiary of a happy combination of convenient geography, a pleasant climate, status as a capital city, and an enthusiastic, devout line of kings. “The Italians have the Papacy, the Germans have the Empire, and the French have Learning” went a medieval saying.
For all this Learning, however, it was necessary to have
First, Aristotle said quite specifically in the
Metaphysics
that the universe was eternal, with no beginning or end, that it had simply “always been.” The Bible, on the other hand, said equally specifically that God had created the heavens and the earth in a finite period by an act of will. Second, Aristotle claimed that after death an individual's soul blended into what he called “the tenth intelligence,” a kind of generalized soul that was surprisingly reminiscent of the discredited Plotinus. This was taken (correctly) to mean that Aristotle denied the immortality of the individual soul as Christians recognized it, which therefore rendered the concepts of heaven and hell meaningless. Without the promise of heaven—or the fear of hell—the authority of the Church to create and enforce standards of behavior would erode considerably.
The big one, however, the problem that seemed utterly irreconcilable with the Christian faith, was the Aristotelian division (as interpreted by Averroës) of truth into two distinct forms—that which could be known by reason (philosophy) and that which must be accepted by faith (religion). While the division of reason and faith was not in itself repugnant to Christians—it had, after all, been a cornerstone of St. Augustine's work—faith being
subordinate
to reason, consigned as the
lesser
truth (as Aristotle seemed to have clearly stated), was anathema. If philosophy was to represent the highest level of knowledge, what would happen to the rule of God and, worse, the rule of God's agents on earth—the pope and his cardinals, bishops, and priests?
In short, what Aristotle presented in these new translated works, in vastly greater detail and breadth than the old, was a philosophy of science itself, a theory of how to make sense of it all and use the knowledge for human advancement. The man who had given the Church not only its method of learning but also its fundamental truths of nature, such as the geocentric universe and the composition of matter as mixtures of the four basic elements of air, fire, water, and earth, was now saying that the fundamental tenets of Christianity—to say nothing of the Bible—that the very manner in which Christians viewed this world, and the world beyond, were
wrong
.
Michael Scot's translations reinforced the already powerful pull toward secular knowledge that had begun with the translated manuscripts from Spain. The new knowledge from the south was proving both irresistible and inexorable in the north, and for the first time large numbers of students from across Europe came to cities such as Paris to study Aristotle rather than the
Sentences
. That, in turn, led to a radical increase in the number—and influence—of masters who taught only science or the arts and often were not even members of the clergy themselves. Still, control of education had always been a cornerstone of ecclesiastic power, and, since in the past no one outside the clergy had been much interested in schooling, many theologians felt that it would be a simple matter to seize control of the universities.
CHAPTER FOUR
Dogma, Drink, and Dissent:
The University of Paris
• • •
BY THE TIME ROGER BACON WENT TO SCHOOL IN 1228, about ten universities had been founded across Europe. Of these, the undeniable apex was Paris. Paris had been the beneficiary of a happy combination of convenient geography, a pleasant climate, status as a capital city, and an enthusiastic, devout line of kings. “The Italians have the Papacy, the Germans have the Empire, and the French have Learning” went a medieval saying.
For all this Learning, however, it was necessary to have
Similar Books
