Francis the Crusader

When Francis of Assisi  looked for inspiration about how he should be organizing his new-found life of devotion to God—and because he was drawing others to him who wanted guidance—he decided to look into the Bible. The sections he randomly opened to were about a rich young man being told to give all he had to the poor, Jesus telling the Apostles to take nothing on their journey, and the idea to take up the cross every day. He told those following him that these were their guiding rules. Francis wanted them to live by the Gospel.

Becoming the leader of an organized group was not a goal he sought. That involved a formality and an authoritative role that he did not think was appropriate for him. He simply wanted to foster the idea of brotherhood among people from all walks of life who came to listen to him. He urged his followers to go forth in pairs to preach God's love, and they did. People soon realized that these poorly clothed and barefoot itinerant preachers seemed very happy with their simple life. The idea that one could be happy without owning anything became attractive to more and more people. Rather than fight poverty, they made poverty acceptable, and even more: desirable.

Although he did not want to be seen as special, he at least once did something that looked self-aggrandizing. During the Fifth Crusade in 1219 he went to Egypt to speak directly to the Muslim leader and convert him. al-Kamil was the Sultan of Egypt, and he received this beggar-looking man and listened to him. Supposedly, al-Kamil told Francis that he liked what he heard and would have converted to what Francis was talking about, "but we would both be killed." Francis' "soft approach" to Crusading was more successful than the papal legate's. al-Kamil supposedly gave Francis permission to visit sites in the Holy Land. We do know that Francis went to Acre and then took a ship to Italy. (A sermon by St. Bonaventure in 1267 claimed that al-Kamil had a death-bed conversion due to the meeting with Francis.)

The presence of "Franciscans" was growing more noticeable, and if so many people were going to be wandering and preaching, it was felt there should be some organization to control their message. Let's look at the birth of the Franciscan Order next time.

St. Bonaventure

St. Bonaventure has been mentioned before, writing a biography of Francis of Assisi and disagreeing with Averroes' definition of the soul. He probably deserves his own entry.

He was born in either 1217 or 1221 as Giovanni di Fidanza in Bagnoregio (about 90 kilometers northwest of Rome). In his early 20s he became a Franciscan friar and studied at the University of Paris, quickly developing a reputation as a scholar. He was even made a lecturer on the Four Books of Sentences of Peter Lombard. He took his Masters degree in 1257 in the "same class" as Thomas Aquinas.

Bonaventure wanted to meld all forms of human thought in order to truly comprehend God:

He thought of Christ as the “one true master” who offers humans knowledge that begins in faith, is developed through rational understanding, and is perfected by mystical union with God. [Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy]

Bonaventure was later declared a "Doctor of the Church" for his erudition and writings, but unlike his classmate Thomas Aquinas  he was called away from the academic life. In 1273 he was made a Cardinal by Pope Gregory X and given the task of reconciling Roman Catholic and Greek Orthodox-Byzantine religions. This was to culminate in the Second Council of Lyons, where he died on 15 July 1274.

It is not possible in a brief blog post to do justice to the extent of his learning or the breadth of his career: he was made Minister General of the Franciscans in 1257 to try to overcome the growing disagreement over to what extent the order should embrace poverty. We will likely see more of him in the future.

East & West

Pope Gregory at the Second Council of Lyons

The Second Council of Lyons, mentioned yesterday, accomplished many things. It was called by Pope Gregory X partially to attempt a reconciliation between the Eastern and Western Churches—Byzantine Emperor Michael VIII (1223-1282) had requested this.

One of the items on the agenda was getting the two churches to agree to the same theology. The Filioque ["and the Son"] controversy was still an issue. The Greek text of the Nicene Creed was that the Holy Spirit proceeds "from the Father." The Roman view was that the Holy Spirit proceeds "from the Father and the Son." This divergence was firmly established in 325 by the first Nicene Council. The Greek delegation conceded to add the words "and the Son" to their version of the Creed. Sadly, Michael VIII's successor, Emperor Andronicus II (1259-1332), rejected the change.

The other East/West connection established at the Council was relations between Europe and the Mongol Empire of Abaqa Khan. A Crusade was planned, and the representatives of the Khan (one of whom went through a public baptism at Lyons) agreed to not hassle Christians during the war with Islam. Abaqa's father had once agreed to exempt Christians from taxes. Unfortunately, the Crusade never happened, and the grand gesture of cooperation did not take place.

So...improvements in East/West relations were attempted, but ultimately failed. The Council also was marred by other events. Thomas Aquinas wanted to attend, but died on the way. St. Bonaventure did attend, but died during the sessions..

One Soul To Guide Them All

Averroes (1126-1198) undertook to explain and comment on the works of Aristotle, in an attempt to clarify the Greek philosopher's concepts. One of those concepts was the idea of man's intellect, the debate over which was both stimulating and shocking for the medieval world.

Averroes (in turban); detail, "School of Athens" (Raphael)

Aristotle distinguished between a passive intellect, which is man's predisposition to accept and hold ideas, and an active intellect, which was the agent of analysis and creativity.* The active intellect was an outside force, and the blending or convergence of the external active intellect with the internal passive intellect differed in individuals, which is why we could strive to learn and think and better ourselves intellectually, but we were still different from each other. The connection between active and passive was not the same in each person. This accounted for different and individual personalities.

This was an obvious parallel to Aristotle's Realism: the idea that there exist "universal" abstract concepts—such as "dog"—outside of our direct experience, that allow us to directly experience multiple different dogs with different characteristics (which he called "particulars") and yet understand that they were all dogs.

Averroes explained this further, and created a religious controversy.

If the active intellect was external (and from a divine source) but the less-powerful passive intellect resided in man, and it was the blending of the two that created personality and human intelligence, then what happens at death when the external active intellect is removed? As a divine and lasting and (presumably) unchanging force, it stays as it is, unaffected by its temporary connection to an individual. The human-centered passive intellect dies with the human, the active intellect withdraws, and therefore there is no individual personality that exists anymore.

For Averroes, understanding Aristotle meant that there was no survival after death of a personality. Your personality—what makes you "you"—is gone when you die, and there is no room here for a soul with your personality to exist in an afterlife.

Orthodox Mohammedan theology did not agree with this, nor did Christian theologians such as St. Bonaventure and St. Thomas Aquinas.

Averroes defense against the charge of heresy? That reason forced him to express these thoughts, but that of course he adhered to the truth as explained by his faith.

*Aristotle used the term "intelligences" to refer to the non-physical (divine, or spiritual) forces that moved the celestial spheres. Christian thinkers would later call these "angels."

St. Francis & Stigmata

Painting, Vincenzo Foppa (1430-1515)

St. Francis of Assisi has already been mentioned, but since this is the anniversary of his death ...

One of the fascinating events in the St. Francis story is the appearance of the stigmata. In September 1224, while Francis was fasting for 40 days leading up to Michaelmas (29 September), he had a vision of the Exaltation of the Cross (one of the feasts used to venerate the cross on which Christ was crucified).

After that vision, stigmata appeared on him. Stigmata is the plural of the Greek στίγμα, stigma, meaning a mark or brand. In the religious context, the word refers to marks that mirror the wounds received by Christ. Francis was the first person in history known to have experienced the stigmata.

Were they real? Can we know? Unlike, say, the legends of St. Rémy or "Good" King Wenceslaus, which grew long after their lives, Francis had biographers shortly after his death, who would have known Francis' contemporaries. St. Bonaventure (1221-1274), one of those biographers, became a Franciscan almost 20 years after Francis' death, but would have met people who knew the saint. In fact, one of Francis' companions, his secretary and confessor Brother Leo, was with him at the time of the vision, and said of the event:

Suddenly he saw a vision of a seraph, a six-winged angel on a cross. This angel gave him the gift of the five wounds of Christ.

We are also told that he sought aid for these wounds (and an eye disease) in Siena and other cities, but no one could explain or stop the flow of blood. Francis returned to the Portiuncula, a small church near Assisi. Feeling the end was near for him, he dictated some memoirs and guidance for his followers. He passed away 3 October 1226, singing Psalm 141: "Lord, I cry unto thee."
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