The Teacher of His Heart

Chapter Four. Christ — Master, Wisdom, and Light

Chapter Four Christ — Master, Wisdom, and Light The twelfth century, which saw the birth of Francis of Assisi, was characterized by a great intellectual renewal. The monastic schools were no longer the only centers of culture, for they were gradually losing their importance and being replaced especially by the episcopal schools, which were multiplying and opening themselves to a wider public. The young elite of the new generation possessed a great intellectual curiosity and moved around from city– to–city seeking knowledge and culture from illustrious masters. A new social class was emerging, that of the magistri: "They lived in the cities, sharing the aspirations of the bourgeoisie who were gaining their freedom in the communes ... counselors at times to princes both great and small, they [the masters] were open to every curiosity and adventure, anxious for every kind of physical and intellectual freedom."1 The atmosphere was one of intellectual ferment, animated by an impassioned quest for the wisdom of the Greeks and Romans, characterized by complete trust in the ability of reason, and marked by unbridled enthusiasm for the advancement of the mechanical arts. Thus we should not be surprised to find the Poverello of Assisi also using terms such as "master," "wisdom," and "light." But for him, it is Christ who is the master, the wisdom, and the light. I. Christ: Our Master In chapter XXII of the Earlier Rule, in the passage where Francis is telling the brothers to let the dead bury their own dead and to have recourse to Christ, who has revealed to us the Father's name, he cites the following verses from the Gospel of Matthew: All of you are brothers. Do not call anyone on earth your father; you have but one Father in heaven. Do not call yourselves teachers (magistri), you have but one Teacher in heaven.2 1Chenu, 324. [The Latin term "magister" means "master" in the sense of "teacher." As used in this chapter the terms are equivalent. — Trans.] 2Mt. 23: 8-10; RegNB XXII 34-35. 112 / Norbert Nguyên–Van–Khanh, O.F.M. Francis' addition of the words "in heaven" with reference to Christ creates the following parallelism: You have but one Father in heaven; You have but one Teacher in heaven. The image of Christ is accorded a majesty equal to that of the Father—like God the Father, Christ our Teacher is in heaven. We might ask ourselves if this addition reflects Francis' reaction to those at the time who were going about boasting of schoolmasters endowed with nothing more than the wisdom of this world. A. The Masters of this World Seek Vainglory The reawakening of minds and hearts during the twelfth century was manifested throughout Europe by the opening of a great number of schools, which taught not only sacred doctrine but the profane sciences and classical letters as well. The role of the masters was of paramount importance. The fame of a school depended upon its master, and the masters were frequently "prone to rivalries, jealousies, and impassioned debates in the public plaza."3 At the same time, the classical authors being taught in the schools were often the pagan philosophers and poets, a fact that created a feeling of unease in those more concerned about eternal salvation rather than the satisfaction of intellectual curiosity. The attitude of St. Bernard against his contemporaries who were pursuing studies is described in this way by Gilson: There was not only Saint-Vorles, where the young Bernard pursued his studies, with a programme that might well astonish, not to say disquiet, a soul so eager for Christ—there 3Gérard M. Paré, Adrien M. Brunet, and Pierre Tremblay, La Renaissance du XIIe siècle. Les écoles et l'einseignment (Paris: J. Vrin, 1933) 21. Friedrich Heer says the same thing: "Two characteristics of intellectual controversy now reappeared for the first time since the great Christological debates of the second to fifth centuries: first, the atmosphere of heightened temper and sensibility in which such disputes were conducted, and second, the suspicion and jealousy felt by the participants for each other. The spirit of contention was to stay. The jealousy was all the more bitter in its effects when it was suppressed at the austere dictates of a rigidly disciplined conscience, the natural result of an incomplete awareness of the depths of personality. The twelfth century has its conspicuous examples of rabies theologica, of the rancour which so often accompanies theological debate, and of...