Theologizing Friendship. Nathan Sumner Lefler
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1250 virtually the whole corpus of Greek science was accessible to the western world, and scholars groaned under its weight as they strove to master it all. The days had gone when two large volumes could hold all that was essential for the study of the liberal arts. There was no time for artistic presentation and literary eloquence. This was a grave loss, but the achievement was there all the same. The main ideas of the earlier masters—the dignity of man, the intelligibility of the universe, the nobility of nature—not only remained intact, but were fundamental concepts in the intellectual structures of the thirteenth century.113
Yet the Bible refused to go away, or even to be ignored. In Southern’s words, “medieval thought became a dialogue between Aristotle and the Bible.”114 Elaborating on this lapidary formulation, he continues: “here lay the main tension which transformed the thought of Europe in the two centuries after 1150. Paradoxical though it may seem, it was the Bible that did most for humanism in its medieval form simply because it provided the most difficult problems.”115 Recalling the monastic prejudice against Aristotle, we may note that Southern’s comments here pertain first and foremost to the schools, though the “transformation of thought” taking place there could not help but spill over eventually into the cloister. In further explanation of his insight, Southern maintains that “Men learn after all by being puzzled and excited, not by being told.” Thus:
Aristotle standing alone had no power to excite thought: at best, like alcohol, he first stimulated and then stupefied. What he said was so complete, so incontrovertible, so far beyond the range of conflicting authorities, that he hammered reason into submission. Curiously enough, therefore, the paradoxes of the Bible did more for rational argument by stimulating discussion than all the reasons of Aristotle which were swallowed whole.116
In the end, then, Southern’s observations regarding the scholastic engagement with Aristotle have brought us back to the fundamental significance of Scripture for the medieval scholar, a significance of which the medieval monasteries never lost sight.
Aelred of Rievaulx and Thomas Aquinas
In this preparatory chapter, there remains only the task of saying something briefly about the choice of Aelred and Thomas as representatives of their respective milieux, in a comparison between theological accounts of friendship. Why them? Why their accounts of friendship? Finally, why their accounts of friendship? Of the many theological topoi taken up by monks and schoolmen alike, why focus on a subject seemingly far removed from such central dogmatic issues as the Trinity, Christology, or ecclesiology?
Why Them? (Why Their Accounts of Friendship?)
Aelred: How Typical; How Outstanding
Aelred of Rievaulx is ideally suited to represent the monastic theological enterprise, as an outstanding example, but one nonetheless typical, of monastic life and thought throughout the ages. Thus, Amédée Hallier speaks in general terms of the “penetrating originality of Aelred’s theology.”117 In a more specific delineation of Aelred’s theological contribution, Charles Dumont observes that it was Aelred who took Bernard’s synthesis of “the spiritual doctrine of the school of charity” and gave its principles “a new attractiveness by a pedagogical and even systematic application, particularly in the practice of meditation on the Gospels.”118 Commenting on Aelred’s longest and most significant work, SC, Aelred Squire asserts that Aelred arrived through his reflections “at a valuable, original insight. At least there appears to be no other patristic or medieval writer who explores these matters quite in Aelred’s way.”119 Furthermore, referring to the same work, Dumont contends that “Aelred’s scriptural argumentation is remarkable enough to be considered unique, both in its scope and in its precision.”120
On the other hand, Dumont also reminds us that Aelred “had never attended the schools and so received his formation in both theology and monastic life at the same time within the monastic tradition.”121 Aelred differed, then, from Lanfranc and St. Bruno, both of whom turned aside from established academic careers in favor of monachism. Rather, Aelred’s entire spiritual and intellectual formation was thoroughly monastic. Consequently, while many of his writings are of exceptional quality, they are in kind precisely the sorts of works to be found ubiquitously in the medieval monastic milieu: histories, hagiographies, prayers, a De Anima, a Speculum, liturgical sermons. So, too, his skill as a biblical exegete should not divert us from recognizing the sources for his basic principles of interpretation.122 These are, first, the patristic tradition, and second, the virtually ceaseless practice of lectio divina: both integral elements of the common patrimony of European monasticism. In short, Aelred of Rievaulx is a true monk, and while the quality of his thought in its own right justifies scholarly attention, that thought always possesses a genuinely monastic character. So, too, Aelred’s thinking and writing about friendship, for all their universal worth and application, are stamped indelibly with the spirit of the cloister.123
Thomas: How Typical; How Outstanding
To some extent attempts to justify the choice of Thomas Aquinas as our representative scholastic theologian risk degenerating into embarrassing commonplaces: widely accepted as the most complete synthesis of Christian theology ever executed, his work must in the same fora be recognized a fortiori as the high-water mark of medieval scholastic theology. In terms more specific and relevant to our own purposes, R. W. Southern writes:
The work of Thomas Aquinas is full of illustrations of the supremacy of reason and nature. . . . He reversed the ancient opinion that the body is the ruined habitation of the soul, and held with Aristotle that it is the basis of the soul’s being. Everywhere he points to the natural perfection of man, his natural rights, and the power of his natural reason. The dignity of human nature is not simply a poetic vision; it has become a central truth of philosophy.
Thomas Aquinas died in 1274, and it is probably true that man has never appeared so important a being in so well-ordered and intelligible a universe as in his works. Man was important because he was the link between the created universe and the divine intelligence. He alone in the world of nature could understand nature. He alone in nature could understand the nature of God. He alone could use and perfect nature in accordance with the will of God, and thus achieve his full nobility.124
To this eloquent tribute to Aquinas’s towering achievement, we may add the authoritative voices of two great Dominican scholars: James Weisheipl, who speaks of the “transcendent significance” of Thomas’s thought,125 and Jean-Pierre Torrell, who refers to Thomas from the vantage point of the late twentieth century simply as “the Master.”126
That Thomas’s thought, superlative as it is in every respect, is also thoroughly characteristic of the scholastic milieu, is formally self-evident: in his massive corpus, the genre and fundamental structure of every one of his major works find more or less exact parallels in the works of innumerable other schoolmen. Moreover, the various subjects that most absorbed him were those that occupied universities all across the Europe of his day—above all Scripture, dogmatic and moral theology, and the philosophical and scientific work of Aristotle. It may fairly be asked what impact his early years in the abbey of Monte Cassino, from about the age of six until he was fifteen, would have had on his intellectual and spiritual development.127 Here it is sufficient to note with Torrell that at this time “the abbey was in a period of decadence,”128 and as such, “would not have much attracted a young man taken with the absolute.”129 No doubt Thomas did receive his first training in reading and writing at the hands of the Cassinese monks130 and even conceived during this period what would become a lifelong “esteem for the Benedictine ideal.”131 Nevertheless, his spiritual and intellectual formation took place substantially at the hands of the Dominicans, whose studium in Naples he had joined upon leaving the abbey. Five years later, at the age of twenty, Thomas took the habit of the Order of Preachers. From these facts we may rest assured that St. Thomas’s singular theological insights into the subject of friendship have been profoundly shaped by the scholastic milieu and will be articulated in the finest expressions possible in that mode.
Cautionary Paragraph: Distinction between the
Two Milieux Semi-Permeable
These reminders of St. Thomas’s youthful experience of monastic life suggest a salutary caution to anyone seeking to understand better the complex relationship