The World Theater & Tyrannicide

When Shakespeare wrote "All the world’s a stage/And all the men and women merely players"* he probably knew that the metaphor was not original. The world as a theater where human beings' actions are part of a drama authored by God was toyed with by Greek philosophers as well as Christian thinkers.

Although the idea was expressed by Classical authors, it was John of Salisbury (c.1110 - 1180) who actually coined the term theatrum mundi, "theater of the world," in his Policraticus. The context of the phrase is when he says saints "despise the theater of this world from the heights of their virtue."

The Policraticus (the title is a mix of Greek and Latin words and is sometimes translated as "The Statesman's Book" is a moral encyclopedia in which John lays out his political theory in a vein similar to the Mirrors for Princes. Its subtitle is more revealing: De nugis curialium et vestigiis philosophorum, "On the Frivolities of Courtiers and the Footprints of Philosophers."

His chapters are laid out thusly:

• Book I: Hunting, theatre, and magic
• Book II: Omens, dreams, and occult sciences
• Book III: Self-interest and flattery
• Book IV: The duties of the 'prince'
• Book V and VI: The body politic
• Book VII: Three Epicurean tendencies (according to Boethius)
• Book VIII: Another two Epicurean tendencies; Tyranny

John felt that, since a monarch on earth was the image of God, acts against the ruler were to have strict punishments; however, the monarch's power was delegated by the spiritual power of the Church. John became secretary to Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Becket and supported Becket in his dispute with Henry II.

In the final book of the Policraticus, John advocated for tyrannicide. A prince would obey and support the laws of his country, and all would be well so long as he keeps religion inviolate. A tyrant on the other hand does not recognize his proper rôle in the drama of the theatrum mundi and resists divine law, and in such a case death is appropriate. Julian the Apostate, for example, who tried to return Rome to the pagan religion from Christianity, was deserving of death according to John.

John's career took off when he was introduced to Archbishop of Canterbury Theobald of Bec (Becket's predecessor) and became his secretary. This took place at the Council of Reims, called by Pope Eugene III to deal with a variety of issues. We'll check out these issues tomorrow.

*from As You Like It

John of Salisbury on Skepticism & Medicine

John of Salisbury liked the idea of academic skepticism, which ultimately came from Plato's Academy. Let me explain. The head of Plato's Academy post-Plato was Philo of Larissa, who fled Athens for political reasons and landed in Rome. While there, Cicero (106 - 43 BCE) attended some of his lectures and learned "academic skepticism." This started with Socrates' method of posing a series of questions to someone that could undermine their firmly held beliefs. Cicero's writings were known to John of Salisbury's time, but the Greek influences not so much.

John's approach was one of "moderate skepticism": although some things could be proven "definitively" there was still room to question them. He prized the use of Rhetoric and Grammar to challenge ideas, which put him at odds with some scholars who rejected the Trivium because Grammar and Rhetoric (they felt) clashed with the third part of the Trivium, Logic.

John considered the Trivium crucial to human beings because he felt philosophical thought was the dividing line between human beings and wild animals (and human beings and less intellectually gifted human beings). The arts of the Trivium were what enabled philosophical and critical thought to contribute to the ability to socialize, to create a community, and they therefore enabled human well-being.

He had very strong opinions on the state of medicine, believing that doctors had become more interested in making money than researching the best way to care for patients. Some physicians focused on the state of the soul and its relationship to bodily health. John thought this was ridiculous since there was no way to test or prove anything involving the soul. It also "trespassed on religious belief" which he was not keen to support. He expressed that doctors should spend their time divided evenly between research and practice, because the two pursuits were currently separated and leading to two separate practices that did not support each other. He proposed what he called regularum compendium: figure out what caused the illness, figure out how to cure the illness, figure out appropriate aftercare, then figure out how to avoid the illness in the future.

There was another Latin phrase that John of Salisbury coined that influenced later times, theatrum mundi, and we'll look this topic tomorrow.

"On the Shoulders of Giants"

A 1675 letter by Isaac Newton has the line: "if I have seen further [than others], it is by standing on the shoulders of giants." This has become a saying for doing work that builds on earlier (and more fundamental) work. It was not the first time that metaphor was seen in print.

John of Salisbury in 1159 wrote:

Bernard of Chartres used to compare us to dwarfs perched on the shoulders of giants. He pointed out that we see more and farther than our predecessors, not because we have keener vision or greater height, but because we are lifted up and borne aloft on their gigantic stature.

This was in his work called Metalogicon. The Metalogicon was about the value of the Trivium (Grammar, Rhetoric, Logic). It consists of four sections that defend the Trivium against those felt that Grammar and Rhetoric were not important to the study of Logic. John would not have known Bernard, who died in the 1120s (John was a child then, going to grammar school in England). He did, however, study Rhetoric and Logic at Chartres under one of Bernard's disciples, Richard l'Evêque.

Although John attributes this to Bernard of Chartres, while John was at Chartres he also studied under William of Conches. John should have been unaware that William, in his 1123 commentary on the Institutiones grammaticae of Priscian, wrote:

The ancients had only the books which they themselves wrote, but we have all their books and moreover all those which have been written from the beginning until our time.… Hence we are like a dwarf perched on the shoulders of a giant. The former sees further than the giant, not because of his own stature, but because of the stature of his bearer. Similarly, we see more than the ancients, because our writings, modest as they are, are added to their great works.

John of Salisbury referred to himself as Johannes Parvus, "John the Little"; parvus can mean "little" or "small." he does not indicate in his writings that he was physically sort. Perhaps this was a humble moment in which he claimed to be not a giant.

A commentator on the Talmud, the Jewish Isaiah di Trans (c.1180 - c.1250) wrote:

For I heard the following from the philosophers, The wisest of the philosophers was asked: "We admit that our predecessors were wiser than we. At the same time we criticize their comments, often rejecting them and claiming that the truth rests with us. How is this possible?" The wise philosopher responded: "Who sees further a dwarf or a giant? Surely a giant for his eyes are situated at a higher level than those of the dwarf. But if the dwarf is placed on the shoulders of the giant who sees further? ... So too we are dwarfs astride the shoulders of giants.

Anyway, the phrase caught on long before Isaac Newton wrote his letter to Robert Hooke. But back to John of Salisbury. Besides defending the Trivium and the verbal arts, he had some strong opinions about things that could be proven, and some strong arguments about the medical profession of his day. I'll talk about those tomorrow.

John of Salisbury

I mentioned yesterday that John of Salisbury was one of the medieval authors who understood eclipses. He had a long career that I'll get out of the way before we look at his extensive writings.

John of Salisbury (c.1110 - 1180) was an Anglo-Saxon author and philosopher in Norman England, and so his family was not going to be particularly prominent. His writings show us that he went to a parish school as a boy. About 1136 he went to France where, like Arnold of Brescia,  he studied under Peter Abelard. He wrote about students and teachers there, giving us a view into one of the oldest universities. John also studied at Chartres under William of Conches.

About 1140 he was back in Paris, studying theology and supporting himself by tutoring the sons of nobles, sharing an apartment with Peter of Celle, who became a Benedictine and abbot of St. Rémy at Reims. While attending the Council of Reims in 1148, it is believed he was introduced by Bernard of Clairvaux to Theobald of Bec, the Archbishop of Canterbury. John became Theobald's secretary.

This position brought him back to England, where he was secretary to Theobald for seven years and where he came to know Thomas Becket. John also made trips to Rome during this time, where he got to know Nicholas Breakspear, the only Englishman to become pope (as Adrian IV).

In 1176, John was made Bishop of Chartres, a position he held until his death on 25 October 1180. His successor as bishop was his longtime friend and former roommate in college, Peter of Celle.

Now that we have some background on the man, we'll turn next to his written works.

The Lunar Eclipse

The Annals of Clonmacnoise have an entry for 670 that reads "The Moone was turned into a sanguine collor this year." A red moon usually means a lunar eclipse. During a lunar eclipse, the Earth passes between the sun and Moon, causing the light on the Moon to appear sanguine, or blood-red.

The mechanics of eclipses were understood long ago. Babylonians over 3000 years ago had eclipses figured out, and even Isidore of Seville in the 7th century understood the process. (The illustration is a 14th century book showing the phases of eclipses.) Isidore knew that the lunar eclipse would only occur when the Moon was full.

Not everyone knew that this was a predictable and understandable phenomenon, however. A solar eclipse took place on 23 June 1191 in England, and the monk Richard of Devizes commented that those who saw it and did not know what scholars knew thought it was a sign of something ominous. Earlier, a lunar eclipse during the First Crusade showed a blood-red Moon over Jerusalem as the Crusaders approached. It was described as a sign of God's will. (This was reported later by Albert of Aachen, writing a history of an event he did not himself witness. Albert had no compunction against stating that a lunar eclipse portended a defeat for the Crusade's enemies, while a solar eclipse would have meant disaster for the Crusade.)

John of Salisbury warned against using eclipses as signs of future success or failure. Astronomy was fine, but using it to predict the future was as erroneous as soothsaying, astrology, and other such practices.

Bishop Thietmar of Merseburg also proclaimed that eclipses were not caused by evil incantations or the celestial bodies being eaten by demons or monsters. This is the only reference to the idea of the sun or Moon being "eaten" during an eclipse. We can't be sure if anyone really claimed this, or if Thietmar was just exaggerating the fears of the uneducated so that he could counter them.

An eclipse in 756 was described by Simeon of Durham in some detail:

Moreover, the Moon was covered with a blood-red color on the 8th day before the Kalends of December [i.e., November 24] when 15 days old, that is, the Full Moon; and then the darkness gradually decreased and it returned to its original brightness. And remarkably indeed, a bright star following the Moon itself passed through it, and after the return to brightness it preceded the Moon by the same distance as it had followed the Moon before it was obscured.

Simeon seems to be describing the occultation of a star during the eclipse.

John of Salisbury has been mentioned here before, but he said and did a lot that deserves attention. We'll look at him next time.

Baldwin of Forde

What made Baldwin of Forde (c. 1125 – 19 November 1190) think his connections and his rise to the highest ecclesiastical position in England gave him the authority to do as he liked. He was wrong. The Canterbury Cathedral Chapter Controversy was a blot on what could have been a spotless career.

Gervase of Canterbury claimed very humble origins for him, but the truth is his father became the archdeacon of Totnes and his mother later became a nun. He was sent by the Bishop of Exeter (Robert Warelwast) to Bologna to study law, where he met Peter of Blois, whom he would later hire, and the future Pope Urban III, whom he would seriously anger. Baldwin was chosen by Pope Eugene III (the "Homeless Pope") to tutor Eugene's nephew, a clear sign of papal favor. A few years later, Baldwin was back in England in 1155 in the household of Robert of Chichester, the new Bishop of Exeter.

Robert's successor, Bartholomew Iscanus, made Baldwin archdeacon of Totnes to replace his recently deceased father. John of Salisbury wrote to Baldwin, urging him to persuade Bartholomew to provide better support to Becket in the controversy with Henry II. Bartholomew and Baldwin were apparently leaning toward the idea that the king had authority over the church in England in certain matters.

Baldwin became a monk c.1170, and then abbot of a Cistercian monastery at Forde. His background in law meant that many legal disputes came to him after being sent to the papal Curia and getting remanded back to local experts. King Henry was impressed by his handling of a secular case in which he prevented a hanging.

His support of Henry in the Becket affair is likely why Henry was determined to have Baldwin succeed Richard of Dover as Archbishop of Canterbury, despite the monks of Canterbury putting forward three different candidates. For the problems that followed, see the link above.

One thing he did as Archbishop of Canterbury that was not controversial was preside over the coronation of King Richard I after Henry's death. It happens to have been the first coronation in England for which we have any details, thanks to Roger of Howden, and was intended to be elaborate, thanks to the new king's mother. Let me tell you how it went tomorrow.

Parochial School

One of the decrees that came out of the Fourth Lateran Council of Pope Innocent III was that "every cathedral or other church of sufficient means" was to have a master or masters who could teach Latin and theology. These masters were to be paid from the church funds, and if the particular church could not support them, then money should come from elsewhere in the diocese to support the masters. The interest of the Roman Catholic Church in providing education has a long history.

This did not start in 1215, actually: the Third Lateran Council of 1179 (called by Pope Alexander III) had already declared that it was the duty of the Church to provide free education "in order that the poor, who cannot be assisted by their parents' means, may not be deprived of the opportunity of reading and proficiency."

One wonders how carefully churches complied with this. Because the school was integral to the church it was attached to, records are not as abundant as they might be if the school were a separate legal entity with its own building, property taxes, et cetera. We have to look for more anecdotal and incidental evidence.

Among Roger Bacon's unedited works is a reference about schools existing "in every city, castle and burg." John of Salisbury (c.1120-1180), English author and bishop, mentions going with other boys as a child to be taught by the parish priest. (Note that this is long before the Lateran Council decrees; it seems they may have simply affirmed and extended a long-held practice.)

Schools for young boys stayed attached to churches for a long time. A late-medieval anecdote of Southwell Minster in Nottinghamshire (pictured here; believed to be the alma mater of Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury under Henry VIII) tells that a visiting clerk (priest) complained that the noise of the boys being schooled was so great that it disturbed the services taking place. And Shakespeare's Twelfth Night acknowledges these schools with the line "Like a pedant that/Keeps a school i' the Church." It would be a long time before schools for the young were deemed to need their own buildings.