The development of the concept of freedom as an inalienable human right is undoubtedly a hallmark of modernity and one of Western civilization’s most deservedly celebrated achievements. John Milton (1608-1674), the English poet and author of one of the masterpieces of the English language Paradise Lost, regarded freedom as a God-given right rather than as a privilege vouchsafed upon the subjects by their rulers at a whim. Freedom “is not Caesar’s,” Milton wrote, “but is a birthday gift to us from God himself.” In the same century, the great Jewish philosopher Baruch Spinoza (1632-1677), whose unorthodox views on divinity and iconoclastic writings on biblical criticism landed him in trouble with his community and European surroundings, saw democracy as the best form of government particularly because he believed it retained “that freedom which nature grants to every man.”

Contemporary with Milton and Spinoza was John Locke (1632-1704), known as the “philosopher of freedom”, who defined “liberty” (along with “life” and “property”) as a natural and God-given right. Should the state fail in safeguarding these three fundamental rights, Locke proposed, the subjects would then have the legitimacy to bring down their government and replace it with another that could perform its duties. Thomas Jefferson (died 1826), one of the Founding Fathers of the United States, echoed Locke’s ideas when he characterized “liberty” (in addition to “life” and the “pursuit of happiness”) as “inherent” and “inalienable.”

Despite the massive influence of these 17^th-century philosophers on the evolution of the Western mind, did their writings really mark the advent of the idea of freedom as the natural and original condition of man? Or do the conceptual roots of freedom lie elsewhere, perhaps in ancient Greece or Rome, for example? Not exactly.

Though the truly stunning scientific, technological, and philosophical contributions of ancient Greece (600 BC-30 BC) constituted a quantum leap in the history of mankind, it should be remembered that freedom among the Greeks was the exception rather than the norm. The economic systems of Greek city-states were founded on slavery, and in many of these city-states, the number of slaves exceeded that of free men. Commenting on the social tensions in Athens in the period between 650 BC and 600 BC, Aristotle stated that “the majority were slaves of the few”, a consequence of debt-bondage. It is also noteworthy that Athenian democracy excluded both women and slaves. Moreover, when Melos rejected Athenian demands to become its colony in 416 BC, the Athenians besieged the island, and following its surrender, they not only put all men to the sword but also sold women and children into slavery.

This reality found echoes in the writings of several Greek philosophers. Plato (c. 427-347 BC), for example, posited the existence of “slavish people” who by nature lacked the capacity for virtue or culture. While warning against the mistreatment of slaves and opposing the enslavement of his fellow Greeks, Plato approved of enslaving foreigners, believing that “barbarian” (foreign) slaves were required to perform all labor. No wonder that when he died, his estate included five slaves. Plato’s student Aristotle (384-322 BC) held similar views, arguing that “from the hour of their birth, some are marked out for subjection, others for rule.” For him the institution of slavery was necessary to enable enlightened men to have idle time and energy to seek wisdom and virtue. Upon his death, Aristotle had 14 slaves in his possession.

Few Greek philosophers did dissent from these prevailing views. The followers of Antisthenes (445 BC-365 BC), a disciple of Socrates and one of the founders of Cynicism, condemned slavery. Stoic philosopher Epictetus (50-130 AD) announced the equality of slaves and free men on the grounds that all were the children of God. These humane ideas, however, stopped short of prompting the abolition of slavery in antiquity.

Slavery continued to be a fundamental feature of social and economic life in the Roman Republic and its successor the empire. By the time of Emperor Augustus (r. 27 BC–AD 14), there were one million slaves out of a population of four million in Italy. According to other estimates, there were two million slaves out of six million. Biographer and essayist Plutarch (c. AD 46 – c. 120) estimated that the seven-year Roman conquest of Gaul resulted in the killing of one million people, adding that another million were sold into slavery. It is common knowledge that the legendary slave Spartacus (died 71 BC) led one of the greatest uprisings in ancient history until it was violently put down by the forces of M. Licinius Crassus, one of the wealthiest slave-owners in Rome. Furthermore, the Romans were familiar with water power but did not bother to exploit or harness it because they relied on slaves to perform manual tasks. Discussing the prevalence of slavery in the Roman era, historian Norman Davies in his authoritative Europe: A History writes the following:

Slavery was omnipresent in Roman society, and in some estimations the key institution of the economy. It provided the manpower for agriculture and industry, and underpinned the luxury of the cities. It involved the total physical, economic, and sexual exploitation of the slaves and their children. It was supported by the wars of the Republic, which brought in millions of captives, and in later centuries by systematic slave-raiding and slave-trading. Julius Caesar sold off 53,000 Galic prisoners after one battle alone, at Atuatia (Namia).

Did the arrival of Christianity change the situation? First it should be recalled that Christianity inherited, rather than originated, the institution of slavery. Thus, it appears that St Paul took its existence for granted, urging slaves to be obedient to their masters “as to Christ.”¹However, he tried to comfort them by pointing out that their situation did not influence their status in the sight of God:

Were you a slave when you were called? Don’t let it trouble you—although if you can gain your freedom, do so. For the one who was a slave when called to faith in the Lord is the Lord’s freed person; similarly, the one who was free when called is Christ’s slave.²

He also preached the basic unity and equality of free men and slaves, Jews and Gentiles upon converting to the new faith:

For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.³

Possibly as a consequence of St Paul’s writings, a number of Christian theologians in the first few centuries seemed to accept the existence of slaves. In a letter to his fellow bishop Polycarp of Smyrna, Ignatius of Antioch (c. 35–c. 107) counseled that slaves be treated well but ruled out the use of church funds to help them buy their freedom. Probably wishing to preserve public order, the Synod of Gangra in the fourth century condemned anyone encouraging discontent among slaves. As for St Augustine (died 430), he viewed slavery as a product of original sin and punishment for evil:

The primary cause of slavery, then, is sin...and this can only be by a judgement of God, in whom there is no unrighteousness, and who knows how to assign divers punishments according to the deserts of the sinners.

These views were soon challenged by a growing number of theologians and church fathers who began to disapprove of slavery, seeing it as incongruent with the teachings of their religion. As early as the 4^th century, Gregory of Nyssa (335 – c. 395), one of the Cappadocian Fathers,⁴ indignantly denounced slavery in a sermon on the Book of Ecclesiastes. Pope Gregory the Great (died 604) went one step further, proposing the manumission of slaves and referring to the original liberty human beings had enjoyed. A French missionary and bishop of Noyon by the name of Saint Eligius (c. 590-c. 660) single-handedly freed slaves, including men, women, Romans, Britons, Gauls, and Saxons. In a work dedicated to Charlemagne (r. 768-814), king of the Franks and Holy Roman Emperor, Benedictine monk Saint Smaragde of Saint-Mihiel (c. 760–c. 840), wrote: “Most merciful king, forbid that there should be any slave in your kingdom.” Slavery in Europe had virtually withered away by the end of the 10^th century.  

Consequent to the disappearance of slavery was the medieval Europeans’ development of new and inventive methods of generating wind and water power to such an extent that medieval Europe is believed to have become “the first great civilization not to be run primarily by human muscle power.” Recall that ancient Rome had dispensed with the exploitation of natural energy due to its heavy reliance on slavery while the dwindling number of slaves in medieval Europe goaded Europeans into seeking out new technologies as a substitute. A manifestation of this change was the proliferation of water and wind mills across Western Europe. A 9^th–century inventory reveals a third of the estates along the Seine River in the area around Paris had water mills. The Domesday Book, put together in 1086 at the behest of King of England William the Conqueror (r. 1066-1087), shows that no less than 5,624 water-powered mills were operating in England. This constituted a decidedly dramatic increase from less than 100 mills a century earlier. Between the 11^th and 13^th century, the number of water mills in the administrative division of Aube in northeast France grew from 14 to more than 200. Medieval Europeans used water power to “crush ores, manufacture iron, pound flax or hemp in preparation for the making of linen, turn saws and knives, and crush malt for beer, among other uses.”

Though slavery in Europe gave way to serfdom, European forces in Spain continued enslaving Muslims (and vice versa) in the battlefield. Also, northern Italian firms were involved in the slave trade until the 15^th century, with wealthy Italians like the Medici family owning slaves. Prominent Christian theologians, however, maintained their rejection of slavery. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274), arguably the greatest theologian of the European Middle Ages, judged that slavery ran counter to natural law. Dominican priest and Thomist theologian at the University of SalamancaFather Domingo de Soto (died 1560), ”a founder of the general theory of international law”, declared that “all men are born free by nature.” Spanish Jesuit priest and theologian Francisco Suarez (1548-1617) upheld freedom as the natural condition of man, stressing that “men are born free, and therefore none has political jurisdiction over another, just as no dominion.”

Admittedly, slavery re-emerged in the New World with a vengeance, but the brutal European practices against the natives triggered the indignation of several popes and theologians. For example, Pope Eugene IV in 1435 threatened to excommunicate those attempting to enslave the indigenous population of the Canary Islands. In 1537, Pope Paul III issued three pronouncements against the enslavement of Indians and Africans in the New World. Equally telling was a forceful 16^th-century sermon entitled “I am a voice crying in the wilderness” by Antonio de Montesinos (died 1545). In the sermon, de Montesinos, a Spanish Dominican friar and missionary on the island of Hispaniola, decried Spanish “sins against the Indians,” proclaiming that the Spaniards were “in mortal sin” due to their “cruelty and tyranny” against “these innocent people.” He thundered:

Tell me, by what right or justice do you keep these Indians in such a cruel and horrible servitude? On what authority have you waged a detestable war against these people, who dwelt quietly and peacefully on their own land?...Why do you keep them so oppressed and weary, not giving them enough to eat nor taking care of them in their illness? For with excessive work you demand of them they fall ill and die, or rather you kill them with your desire to extract and acquire gold every day...Are these not men? Have they not rational souls? Are you not bound to love them as you love yourself?...Be certain that, in such a state as this, you can no more be saved than the Moors or Turks.

Francisco de Vitoria (1483–1546), Dominican theologian from the University of Salamanca and “the founder of modern international law”,restated the idea of man’s natural and original liberty. He defended the rights of the natives in the New World, contending that “neither their princes nor private persons could be despoiled of their property on the ground of their not being true owners.” He further held that the natives were rational human beings with their own laws, customs, and administration:

According to the truth of the matter they are not irrational, but they have the use of reason in their own way. This is clear because they have a certain order in their affairs, ordered cities, separate marriages, magistrates, rulers, laws...Also they do not err in things that are evident to others, which is evidence of the use of reason. Again, God and nature do not fail for a great part of a species in what is necessary. But the special quality in man is reason, and potency which is not actualized is in vain.

Like de Vitoria, Dominican friar Bartolomé de las Casas (died 1566) affirmed the rational nature of the native Americans. He insisted that they “be attracted gently, in accordance with Christ’s doctrine”, rejected Aristotle’s views on natural slavery, and stressed that “we have in our favor Christ’s mandate: love your neighbor as yourself.” He spoke out against the “wrongs and injuries [against the natives] never before heard of or seen, received from our Spaniards” and called “to restore them to the primitive liberty [my italics] of which they were unjustly deprived.”

Free Will

Coupled with the idea of man’s natural and inborn freedom, Christian theologians (whether “orthodox” or “heretical”) by and large laid stress on freedom of choice and human capacity for free will. As sociologist Rodney Stark assesses, the Christian belief in free will “had remarkable behavioral consequences...it created a tendency for people not to be resigned to things as they are but rather to attempt to make the situation better.” Gregory of Nyssa conceived of human beings as the creators of their destiny and the shapers of their personalities:

...our spiritual birth is the result of a free choice, and we are in a certain way our own parents, creating ourselves as we ourselves wish to be, and through our will forming ourselves in accordance with the model we choose.

As he grew older Augustine became increasingly lukewarm about the idea of free will, believing that man’s inherent sinfulness detracted from the ability to act freely. Earlier in his life, however, Augustine passionately defended free will, stating that “what each one chooses to pursue and embrace is within the power of his will to determine.” He ruled out any conflict between God’s foreknowledge and freedom of choice, asserting

both that God knows all things before they come to pass, and that we do by our free will whatsoever we know and feel to be done by us only because we will it. But that all things come from fate we do not say; nay we affirm that nothing comes to pass by fate.

In the 6^th century, Boethius formulated a reasoned solution to the problem involving the apparent contradiction between divine foreknowledge and human free choice, proposing that ”God beholds as present those future events which happen because of free will.” Aquinas believed that free will was an integral part of being rational: “That man acts from free judgement follows necessarily from the fact that he is rational.” In the same century, the English natural philosopher Roger Bacon (died 1292) passionately practiced astrology, but insisted:

What is true is that the influences of the stars implant certain tendencies to good or evil action, always at the same time leaving free scope to human will [my italics]... that climate affects character is obvious to everyone.

Numerous other medieval theologians pleaded for free will, including Duns Scotus (1266-1308), Peter Olivi (c. 1247-1298), Peter de Rivo, Giovanni Pico della Mirandola (1463-1494), Pietro Pomponazzi (1462-1525), and Erasmus (1466?-1536). The idea that free actions affected salvation in the afterlife suffered a certain setback with the Reformation in the 16^th century.⁵ Likely influenced by Calvinism, Flemish bishop Cornelius Jansen (1585-1638) and his disciples endorsed predestination and held that human beings lacked the free will to reject grace. As part of the Catholic Counter-Reformation, however, the Council of Trent (1551-1552, 1562-1563) reaffirmed the doctrine of free will. Spanish Jesuit theologian and philosopher Luis de Molina (1535-1600) argued, in the words of professor of philosophy Jorge J. E. Gracia, that “although God has foreknowledge of what human beings will choose to do, neither that nor God’s grace determine human will.” Similarly, the magnitude of human will impressed the outstanding 17^th century Catholic philosopher and scientist Rene Descartes (died 1650) who wrote: “The will, or freedom of choice, which I experience in myself is so great that the idea of any greater faculty is beyond my grasp.”

Limited Government, Resistance to Tyranny

Stark notes that the Christian belief in free will “called into question the legitimacy of social structures and customs that limited the individual’s ability to choose freely – especially slavery and tyranny.” I accept this assessment but it is important to add that it took centuries for this idea to evolve, come to fruition, and take effect in practice. Until roughly the 12^th century, Christian political thought had ascribed divine origins to temporal authority in the sense that the ruler was in power because God had willed it so. St Paul enjoined Christians to obey and respect the ruling authority:

Let everyone be subject to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God.⁶

Augustine condemned “kingdoms” as “great robberies” but thought that their establishment was necessary to curb man’s innate proclivity for evildoing. He thus warned that absent the restraining laws legislated by the state, “men’s brazen capacity to do harm, their urge to self-indulgence would rage to the full.” Despite his negative view of the state (or perhaps because of his fear of the alternative), Augustine urged obedience, or at worse passive resistance, to the earthly leader no matter how tyrannical, sinful, or oppressive he was. Compliance with the will of the ruler, he thought, would enable the believer to avoid the distractions of earthly existence and to focus on attaining salvation.

This did not mean that temporal authority wielded unlimited powers. As the centuries elapsed, theologians reminded Christian kings and princes that they were accountable to God and that they were not permitted to behave arbitrarily or to mistreat their subjects. Their responsibilities included protecting the church, aiding the weak and poor, administering justice, and leading a virtuous life. In a letter to King of Wessex Ethelred, English scholar Alcuin (c. 735–804) wrote:

But, above all, have the love of God in your hearts, and show that love by keeping his commandments. Love him as a father, that he may defend you as sons. Whether you will or not, you will have him as a judge. Pay heed to good works, that he may be propitious to you. ‘For the fashion of the world passeth away’; and all things are fleeting which are seen or possessed here. This alone from his labor can a man take with him, what he did in alms-giving and good works. We must stand before the judgement seat of Christ, and each must show all that he did, whether good or evil. Beware of the torments of hell, while they can be avoided; and acquire for yourselves the kingdom of God and eternal beatitude with Christ and his saints in eternal ages.

In the 8^th century, Cathwulf sent a letter to Charlemagne, advising him to

always remember, therefore, my king, with fear and love for God your king, that you are in his place to look after and rule over all his members and to give account on judgement day even for yourself. And a bishop is second in place; he is only in Christ’s place. Ponder, therefore, within yourself how diligently to establish God’s law over the people of God.

Gradually, Christian political thought began developing the idea that not only was the ruler not invested with absolute powers, but he was also at risk of being overthrown should his policies harm his subjects and violate the laws of the realm under his jurisdiction. His legitimacy and authority derived from the people and failure to carry out the subjects’ will merited rebellion. As early as the 10^th century, an English abbot named Aelfric (died c. 1010) remarked:

No man can make himself king, but the people [have] the choice to choose a king whom they please [my italics]; but after he is consecrated as king, he then has dominion over the people, and they cannot shake his yoke from their necks.

Commenting on these groundbreaking words, British scholar Nick Spencer writes in The Evolution of the West:

This was an extraordinary idea for the time, not so very far from the ideas of Thomas Hobbes or John Locke over six centuries later. It is not democracy in any recognizable format but it is not hard to see how democratic accountability could emerge from it.

In his Policraticus or Statesman’s Book (1159), “the first complete political treatise of the Middle Ages”, the great 12^th-century English scholar John of Salisbury legitimized and justified the killing of tyrants, stressing: ”It is not only permitted, but it is also equitable and just to slay tyrants.” Relying on the Bible, Classical literature, and logic, he defended the imposition of limits on royal power and offered support for a limited and responsible monarchy. Exploring the difference between a tyrant and a prince, he wrote that the latter

is obedient to law, and rules his people by a will that places itself at their service, and administers rewards and burdens within the republic under the guidance of law in a way favourable to the vindication of his eminent post.

Explicit in the passage above is the idea that even the king is subject to law and is required to serve his subjects and promote their interests, not the other way around. Aquinas articulated similar opinions in the following century, giving sanction to the removal of tyrants:

If to provide itself with a king belongs to the right of a given multitude, it is not unjust that the king be deposed or have his power restricted by the same multitude if, becoming a tyrant, he abuses his royal power.

At the same time, Aquinas added caveats to his support for the deposal of tyrants, fearing that the sanction to rebel against existing authorities might inadvertently pave the way for the assassination of otherwise just rulers by rebels with ill intentions.  

The concept of responsible and limited government enjoyed a major boost in 1215 when English nobles and churchmen forced King John (r. 1199-1216) to sign the Magna Carta or Great Charter. ”In the history of Western law,” writes Spencer, “it is one of the earliest – if not the very first – examples of a legal framework that held the monarchy to account for the fulfillment of its promises.” One of its clauses made it clear that the subjects’ obedience to the king was contingent upon the king’s compliance with the document. In fact, the king was now liable to the judgment of a group of 25 barons. The charter further prohibited arbitrary arrest, stipulated trial by jury, and stated that the king was forbidden from seizing the land of a debtor and from levying taxes without “the common consent of our kingdom.” The primary message of this revolutionary document was that the monarch could no longer rule as he pleased and that no one was above the law. It is important to note that the document did not emerge out of the blue but formed a continuum with the pioneering work of canon lawyers in the preceding century such as Gratian (author of Concordance of Discordant Canons), Pierre de Chanter, and Stephen Langton (Archbishop of Canterbury).

Medieval calls for limited government did not end with John of Salisbury, Aquinas, or the Magna Carta. Marsilius of Padua (1275-1342) wasanItalian political theorist of high caliber who challenged papal claims to supremacy over secular rulers, and as a result his works faced condemnation in Paris and Rome. Nonetheless, Marsilius is notable for rejecting religious persecution and emphasizing the necessity of toleration. He suggested that “heretics” ought to be dealt with in the afterlife rather than at the hands of existing religious or political authorities – a proposition that prefigured Locke’s statement centuries later that ”the care of each man’s salvation belongs only to himself.” More relevant to our discussion is Marsilius’ conception of the ruler as a servant of the people; should the ruler fall short of abiding by the will of his subjects, he ought to be deposed. Political power, as Marsilius conceived it, ultimately lies in the hands of the community which delegates it to the ruler. The latter’s authority, therefore, rests on the approval of his subjects. Marsilius’ contemporary William of Ockham (died 1347), an English Franciscan friar and scholastic philosopher,thought subjects had the right to disobey laws that violated natural law and that earthly government should enjoy the consent of the governed. He was one of those who had set the stage for the separation of secular and spiritual authorities by stating that “just as spiritual matters are controlled by priests and ecclesiastics, so are temporal matters by secular rulers and laymen as blessed Peter testifies.”

I am certain there will be those eager to point out that there were Catholic apologists for absolute authority. I willingly concede that Bishop Jean Bossuet (1627-1704), for example, opined that obedience to the ruler must be absolute and that in the absence of a strong government, “all is confusion and the state returns to anarchy,” an idea that runs remarkably close to Thomas Hobbes (1588-1679). One could also talk of French political philosopher Joseph de Maistre (1753-1821) who opposed the French Revolution, advocated an absolute monarchy, and urged unquestioning subservience to the king.

However, the ideas set forth by the likes of Bossuet and de Maistre would have been an anathema to John of Salisbury, Aquinas, as well as 16^th-century Catholic theologians like Robert Bellarmine (1542 –1621), Suarez, and de Molina who continued devising arguments in favor of resisting tyrants. Suarez reiterated the notion that authority resided in the people, stressing that “all power comes from the community.” De Molina argued that tyrannicide was permitted to “any private person whatsoever who may wish to come to the aid of the commonwealth.” All these thinkers and their epoch-making work testify to the significant role of Christian thought ⁷ in giving prominence to freedom and in formulating the defining features of the modern state: democratic, responsive, limited in its power, and subject to the rule of law.

The pre-eminence of progress in the history of ideas and of Western civilization in particular cannot be overstated. This vastly important idea essentially means that the trajectory of human history is linear and forward-directed rather than cyclical or regressive. It holds that each generation advances beyond its predecessor and, therefore, the human condition improves over time amid the accumulation of scientific and technological knowledge. We tend to take the idea of progress for granted, but it has eluded many cultures. American-born British classical scholar Moses I. Finley maintains that it was unique to the West:

“We must remind ourselves time and again that the European experience since the late Middle Ages in technology, in the economy, and in the value systems that accompanied them, was unique in human history [my emphasis] until the recent export trend commenced. Technical progress, economic growth, productivity, even efficiency have not been significant goals since the beginning of time. So long as an acceptable life-style could be maintained, however that was defined, other values held the stage.” (147)

The assumption that the course of history was progressive and the confidence that great advances beckoned are reckoned to have played a key role in enabling the West to outstrip other civilizations from the late Middle Ages onward. Rodney Stark, American sociologist of religion, identifies the idea of progress as one of the factors “essential to the rise of the West” (How the West Won 33).

Conventional scholarly wisdom holds that the roots of this idea are firmly embedded in the 18th-century Enlightenment movement whose luminaries included Voltaire (1694-1778), Denis Diderot (1713-1784), Immanuel Kant (1724-1804), Adam Smith (1723-1790), and Baron d'Holbach (1723-1789) to name but a few. Enlightenment thinkers sought to emancipate mankind from what they perceived as the fetters of superstition and ignorance, and valued free inquiry and rational thought above tradition and custom. They viewed man as an essentially rational and reason-guided individual, and believed that the application of reason could solve all problems. They expressed confidence that the cumulative acquisition of knowledge led not only to a better understanding and growing mastery of the world but to its improvement as well. Anti-clericalism was one of the hallmarks of Enlightenment thought, as the philosophers of this age, such as Pierre Bayle (1647-1706), showed hostility toward organized religion and religious dogma.

Indeed, an outburst of optimism in the progressive course of mankind was one of the characteristic features of the Enlightenment. In A Digression on the Ancients and Moderns, French writer Bernard de Fontenelle (1657-1757) affirmed that progress and knowledge were “cumulative” and rejected “unreasoning admiration” for the ancients as an obstacle to progress (Watson 546-7). Another Frenchman Marquis de Condorcet (1743-1794) asserted his confidence in the “perfectibility of man,” adding that “nature has assigned no limit to the perfecting of the human faculties” (547). French social reformer Count Claude Henri de Saint-Simon (1760-1825) proclaimed that a “golden age is not behind us, but in front of us...Our fathers have not seen it; our children will arrive there one day, and it is for us to clear the way for them” (549). Lastly, German philosopher Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel (1770-1831) viewed historical developments and changes in reality as manifestations of the progression of World Spirit toward the Absolute, and stressed that as part of the evolution of this Universal Spirit, freedom expanded over time, culminating in 19th-century Prussia (548).

So far so good. But is Enlightenment thought really the source of the idea of progress? Or can its origin be traced as far back as Medieval Christianity, particularly Catholicism (which Enlightenment philosophers loathed so much)?¹ As early as the fifth century, St. Augustine (354-430), who “was to prove the most influential of all Christian philosophers” (Kenny 104), believed in theological progress in the sense that believers’ understanding of God’s will and of the biblical text increased with the passage of time. Though there were "certain matters pertaining to the doctrine of salvation that we cannot yet grasp,” he noted, “one day we shall be able to do so" (Stark’s Victory of Reason 9). In the same spirit, Augustine assured his friend that he would eventually gain understanding of those aspects of Christianity that had hitherto appeared incomprehensible or contradictory:

“Dispute not by excited argument those things which you do not yet comprehend, or those which in the Scriptures appear...to be incongruous and contradictory; meekly defer the day of your understanding” (Durant 70).

The North African theologian and philosopher could hardly restrain his excitement about material and scientific progress as well, extolling the "skill [that] has been attained in measures and numbers! With what sagacity have the movements and connections of the stars been discovered!" (Stark’s Victory 10). He pointed out human capacity for invention and lauded technological, agricultural, architectural, and nautical advances, saying:

"Has not the genius of man invented and applied countless astonishing arts, partly the result of necessity, partly the result of exuberant invention, so that this vigour of mind . . . betokens an inexhaustible wealth in the nature which can invent, learn, or employ such arts. What wonderful — one might say stupefying — advances has human industry made in the arts of weaving and building, of agriculture and navigation!" (9-10).

But Augustine was not a voice in the desert. Other Christian theologians and scholars shared his enthusiasm about human ingenuity and progress. 13th-century Gilbert de Tournai wrote:

"Never will we find truth if we content ourselves with what is already known. . . . Those things that have been written before us are not laws but guides. The truth is open to all, for it is not yet totally possessed" (10).

In the next century, Fra Giordano said in Florence: "Not all the arts have been found; we shall never see an end to finding them. Every day one could discover a new art." No wonder that Scottish philosopher John Macmurray (1891-1976) pinpointed Christianity as the fountainhead of the pervasive belief in progress: "That we think of progress at all shows the extent of the influence of Christianity upon us" (9).

Certainly, Christianity, particularly Catholicism, is a forward-leaning religion which embraces a linear, directional, and teleological conception of history.² The Catholic worldview is predicated on the premise that history moves forward toward a definite goal or telos rather round in endlessly repeated circles. The optimistic Christian confidence in perpetual progress and the idea that matters ought to get better are said to have spurred the Western quest for new technology and facilitated the rapid and widespread adoption of new inventions. Indeed, Medieval Europe witnessed many agricultural and technological inventions such as eyeglasses, mechanical clocks, the printing press, the crop-rotation system, chimneys, the horse collar, etc., but these breakthroughs did not arouse the suspicion or elicit the opposition of the church. On the contrary, the Catholic Church, as the most dominant and powerful authority in Europe at the time, fully welcomed and adopted these inventions. As Stark argues,

“[a]ll these remarkable developments can be traced to the unique Christian conviction that progress was a God-given obligation, entailed in the gift of reason. That new technologies and techniques would always be forthcoming was a fundamental article of Christian faith. Hence, no bishops or theologians denounced clocks or sailing ships – although both were condemned on religious grounds in various non-Western societies. Rather, many technical innovations probably were made by monks and were eagerly adopted by the great monastic estates” (Victory 48).

In addition, Christian faith in theological progress has made the Medieval Catholic Church relatively flexible, enabling it to revise established doctrines so as to accommodate Christianity with developments and changes over time, especially in economy. While early Christian theologians may have had some misgivings about the pursuit of profit and the lending of money at interest, the successful economic activities of monastic orders from the 9th century forward, some of which functioned as banks, compelled later theologians to reappraise church positions on these issues. “Christian theology,” as Stark puts it,

“has never crystallized. If God intends that scripture will be more adequately grasped as humans gain greater knowledge and experience, this warrants continuing reappraisal of doctrines and interpretations. And so it was” (Victory of Reason 63).

Moreover, Christian suppositions about progress may have prompted Western theologians and scholars to legitimize and even insist on the adoption of useful knowledge, even that stemming from foreign, non-Christian cultures. English scholar Adelard of Bath (1080-1152), renowned for his dogged pursuit of learning in far-off places, especially the Middle East, called for keeping an open mind when it came to the acquisition of knowledge:

“It will be worthwhile to approach teachers of different people, to commit to memory what you may find is most finely expressed among each of them. For what the French studies are ignorant of, those across the Alps will unlock; what you will not learn amongst the Latins, eloquent Greece will teach you” (Lyons 2).

Despite Muslim-Christian enmity prevalent at the time, he had no qualms about acknowledging his debt to the “Arab masters” (124). Expressing the same sentiments, Daniel of Morley (1140-1210) wrote of his eagerness to become acquainted with Arab scholarship:

“But when I heard that the doctrine of the Arabs...was all the fashion in Toledo in those days, I hurried there as quickly as I could, so that I could hear the wisest philosophers of the world” (156).

As for the ancient Greeks, he wrote the following:

“Let us then borrow from them and, with God’s help and command, rob the pagan philosophers of their wisdom and eloquence. Let us take from the unfaithful so as to enrich ourselves faithfully with the spoils” (157).

12th-century translator Hugh of Santalla called for learning from the Arab scholars, lauding them as “our teachers and precursors” (157). His namesake and contemporary Hugh of Saint Victor (1096-1141) advised his students to accept all forms of knowledge: "Learn willingly what you do not know from everyone. The person who has sought to learn something from everyone will be wiser than them all. The person who receives something from everyone ends by becoming the richest of all" (Pope Benedict XVI 220). In the same century, the great rationalist Peter Abelard (1079-1142) ruled out the existence of harmful knowledge, arguing that “[a]ll knowledge is good, even knowledge of evil” (Huff 141).

The discussion on Christianity’s progressive view of history warrants a comparison with that of the ancient Greeks, Romans, the Chinese, and Muslims. While Christian theologians conceived of history in terms of progress and upward movement, their ancient Greek predecessors believed existence was subject to ineluctable and eternal cycles. In other words, the idea of historical progress would have been alien to the Greek temperament. In contrast to Christianity’s teleological conception of existence, history for the ancient Greeks was devoid of ultimate purpose or end; a golden age was inexorably bound to give way to decline (and vice versa).³ The great Greek philosopher Aristotle (384-322 BC) posited an uncreated and eternal universe, charged that "the same ideas recur to men not once or twice but over and over again”, adding that everything had "been invented several times over in the course of ages, or rather times without number” (Victory 19). Aristotle’s political theory was also heavily influenced by the concept of the cyclical flow of time prevalent in Greece. Thomas I. Cook opines that Aristotle’s

“observations convinced him that all of the simple, good forms of government which he had described sooner or later changed into their corresponding corruption, and that out of this arose an endless series of revolutions, so that the balance was never attained [my emphasis]. For it is clear to him that the germs of revolution are in the very principle of the various forms, and from his knowledge of Greek history he outlined a theory of regular change. This is the celebrated cyclical theory of history [my emphasis], and for Aristotle it goes on with an unchanging radius and endless succession. Each form of city-state brings the new form that necessarily springs from it in terms of human motivation. The circle never expands and is never broken. Thus it lacks any real development, is a closed system [my emphasis]” (121).

Zeno of Citium (334–262 BC), founder of the Stoic school of philosophy, held, in the words of 20th-century British philosopher Bertrand Russell, that “[e]very thing that happens has happened before, and will happen again, not once, but countless times” (254). Indeed, according to the Stoics, the "difference between former and actual existences of the same people will be only extrinsic and accidental; such differences do not produce another man as contrasted with his counterpart from a previous world-age” (Stark’s Victory 19). Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, who ruled for 20 years until his death in 180 AD and who professed Stoicism, believed that the virtuous soul had the ability to “reach out into eternity, embracing and comprehending the great cyclic renewals of creation, and thereby perceiving that future generations will have nothing new to witness” (Morris 21). The idea of circularity figures prominently in the cosmology of pre-Socratic philosopher Empedocles (495-430 BC), who stated that Love and Strife dominated the four fundamental elements (earth, air, fire, water) making up the complex substances. For Empedocles,

“[t]here were periods when Love was in the ascendant and others when Strife was the stronger. There had been a golden age when Love was completely victorious. In that age, men worshipped only the Cyprian Aphrodite. The changes in the world are not governed by any purpose, but only by Chance and Necessity. Every compound substance is temporary; only the elements, together with Love and Strife, are everlasting. There is a cycle: when the elements have been thoroughly mixed by Love, Strife gradually sorts them out again; when Strife has separated them, Love gradually reunites them. Thus every compound substance is temporary; only the elements, together with Love and Strife, are everlasting” (Russell 55).

Another pre-Socratic philosopher, the famous Pythagoras (570–495 BC), taught, according to Dikaiarchos, that "whatever comes into existence is born again in the revolutions of a certain cycle, nothing being absolutely new" (32). Followers of Orpheus, a Thracian reformer of the religion of Bacchus and a poet whose music was said to have moved inanimate objects, conceived of earthly life as “pain and weariness,” and believed

“[w]e are bound to a wheel which turns through endless cycles of birth and death [my emphasis]; our true life is of the stars, but we are tied to earth. Only by purification and renunciation and an ascetic life can we escape from the wheel and attain at last to the ecstasy of union with God” (21).

St. Augustine broke with these ancient Greek assumptions about time and history. As a Christian, he professed that the world had been created at a definite or particular time and would end at an unknown date in the future. Thus, he repudiated the doctrine of cyclical time and of an eternal universe, charging that “deceiving and deceived sages” were behind it (Morris 24). Rejecting the eternal recurrence of events, Augustine stressed that “once Christ died for our sins; and, rising from the dead, He dieth no more” (24). Indeed, the idea that Christ would be endlessly crucified and resurrected would have been anathema to Christian theologians.

For their part, the Romans were rather conservative, tradition-bound, and oriented to the past. They believed that the way to progress entailed a return to a past golden age⁴ and strict adherence to established tradition. Therefore, they viewed innovation with suspicion, regarding it as dangerous and subversive. This is why they were quite respectful of old religions like Judaism but suspicious of religions like Christianity that broke away from its parent faith (Armstrong 91). This suspicion to innovation did not escape the notice of Roman poet Horace (65-8 BC) who in his Epistles wondered: “Had the Greeks held novelty in such disdain as we, what work of ancient date would now exist?” (Davies 150). The Romans sought to emulate the ancient Greeks (especially in literature), and broadly speaking, rarely moved beyond them, fostering “the very notion of the classics, the idea that the best that had been thought and written in the past was worth preserving and profiting from” (Watson 199). Is it possible that the Romans’ backward-oriented outlook was one of the one reasons for the absence of significant scientific advances during Roman times?⁵ A number of Latin authors (such as Varro, Seneca, Pliny the Elder) did compile encyclopedias summarizing scientific knowledge to date. However, other than these large compilations, Roman civilization achieved little by way of science. In their magisterial Science and Technology in World History, McClellan and Dorn assess that

“there was little Roman science. Very little Greek science was ever translated into Latin. For the sake of tradition, Roman emperors patronized the Museum in faraway Alexandria...Some privileged young Romans learned Greek and toured and studied in Greece. But Rome itself produced no Roman scientist or philosopher of the first or second rank” (106).

Like the Romans, the Chinese asserted the superiority of the past and of traditional wisdom as evidenced by 12th-century high public official Li Yen-Chang’s view that "[i]f scholars are made to concentrate their attention solely on the classics and are prevented from slipping into study of the vulgar practices of later generations, then the empire will be fortunate indeed!" (Stark’s Victory 10). They also lacked an understanding of time as linear or progressive. Rather, the Chinese outlook stipulated that the universe, conceived as a single organism, was subject to recurring cycles in which dominance alternated between two great forces, the yin and yang, and the five elements (water, fire, earth, metal, wood) (McClellan and Dorn 147-8).

Certainly, the Chinese built a magnificent civilization that gave birth to many superb inventions, especially gunpowder, the mechanical clock, woodblock printing and moveable type, paper, paper money, the magnetic compass, the seismograph, the spinning wheel, the silk reeling frame, the seed drill, etc. As stated previously, the Christian commitment to progress gave stimulus to the West’s embrace of new inventions. In contrast, Chinese conformism along with resistance to change, deep-seated respect for tradition, and suspicion toward innovation, may have kept Chinese civilization from building upon its initial (indeed impressive) advances and from breaking through to modern science.

For example, the talented engineer Liang-Ling Tsan invented around 725 AD the mechanical escapement, “the key regulating device in all mechanical clocks” (McClellan and Dorn 152). This spawned a tradition of mechanical and planetarium tradition, reaching its apex at the end of the 11th century with the construction of a mechanical astronomical clock tower designed by Su Song (1020-1101), “an impressive feat of mechanical engineering and the most complex piece of clockwork to that point in history” (153). However, after Su Song’s death, the Chinese failed to preserve the knowledge and expertise required to duplicate the construction of this sophisticated contrivance, so much so that they were astounded by Western clocks when they first made an appearance in 17th-century China (152). In another version of how this invaluable mechanical knowledge was lost, Stark notes that “the hostility of the Mandarins [high public officials or bureaucrats] toward mechanical contrivances was so great that they soon ordered them destroyed, and no clocks existed in China again until modern times” (Victory 44). Regardless of whether it was indifference or outright hostility that caused the disappearance of mechanical clocks, the Chinese backward-oriented worldview and fear of innovation may have stunted scientific and technological progress and blocked the path to a scientific revolution that eventually unfolded in the West and nowhere else.

Similarly, the discovery of the compass and the application of gunpowder to military ends helped transform China into the greatest navy on earth, culminating with the seven sea expeditions led by the Muslim sailor Zheng He. These expeditions, which took place between 1405 and 1433 under emperor Yongle, reached as far as the Persian Gulf, the Red Sea, and the coast of East Africa, winning in the process a number of vassal states and asserting the political dominance of the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644). “Then, abruptly,” recount McClellan and Dorn,

“the extraordinary maritime thrust of the Ming came to an end. Official shipbuilding ceased in 1419, and a decree of 1433 put an end to further Chinese overseas expeditions. No one can say whether the course of world history would have been radically different had the Chinese maintained a presence in the Indian Ocean and rebuffed the Portuguese when they arrived with their puny ships at the end of the same century” (146).

The empire issued the haijin decrees banning oceanic voyages, and as Scottish historian Niall Ferguson points out, from 1500 forward, “anyone in China found building a ship with more than two masts was liable to the death penalty; in 1551 it became a crime even to go to sea in such a ship. The records of Zheng He’s journeys were destroyed” (32). The Chinese authorities had decided to turn inward and to abandon their overseas ambitions. Ming China had adopted an isolationist policy, with Chinese science and technology entering a period of decline. Historians have put forward a number of explanations for the sudden turn of events, one being ingrained Confucian suspicion of novelties and fear they might disrupt the social order or status quo.

Lastly, it appears there are two divergent traditions regarding the interpretation of history in Islamic civilization, one Sunni and another Shiite. Like the Romans and Chinese, the Sunnis “have tended to see Islamic history as a gradual movement away from the ideal community [my emphasis], which existed during the life of Muhammed and his four immediate successors” (Heywood 298). In other words, the Sunnis have a propensity to idealize the past and to believe that imitating it and holding fast to their legalistic traditions are key to reenacting past glories.⁶ Other Sunni traditions seem to emphasize the cyclical nature of history. In his famous Muqadimah (Prolegomenon), the North African historiographer Ibn Khaldun (1332-1406) examines the rise and fall of dynasties, espousing a cyclical model of historical movement. Commenting on Ibn Khaldun’s theory of history, Dan Diner states: “In his work, there is no shortage of assertions such as that the past resembles the future as one drop of water resembles another” (161-2).

The Shiite worldview, however, is fundamentally different; while Sunnis tend to be backward-oriented in their understanding of history or to see history as moving in cycles, the Shias are oriented to the future. In the words of one scholar, they “see history moving toward the goal of an ideal community, not away from it” (Heywood 298). Put differently, the Shias seem to believe the best lies ahead rather than lies buried in the past. The 10th-century Fatimid Shiite dynasty, which took power in Tunisia and Egypt and set up the city of Cairo, saw its rule “not as a return to the good old days of early Islam, but as the progressive unfolding of a new era in cosmic history” (Black 46).⁷ Striking the same chord, the 10th-century Shiite scholars Ikhwan al-Safa (Brethren of Purity) devised a theory of history according to which “each Prophet-legislator-Imam ushers in a new epoch, characterized by its own philosophy, religion, language and science. Each builds on the last; translation is therefore essential, and pre-Islamic belief systems retain some significance” (61).

Contrary to prevailing opinion, philosophy, which suffered a major setback in the Sunni tradition after Ibn Rushd (known as Averroes in the Latin tradition, 1126-1198), continued to exist and even flourish in Shiite domains for centuries after Islamic civilization’s rationalist and scientific heritage is believed to have atrophied.⁸ During Medieval times, most Sunni religious colleges persistently excluded the study of Greek philosophy and science from their curricula and focused instead on the religious sciences (Koranic exegesis, hadith, Arabic grammar) – a trend that persisted well into modern times (until the Arab Renaissance of the 19th century). By contrast, the Greek (and other non-Islamic) philosophical and scientific tradition was integrated into programs of instruction at Shiite institutions of higher learning. In addition, Shiite imams not only legitimized but also encouraged the study of pre-Islamic learning inherited from the ancient Greeks or Zoroastrian Persians.⁹ It should come as no surprise then to learn that though a minority in Islam, a disproportionate number of the scientific and philosophical stars of the Islamic Golden Age were either Shias or affiliated with the Shiite doctrine, such as Jabir ibn Hayyan (721-815), Al-Farabi (died in 950), the 10th-century Ikhwan al-Safa (Brethren of Purity) group of scholars, Ibn Sina (980-1037), Al-Biruni (973-1048), Nasir al-Din al-Tusi, (1201-1274), Al-Jaldaki (died between 1349 and 1361), Baha’ al-Din al-‘Amili (1546-1621), etc. On these Sunni-Shiite differences, contemporary Persian philosopher and scientist Seyyed Hossein Nasr says:

“The Sunni madrasah was established essentially for the purpose of training students in the sacred law and other religious sciences; its program consisted primarily of the Quran, Hadith, exegesis, Arabic grammar and literature, law, theology and oratory (to which the study of philosophy and history, and a small amount of mathematics, were occasionally added). The Shiite schools, however, showed an affinity toward the awa’il [ancient Greek] sciences, placing a much greater emphasis in their program on these subjects” (72).

He adds:

“Certain schools of Greek philosophy and science, especially the more esoteric schools connected with Neopythagoreanism and Hermeticism, became integrated into the Shiite perspective at an early period, and some of the Shiite imams legitimized the study of the awa’il sciences and even encouraged it. The Sunni lawyers and jurisprudents, however, for the most part remained aloof from these sciences and, in fact, often opposed them. They usually accepted only Aristotelian logic, which thereby became an accredited discipline and aided discussions – on questions of law and theology, and even grammar...The Sunni schools were in general more inclined toward the study of law and theology, and the Shiites to the sciences of Nature and mathematics, although many Sunni rulers and princes cultivated these sciences on their own” (72).

Works Cited

Armstrong, Karen. A History of God: The 4,000-Year Quest of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Ballantine Books, 1993.

Black, Antony. The History of Islamic Political Thought: From the Prophet to the Present. 2^nd ed., Edinburgh University Press, 2011.

Cook, I. Thomas. History of Political Philosophy: From Plato to Burke. Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1936.

Davies, Norman. Europe: A History. Pimlico, 1997.

Diner, Dan. Lost in the Sacred: Why the Muslim World Stood Still. Translated by Steven Rendall, Princeton University Press, 2009.

Durant, Will. The Age of Faith: A History of Medieval Civilization – Christian, Islamic, and Judaic – From Constantine to Dante: A.D. 325-1300. Simon and Schuster, 1950.

Ferguson, Niall. Civilization: The West and the Rest. Penguin Books, 2011.

Finley, I. Moses. The Ancient Economy. 3^rd ed., University of California Press, 1999.

Goiten, S. D. Jews and Arabs: Their Contacts Through the Ages. 6^th ed., Schocken Books, 1964.

Grant, Edward. The Foundations of Modern Science in the Middle Ages: Their Religious, Institutional, and Intellectual Contexts. Cambridge University Press, 1996.

-------------------. Science and Religion 400 BC- AD 1550: From Aristotle to Copernicus. The John Hopkins University Press, 2004.

Grieve, Paul. A Brief Guide to Islam: History, Faith And Politics: The Complete Introduction. Robinson, 2006.

Heywood, Andrew. Political Ideologies: An Introduction. 5^th ed., Palgrave Macmillan, 2012.

Huff, Toby. The Rise of Early Modern Science: Islam, China and the West. 2nd edition. Cambridge University Press, 2003.

Kenny, Anthony. A Brief History of Western Philosophy. Blackwell Publishers, 1998.

Lyons, Jonathan. The House of Wisdom. Bloomsbury, 2010.

McClellan, E. James, and Harold Dorn. Science and Technology in World History: An Introduction. 3^rd ed., John Hopkins University Press, 2015.

Morris, Richard. Time's Arrows: Scientific Attitudes Toward Time. Simon & Schuster Inc., 1987.

Nasr, Hossein Seyyed. Science and Civilization in Islamic Civilization. 2nd ed., The Islamic Texts Society, 1987

Nisbet, A. Robert. History of the Idea of Progress. 4^th ed., Transaction Publishers, 2009.

Pope Benedict XVI. Great Christian Thinkers: From the Early Church Through the Middle Ages. Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2011.

Russell, Bertrand. The History of Western Philosophy. 2nd ed., Simon & Schuster, 1972.

Stark, Rodney. How the West Won: The Neglected Story of the Triumph of Modernity. ISI Books, 2014.

------------------. The Victory of Reason: How Christianity Led to Freedom, Capitalism, and Western Success. The Random House Publishing Group, 2005.

Watson, Peter. Ideas: A History of Thought and Invention, From Fire to Freud. Harper Perennial, 2005.

As we all know, and as many of our well established textbooks have argued for decades, the Dark Ages were a stunting of intellectual progress to be redeemed only by the secular spirit of the Enlightenment. The Inquisition was one of the most frightening and bloody chapters in Western history; the religious Crusades were an early example of religious thirst for riches and power; and Pope Pius XII was anti-Semitic and rightfully called “Hitler’s Pope.”

But what if these long held beliefs were all wrong?

That's what Dr. Rodney Stark argues in his latest and much-discussed book, Bearing False Witness: Debunking Centuries of Anti-Catholic History (Templeton Press, 2016). The book is not a Catholic attempt to rewrite history in the Church's favor. In fact notably, Stark isn't even Catholic himself. The accomplished sociologist and past president of the Society for the Scientific Study of Religion has long identified as an agnostic, though today calls himself an "independent Christian." That makes his book less a work of religious apologetics and more historical remediation. He wants to correct myths and get at the truth.

Specifically, his new book addresses ten prevalent anti-Catholic myths. These include:

• Instead of the Spanish Inquisition being an anomaly of torture and murder of innocent people persecuted for “imaginary” crimes such as witchcraft and blasphemy, Stark argues that not only did the Spanish Inquisition spill very little blood, but it was a major force in support of moderation and justice.
• Instead of Pope Pius XII being apathetic or even helpful to the Nazi movement, such as to merit the title, “Hitler’s Pope,” Stark shows that the campaign to link Pope Pius XII to Hitler was initiated by the Soviet Union, presumably in hopes of neutralizing the Vatican in post-World War II affairs. Pope Pius XII was widely praised for his vigorous and devoted efforts to saving Jewish lives during the war.
• Instead of the Dark Ages being understood as a millennium of ignorance and backwardness inspired by the Catholic Church’s power, Stark argues that the whole notion of the “Dark Ages” was an act of pride perpetuated by anti-religious intellectuals who were determined to claim that theirs was the era of “Enlightenment.”

Today at Strange Notions, we feature an excerpt from the book dealing with that last myth. Enjoy the excerpt, and be sure to pick up your copy of the book today!

The single most remarkable and ironic thing about the “Enlightenment,” is that those who proclaimed it made little or no contribution to the accomplishments they hailed as a revolution in human knowledge, while those responsible for these advances stressed the continuity with the past. That is, Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Hume, Gibbon and the rest were literary men, while the primary revolution they hailed as the “Enlightenment” was scientific. Equally misleading is the fact that although the literary men who proclaimed the “Enlightenment” were irreligious, the central figures in the scientific achievements of the era were deeply religious, and as many of them were Catholics as were Protestants.¹ So much then for the idea that suddenly in the sixteenth century, enlightened secular forces burst the chains of Catholic thought and set the foundation for modern times. What the proponents of “Enlightenment” actually initiated was the tradition of angry secular attacks on religion in the name of science − attacks like those of their modern counterparts such as Carl Sagan, Daniel Dennett, and Richard Dawkins. Presented as the latest word in sophistication, rationalism, and reason, these assaults are remarkably naïve and simplistic − both then and now.² In truth, the rise of science was inseparable from Christian theology, for the latter gave direction and confidence to the former (Chapter 7).

Theology, Reason, and Progress

Claims concerning the revolutionary character of the “Renaissance” and the “Enlightenment” were plausible because remarkable progress was made in these eras. But rather than being a revolutionary break with the past, these achievements were simply an extension of the accelerating curve of progress that began soon after the fall of Rome. Thus, the historian’s task is not to explain why so much progress has been made since the fifteenth century−that focus is much too late. The fundamental question about the rise of the West is: What enabled Europeans to begin and maintain the extraordinary and enduring period of rapid progress that enabled them, by the end of the “Dark Ages,” to have far surpassed the rest of the world? Why was it that, although many civilizations have pursued alchemy, it led to chemistry only in Europe? Or, while many societies have made excellent observations of the heavens and have created sophisticated systems of astrology, why was this transformed into scientific astronomy only in Europe?

Several recent authors have discovered the secret to Western success in geography. But, that same geography long sustained European cultures that were well behind those of Asia. Others have traced the rise of the West to steel, or to guns and sailing ships, and still others have credited a more productive agriculture. The trouble is that these answers are part of what needs to be explained: Why did Europeans excel at metallurgy, ship-building, or farming?. I have devoted a book to my answer: that the truly fundamental basis for the rise of the West was an extraordinary faith in reason and progress, and this faith originated in Christianity.³

It has been conventional to date the “Age of Reason” as having begun in the seventeenth century. In truth, it really began late in the second century, launched by early Christian theologians. Sometimes described as “the science of faith,”⁴ theology consists of formal reasoning about God. The emphasis is on discovering God’s nature, intentions, and demands, and on understanding how these define the relationship between human beings and God. And Christian thinkers have done this, not through meditation, not through new revelations, not through inspiration, but through reason.

Indeed, it was not unusual for Christian theologians to reason their way to a new doctrine; from earliest days Christian thinkers celebrated reason as the means to gain greater insight into divine intentions. As Quintus Tertullian (155-239) instructed in the second century: "reason is a thing of God, inasmuch as there is nothing which God the Maker of all has not provided, disposed, ordained by reason—nothing which He has not willed should be handled and understood by reason."⁵ In the same spirit, Clement of Alexandria (150-215) warned: “Do not think that we say that these things are only to be received by faith, but also that they are to be asserted by reason. For indeed it is not safe to commit these things to bare faith without reason, since assuredly truth cannot be without reason.”⁶

Hence, Augustine (354-430) merely expressed the prevailing wisdom when he held that reason was indispensable to faith: "Heaven forbid that God should hate in us that by which he made us superior to the animals! Heaven forbid that we should believe in such a way as not to accept or seek reasons, since we could not even believe if we did not possess rational souls." Augustine acknowledged that "faith must precede reason and purify the heart and make it fit to receive and endure the great light of reason." Then he added that although it is necessary "for faith to precede reason in certain matters of great moment that cannot yet be grasped, surely the very small portion of reason that persuades us of this must precede faith."⁷ Christian theologians always have placed far greater faith in reason than most secular philosophers are willing to do today.⁸

In addition, from very early days, Catholic theologians have assumed that the application of reason can yield an increasingly more accurate understanding of God's will. Augustine noted that although there were "certain matters pertaining to the doctrine of salvation that we cannot yet grasp...one day we shall be able to do so."⁹ This universal faith in progress among Catholic theologians had immense impact on secular society as well. Thus, Augustine celebrated not only theological progress, but earthly, material progress as well. Writing early in the fifth century, he exclaimed: "has not the genius of man invented and applied countless astonishing arts, partly the result of necessity, partly the result of exuberant invention, so that this vigour of mind...betokens an inexhaustible wealth in the nature which can invent, learn, or employ such arts. What wonderful—one might say stupefying—advances has human industry made in the arts of weaving and building, of agriculture and navigation!" He went on to admire the "skill [that] has been attained in measures and numbers! With what sagacity have the movements and connections of the stars been discovered!" and all of this was due to the "unspeakable boon" that God conferred upon his creation, a "rational nature."¹⁰

Augustine's optimism was typical among medieval intellectuals; progress beckoned. As Gilbert de Tournai wrote in the thirteenth century, "Never will we find truth if we content ourselves with what is already known...Those things that have been written before us are not laws but guides. The truth is open to all, for it is not yet totally possessed."¹¹ Especially typical were the words preached by Fra Giordano in Florence in 1306, "Not all the arts have been found; we shall never see and end to finding them. Every day one could discover a new art."¹² Compare this with the prevailing view in China at this same time, well-expressed by Li Yen-chang, "If scholars are made to concentrate their attention solely on the classics and are prevented from slipping into study of the vulgar practices of later generations, then the empire will be fortunate indeed!"¹³

It is a widely believed, even by very secular scholars, that the ‘idea of progress’ was crucial to the rise of Western Civilization.¹⁴ Because Europeans believed progress was possible, desirable, and to some extent inevitable, they eagerly pursued new methods, ideas, and technologies. As it turned out, these efforts were self-confirming: faith in progress prompted efforts that repeatedly produced progress. The basis for the unique European belief in progress was not a triumph of secularity, but of religion. As John Macmurray put it, “That we think of progress at all shows the extent of the influence of Christianity upon us.”¹⁵

So much, then, for nonsense about the “triumph of barbarism and religion.” So too for silly claims that the “Age of Reason” dawned in about 1600. Perhaps the most utterly revealing aspect of this nonsense is the claim that it was René Descartes who led the way into, and epitomized the “Age of Reason.” In fact, Descartes very explicitly modeled himself on his Scholastic predecessors as he attempted to reason his way from the most basic of axioms (“I think, therefore I am”) to the essentials of Christian faith. Various philosophers have subsequently attacked the validity of steps in his deductive chains, but what is important is that Descartes was not revolting against an “Age of Faith,” but was entirely comfortable extending the long tradition of Christian commitment to reason.
 
 

 
(Image credit: Catholic World Report)

As Christmas and the holiday season draw near, it is time to take a pause and think deeply about the benefits that Christianity, particularly Catholicism, has conferred upon Western civilization. As a non-Westerner and non-Christian who has no ax to grind in this issue, I believe I can offer a fairly objective assessment of the impact that Christian ideas (some of which had pagan/Jewish precedents) have had on the evolution of Western civilization and their key role in the West’s spectacular ascent to scientific and technological supremacy in the past millennium. This brief essay shall throw light on some of these ideas, which are now taken for granted but are intrinsic to the Christian tradition.

One spurious idea, which continues to have a strong hold on the views of so many, is that Christianity functioned as an impediment to scientific progress and that only when the West threw off the “shackles” of Christian dogma, did it rise to towering heights in science and technology and achieve global preeminence in virtually every intellectual endeavor. In his scathingly anti-Christian book The Antichrist, the famous 19^th-century German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche charges that Christianity is antithetical to science, reason, life, and reality: “A religion such as Christianity which never comes once in touch with reality, and which collapses the very moment reality asserts its rights even on one single point, must naturally be a mortal enemy of the ‘wisdom of this world’—that is to say, science” (51). In his equally critical Letter to a Christian Nation, American philosopher Sam Harris asserts that “the conflict between religion and science is unavoidable. The success of science often comes at the expense of religious dogma; the maintenance of religious dogma always comes at the expense of science” (63).

Both of these views are clearly off the mark. Far from constituting a handicap to scientific activity, Christian presuppositions encouraged exploration of the physical world and aided scientific progress. The Christian conception of God and of His physical creation has proved immensely conducive for the flowering of science. How so? Christianity conceives of God as a rational and benevolent creator who brought into existence a universe endowed with rationality, order, and purpose. God’s handiwork is not dominated by chaos or mystery or randomness, nor is it too complex for human comprehension. Rather, it functions in accord with invariable, consistent, and rational laws that are accessible to the inquiring mind and to observation. Since God created man in His own image, human beings are blessed with the gift of reason and are possessed of the ability to investigate and understand the rational, fixed, and divinely set patterns according to which the universe operates. Indeed, as Dr. Peter Hodgson, the late lecturer of nuclear physics at Oxford and an avowed Roman Catholic, once said, “Christianity provided just those beliefs that are essential for science, and the whole moral climate that encourages its growth” (Young 144).

Hence, it should come as no surprise that some of the greatest scientists in history, including the stars of the Scientific Revolution, were devout Christians, some of whom wrote on theology as well as science. Suffice it to mention medieval theologian-natural philosophers such as Robert Grosseteste (died in 1253), Albertus Magnus (died in 1280), Thomas Bradawrdine (d. 1349), Jean Buridan (1295-1363), Nicole Oresme (1325-1382), as well as Nicolaus Copernicus (died 1543), Johannes Kepler (died in 1630), Blaise Pascal (1623-1662), Robert Boyle (1627-1691), Isaac Newton (1642-1727), Michael Faraday (1791-1867), Gregor Mendel (died in 1884), and countless others. Max Planck, who won the Nobel Prize in physics in 1918 for his work on Quantum Theory, believed faith and science were in partnership rather than at loggerheads: “Religion and natural science are fighting a joint battle in an incessant, never relaxing crusade against scepticism and against dogmatism, against disbelief and against superstition, and the rallying cry in this crusade has always been, and always will be: ‘On to God!’” (156).

Another key Christian idea that facilitated the West’s success is related to the concept of time as linear rather than cyclical; history is suffused with purpose because it moves forward rather than round in circles. Christianity, in other words, is a progressive and forward-leaning religion. Dominican preacher Fra Giordano encapsulated Christian belief in progress when he said in 1306 that “[n]ot all the arts have been found; we shall never see an end of finding them [my emphasis]” (Grant’s Foundations of Modern Science 160). Centuries before, St. Augustine celebrated the "wonderful—one might say stupefying—advances human industry made in the arts of weaving and building, of agriculture and navigation!" (117). In light of this belief that great inventions lie ahead, there is no wonder that the medieval Catholic Church did not express any opposition to the use of new technologies such as eyeglasses, mechanical clocks, telescopes, microscopes, and printing press, etc. Christian belief in progress was not confined to technology but extended to theology as well. Augustine was certain that human understanding of God’s will would increase over time, stressing that although there were “certain matters pertaining to the doctrine of salvation that we cannot yet grasp…one day we shall be able to do so” (Stark 9).

In contrast, the ancient Greeks viewed the universe as eternal, uncreated, and “locked into endless cycles of progress and decay” (18). Such a view renders history meaningless; decay or decline is bound to follow progress. Aristotle, indisputably the greatest Greek philosopher, believed that “the same ideas recur to men not once or twice but over and over again” and that everything had “been invented several times over in the course of ages, or rather times without number” (19). In the words of American sociologist Rodney Stark, Aristotle reasoned that ”since he was living in a Golden Age, the levels of technology of his time were at the maximum attainable, precluding further progress. As for inventions, so too for individuals – the same persons would be born again and again as the blind cycles of the universe rolled along” (19). In the same vein, the Stoics thought that the “difference between former and actual existences will only be extrinsic and accidental; such differences do not produce another man as contrasted with his counterpart from a previous world-age” (19).

Christianity has faith in man’s ability not only to unlock the secrets of the universe but also to reach universal moral truths, distinguish between right and wrong, and decipher the hidden meaning of Scripture, unaided by revelation. This remarkable idea looms large in St. Paul’s following assertion: “Even when Gentiles, who do not have God’s written law, instinctively follow what the law says, they show that in their hearts they know right from wrong. They demonstrate that God’s law is written within them, for their own consciences either accuse them or tell them they are doing what is right” (Romans 2:14-15).

The Christian belief in free will has rescued man from sinking into fatalism, encouraged him to be active, and instilled faith in one’s ability to alter his destiny and take matters into his own hands. Augustine affirmed that human beings “possess a will,” adding that “from this it follows that whoever desires to live righteously and honorably, can accomplish this” (Stark 25). Similarly, the great theologian Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) said: “A man can direct and govern his own actions also. Therefore the rational creature participates in the divine providence not only in being governed but also in governing” (25).

A key Christian concept that has figured prominently in Western, rather Eastern, Christendom is the separation of church and state. This separation derives from Jesus’ ingenious reply to the Pharisees: “[G]ive to Caesar what belongs to him. But everything that belongs to God must be given to God” (Matthew 22:21). Christianity views the secular and ecclesiastical authorities as two distinct and independent entities with their own separate jurisdictions. True, medieval popes and emperors often jockeyed for domination, but they recognized that in principle each reigned over separate realms. This distinction between the secular and religious enabled the legislation of both civil and ecclesiastical laws, and more importantly, set the stage for the creation of a free domain in which science could be practiced relatively unhindered by secular or religious constraints. In the words of historian of science Edward Grant, the separation of church and state in the West

“proved an enormous boon to the development of science and natural philosophy. The church did not view natural philosophy as a discipline that had to be theologized or made to agree with the Bible...[the separation of church and state] made numerous institutional developments feasible that might not otherwise have occurred. Indeed, the very separation of natural philosophy into the faculty of arts and the location of theology in a separate faculty of theology reveals an understanding that these are different subject areas that require very different treatment. The great benefit for science and religion is that each was left relatively free to develop independently of the other, although every individual scientist or theologian was free to incorporate ideas and concepts from the one area into the other” (Science and Religion 247-8).

One common misconception is that Christianity is an inherently otherworldly religion that encourages its adherents to turn away from the material world, to renounce worldly possessions, and to give precedence to spiritual pursuits at the expense of worldly concerns. It is grossly simplistic to refer to the monks and their ascetic lives in order to corroborate the fabrication that Christianity is inimical to earthly life and material progress. In addition to prayer, religious contemplation, and of course charity, the monks in the early Middle Ages transcribed the priceless manuscripts of the Greco-Roman legacy, thus saving it from oblivion. Monastic orders in the countryside turned into centers of learning and scholarship, with the monastery of Vivarium (founded by Cassiodorus) translating Greek works into Latin and teaching the seven liberal arts, including a surprisingly large number of pagan texts. From the sixth century onward, the monasteries of Ireland devoted much attention to classical pagan authors and the mathematical arts of the quadrivium (arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy). Medieval monks also engaged in manual labor and agricultural activity, which had an enormously beneficial impact on their physical surroundings. Moreover, they made stunning technological achievements (in metallurgy) and even invented champagne.

Christianity has contributed a host of other values such as equality and freedom. Certainly, wrongs have historically been committed in the name of the faith, but these should not blind Westerners, irrespective of whether they still believe in the tenets of the faith or not, to the eminently salutary influence Christianity has had on their magnificent civilization.

Works Cited

Grant, Edward. The Foundations of Modern Science in the Middle Ages: Their Religious, Institutional, and Intellectual Contexts. Cambridge University Press, 1996.

____________. Science and Religion 400 BC- AD 1550: From Aristotle to Copernicus. The John Hopkins University Press, 2004. Print.

Harris, Sam. A Letter to a Christian Nation: A Challenge to Faith. Bantam Press, 2007.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Antichrist: A Criticism of Christianity. Translated by Anthony M. Ludovici. 1895. Barnes and Nobles, 2006.

Saint Augustine of Hippo. The Essential Augustine. Edited by Vernon Joseph Bourke., Hackett Publishing Company, 1974.

Stark, Rodney. The Victory of Reason: How Christianity Led to Freedom, Capitalism, and Western Success. The Random House Publishing Group, 2005.

The Bible. Gift and Award Edition, Tyndale House Publishers, 1998.

Young, John. Teach Yourself: Christianity. Hachette Livre UK, 2008.

Atheist scholar Bart Ehrman is a smart guy, but he sometimes handles his sources in the most frustrating and misleading manner.

For example, in his 2012 book Did Jesus Exist?: The Historical Argument for Jesus of Nazareth (where he is on the right side for once), he writes:

Several significant studies of literacy have appeared in recent years showing just how low literacy rates were in antiquity.
 
The most frequently cited study is by Columbia professor William Harris in a book titled Ancient Literacy (footnote 6).
 
By thoroughly examining all the surviving evidence, Harris draws the compelling though surprising conclusion that in the very best of times in the ancient world, only about 10 percent of the population could read at all and possibly copy out writing on a page.
 
Far fewer than this, of course, could compose a sentence, let alone a story, let alone an entire book.
 
And who were the people in this 10 percent?
 
They were the upper-class elite who had the time, money, and leisure to afford an education.
 
This is not an apt description of Jesus’s disciples. They were not upper-crust aristocrats.
 
In Roman Palestine the situation was even bleaker.
 
The most thorough examination of literacy in Palestine is by a professor of Jewish studies at the University of London, Catherine Hezser, who shows that in the days of Jesus probably only 3 percent of Jews in Palestine were literate (footnote 7).
 
Once again, these would be the people who could read and maybe write their names and copy words. Far fewer could compose sentences, paragraphs, chapters, and books.
 
And once again, these would have been the urban elites (Did Jesus Exist?: The Historical Argument for Jesus of Nazareth, 47-48).

The issue here is not the level of literacy in the ancient world or in Roman Palestine—it was, from the evidence we have, startlingly low.

The issue is the claim he makes about  Catherine Hezser.

It’s true that she published a very thorough examination of literacy in Palestine (i.e., her book Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine).

But did she “[show] that in the days of Jesus probably only 3 percent of Jews in Palestine were literate,” where literacy is defined as the very limited ability to “read and maybe write their names and copy words”?

It would be nice to look up what Hezser said on the matter, but when you look at Ehrman’s footnote, all you find is this:

7. Catherine Hezser, Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2001).

No page number. No chapter number. Just a gesture at the whole book.

Okay, well, if you look in Hezser’s book, there is a chapter called “Degrees and Distribution of Literacy,” which is also the very last chapter in the book.

That’s exactly the kind of chapter that would present her final conclusions regarding the degree of literacy among Jews in Roman Palestine.

And, indeed, when we turn to the beginning of that chapter, we find Hezser writing:

Although the exact literacy rate amongst ancient Jews cannot be determined, Meir Bar-Ilan’s suggestion that the Jewish literacy rate must have been lower than the literacy rate amongst Romans in the first centuries C.E. seems very plausible.
 
Whether the average literacy rate amongst Palestinian Jews was only 3 percent, as Bar-Ilan has reckoned,(footnote 1) or slightly higher, must ultimately remain open.
 
The question naturally depends on what one understands by “literacy.” If “literacy is determined as the ability to read documents, letters and “simple” literary texts in at least one language and to write more than one’s signature itself, it is quite reasonable to assume that the Jewish literacy rate was well below the 10-15 percent (of the entire population, including women) which Harris has estimated for Roman society in imperial times.(footnote 2)
 
If by “literacy” we mean the ability to read a few words and sentences and to write one’s own signature only, Jews probably came closer to the Roman average rate.
 
Whereas exact numbers can neither be verified nor falsified and are therefore of little historical value, for the following reasons the average Jewish literacy rate (of whatever degree) must be considered to have been lower than the average Roman rate (Jewish Literacy in Roman Palestine, 496).

Gah!

You see the multiple ways Ehrman has misrepresented Hezser:

• Whereas Ehrman said she “shows that in the days of Jesus probably only 3 percent of Jews in Palestine were literate,” but what she actually says is that “the exact literacy rate amongst ancient Jews cannot be determined,” that the question “must ultimately remain open,” and that “exact numbers can neither be verified nor falsified and are therefore of little historical value”!
• Ehrman presents the 3 percent figure as representing Hezser’s own findings (she “shows” it as a result of her study), but she indicates that the figure isn’t hers and that she got the figure from Meir Bar-Ilan.
• Her own conclusion is that the figure might be 3 percent “or slightly higher” but is unknowable.
• Finally, whereas Ehrman said the 3 percent figure represented only limited literacy—the ability to read and write your name and maybe copy words—Hezser indicates that the 3 percent represented a broader form of literacy, with “the ability to read documents, letters and ‘simple’ literary texts.”
• By contrast, Hezser says that if only low-level literacy is meant (“the ability to read a few words and sentences and to write one’s own signature only”) then—contra Ehrman—the number was higher and “Jews probably came closer to the Roman average rate” of 10-15 percent!

So Ehrman has completely botched this source and misrepresented what Hezser said.

Why?

Presumably because at some point in the past he encountered the 3 percent reference in her book and it stuck in his mind. That’s about all he remembered, though.

When it came time to write his own book, he didn’t look up the reference in Hezser (thus explaining the absence of a page number) and mentally reconstructed what he thought she had said.

If he was being more careful, Ehrman would have looked up what Hezser wrote and either represented her accurately and/or (even better) looked up Bar-Ilan’s paper and gone directly to the source of the estimate.

I don’t want to be too hard on Ehrman, because anybody can botch a source (and everybody does from time to time—and precisely because of fuzzy memories), but this is not the only time I’ve found Ehrman misrepresenting verifiable facts—something we may look at further in future posts.

By the way, Hezser does give a specific citation to Bar-Ilan’s estimate of ancient Jewish literacy.

His paper is online here if you care to read it.

If you like the information I've presented here, you should join my Secret Information Club.

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I send out information on a variety of fascinating topics connected with the Catholic faith.

In fact, the very first thing you’ll get if you sign up is information about what Pope Benedict said about the book of Revelation.

He had a lot of interesting things to say!

If you’d like to find out what they are, just sign up at www.SecretInfoClub.com or use this handy sign-up form:

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In the meantime, what do you think?
 
 
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NOTE: Today we conclude our three part series from Tamer Nashef on the relationship between philosophy and theology. Tamer's previous piece at Strange Notions, "I’m a Muslim But Here’s Why I Admire the Catholic Church", remains one of our all-time most popular posts.
 

 
The third and last segment of the essay will shed light on the brilliant theologians of the cathedral schools and 12^th-century Renaissance. The theologians in question include Peter Abelard, Adelard of Bath, William of Conches, Hugh of Saint Victor, John of Salisbury, Peter Lombard, and many others. I will conclude the essay with a brief discussion on Thomas Aquinas whose philosophy constitutes the culmination of harmony between reason and revelation.

Peter Abelard (1079-1143) stands as one of the most eminent champions of reason and logic in the Middle Ages. He was a French philosopher, theologian, and logician who taught in the schools of northern France, particularly Paris and Laon, and “extended the rationalist program begun by Anselm” (Lindberg’s Beginnings of Western Science 208). He advocated the use of reason and doubt as a means of reaching the truth, stressing that “the first key to wisdom is assiduous and frequent questioning….For by doubting we come to inquiry, and by inquiry we arrive at the truth” (Durant 939). He is also reported to have told his students that “nothing can be believed unless it is first understood,” suggesting that understanding precedes faith (Hannam 43). In his view, “truth in search of itself has no enemies” and “truth cannot be opposed to truth” in the sense that the truths of revelation and the truths of reasoning are compatible because their source is one and the same, namely God (Huff’s Rise of Early Modern Science 141).

Abelard’s most famous work Sic et non (Yes and No or Pro and Con) assembled perceived contradictory or conflicting statements by Church Fathers on theological issues and sought to solve these contradictions through dialectical or Scholastic method. He also advocated the unfettered pursuit of knowledge irrespective of its source, as all forms of knowledge are beneficial, including knowledge of evil: "All knowledge is good, even knowledge of evil...the study of all knowledge is good" (141).

Like Saint Anselm who felt obliged to bring forward rational proof of God’s existence due to his fellow monks’ repeated requests, Abelard applied reason and logic to the articles of faith because his students “were asking for human and philosophical reasons and clamouring more for what could be understood than for what could be said” (Grant’s Science and Religion 156). He had little patience with blind faith that was not grounded in reason and understanding because in his view “the utterance of words was superfluous unless it were followed by understanding, and that it was ridiculous for anyone to preach to others what neither he nor those taught by him could accept into their understanding” (156). In his book on the Trinity, Abelard acknowledged that this article of faith surpassed the boundaries of reason, but the powers of reason could still be harnessed to counter arguments claiming the Trinity was false (Hannam 49).

Despite his commitment to reason and doubt, Abelard’s conviction in the truthfulness of Christianity never wavered as evident in the following moving words: “I do not wish to be a philosopher if it means conflicting with Paul nor to be an Aristotelian if it cuts me off from Christ" (Huff’s Rise 141).

For his part, Peter Lombard (1095-1160), who served as archbishop of Paris for a brief period and may have been Abelard’s student, played a key role in turning theology into a systematic discipline by organizing the opinions of Church Fathers in his famous Four Books of Sentences. This work, which had served as the primary textbook in the Western schools of theology until the 17^th century and generated over a thousand commentaries in response, ranged over several theological themes such as God and His attributes, the creation, the Incarnation, the sacraments, etc. As evidence of the popularity of Lombard’s work, Grant points out that “[b]etween 1150 and 1500, only the Bible was read and discussed more than the Sentences” (Science and Religion 159). What is particularly notable about Lombard’s work is the combination of “reliance on authority with a willingness to employ reason in the explanation of theological points” (Woods 62).

Adelard of Bath (1080-1142) played a prominent role in the European translation movement between the 12th and 13th centuries, which guaranteed the transmission of Greco-Arabic learning into the West and brought the treasures of Islamic (and Classical) civilization within the purview of Latin scholars. During his travels in Palestine, Syria, Salerno, Sicily, and Cilicia, this English scholar learned Arabic and came into possession of Arabic manuscripts. He later translated Al-Khwarizmi's Astronomical Tables, Abu Ma'shar's Shorter Introduction to Astronomy, and Euclid's Elements (Lindberg’s “Science in the Middle Ages” 62). He pioneered the important distinction between empirical inquiry, concerned with how things work, and theology, concerned with why things are as they are (Howard 25). Therefore, it was the duty of the natural philosopher, rather than theologian, to investigate the causes at work in nature: “For the functioning and interconnection between all the senses are manifest in all living things…but which forces come into play in what connections with which method or mode, none except the mind of a philosopher can make clear” (Huff’s Rise 101). He is also said to have been among the first in Europe to have performed experiments, demonstrating that “water does not flow from a hole in the bottom of a closed vessel until a hole is made in the top to let air in. This contradicted Aristotle's theory of natural place" (Howard 25).

Adelard of Bath viewed reason as the hallmark of human nature, seeing that "[i]t is through reason that we are men" (Woods 87). It is this attribute, namely “the gift of reason,” that sets humans apart from beasts and compensates for their physical disadvantages: "Although man is not armed by nature nor is he the swiftest in flight, yet he has that which is better by far and worth more -- that is, reason. For by possession of this function he exceeds the beasts to such a degree that he subdues them...You see, therefore, how much the gift of reason surpasses mere physical equipment" (Huff’s Rise 102). He also denounced blind, unthinking subservience to authority: “For what should we call authority but a halter? Indeed, just as brute animals are led about by a halter whenever you please, and are not told where or why, but see the rope by which they are held and follow it alone, thus the authority of writers leads many of you, caught and bound by animal-like credulity, into danger” (Grant’s Science and Religion 161). He mocked readers and students who blindly trusted the conclusions of ancient scholars and “who require no rational explanation and put their trust only in the ancient name of a title” (161).

Adelard perceived order and harmony in the make-up of the universe, emphasizing its "amazing rational beauty” (Woods 87). While seeing God as the ultimate and primary cause of all things, he urged naturalistic and rational, rather than supernatural, explanations of natural phenomena, saying that "we must listen to the very limits of human knowledge and only when this utterly breaks down should we refer things to God” (87). Only after exhausting naturalistic accounts of nature’s operations, should the natural philosopher have recourse to miracles and divine intervention. Andrew of St. Victor endorsed a similar view, arguing that exegesis should consider all natural explanations of events in the Bible and only when such natural possibilities are ruled out, should the miraculous and supernatural be invoked: “…in expounding Scripture, when the event described admits of no naturalistic explanation, then and only then should we have recourse to miracles” (Huff’s “Science and Metaphysics” 189).

Hugh of Saint Victor (1096-1141), like Peter Abelard, called for the unlimited acquisition of all forms of knowledge, urging his students to "[l]earn everything” because “nothing is superfluous" (Watson 330). He also advised them to "[l]earn willingly what you do not know from everyone. The person who has sought to learn something from everyone will be wiser than them all. The person who receives something from everyone ends by becoming the richest of all" (Pope Benedict 220). He further stressed the necessity of studying logic, seeing it as a prerequisite to the study of philosophy: “…logic came last in time, but is first in order. It is logic which ought to be read first by those beginning the study philosophy, for it teaches the nature of words and concepts, without both of which no treatise of philosophy can be explained rationally” (Grant’s Science and Religion 150). Like his contemporaries, Hugh saw the universe as a “machine” and as an orderly and interconnected whole: "The ordered disposition of things from top to bottom in the network of this universe...is so arranged that, among all the things that exist, nothing is unconnected or separated by nature, or external" (Huff’s Rise 99-100).

John of Salisbury (1115-1180) argued that human reason could lead only to probable and incomplete knowledge and objected to its use for the elucidation of divine truths beyond the grasp of human comprehension. At the same time, however, he believed that human knowledge gradually increased through discussion and experience from one generation to another, but could never attain to perfection. Only God’s knowledge is perfect and is revealed through religion. Despite his qualms about the application of reason to revelation, John was not opposed to the use of reason per se, but saw it as a useful instrument. In fact, he hailed the “tremendous power” of logic and said those opposed to its use were “presumptuous” and “foolhardy” (Grant’s Science and Religion 150-1). Logic is necessary “to discriminate between what is true and is false, and to show, which reasoning really adheres to the path of valid argumentative proof, and which [merely] has the [external] appearance of truth” (151).

Like Adelard of Bath, William of Conches (1090–after 1154) made a distinction between the roles of theology and natural philosophy/science. The Bible and Church Fathers were the authority as far as moral and doctrinal issues were concerned but this was not the case when it came to natural philosophy: “In those matters that pertain to the Catholic faith or moral instruction, it is not allowed to contradict Bede or any other of the holy fathers. If, however, they err in those matters that pertain to physics, it is permitted to state the opposite view. For although greater than we, they were only human” (162-3). He also separated Biblical studies from science by charging that “it is not the task of the Bible to teach us the nature of things; this belongs to philosophy” (Huff’s Rise 101). William criticized priests who ruled out the study of fields of knowledge that were not addressed in the Bible and defended the legitimacy of studying natural philosophy, saying: “They don’t realize that the authors of truth are silent on matters of natural philosophy, not because these matters are against the faith, but because they have little to do with the strengthening of such faith, which is what those authors are concerned with. But modern priests do not want us to inquire into anything that isn’t in the Scriptures, only to believe simply, like peasants” (Grant’s Science and Religion 163).

William of Conches was one among many 12^th-century theologians and natural philosophers who viewed the world as a rationally structured domain operating on the basis of consistent and fixed laws independent of God: "I take nothing away from God. He is the author of all things, evil excepted. But the nature with which He endowed his creatures accomplishes a whole scheme of operations, and these too turn to His glory since it is He who created this very nature" (Woods 87). His approach to the interpretation of the Biblical text favored discarding the literal meaning if it appeared to contradict reason or natural philosophy: "’He divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament.' Since such a statement as this is contrary to reason let us show how it cannot be thus" (Huff’s Rise 101).

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) is far and away the most influential Christian philosopher and theologian of the entire Middle Ages. He is particularly renowned for his grand project aimed at establishing rapprochement between faith and reason or synthesizing Christianity and Aristotelian philosophy. As part of this project, he presented a number of proofs of God’s existence (the Five Ways) by means of reason only and without appealing to Scripture. Like his predecessors such as Clement of Alexandria and Justin Martyr, Aquinas was more than willing to embrace the truths pagan philosophers had reached merely by reason, saying that "...sacred doctrine makes use also of the authority of philosophers in those questions in which they were able to know the truth by natural reason" (Albl 49). He particularly admired Aristotle whose ideas he believed were the best product of human reasoning unaided by revelation or divine inspiration, and he ultimately led to “ending the official Church's fears about the challenge which Aristotle's thought appeared to present to Christian faith" (MacCulloch 412).

Aquinas distinguished between truths of faith and truths of reason. The former, such as the Trinity and Resurrection, are not provable by reason and can only be believed or accepted on the authority of Scripture, while the latter, such as the existence of God, lie within the grasp of human reason and can be demonstrated through rational argument or reasoned analysis (Craig 32-3). Two points, however, should be made about the truths of faith.

First, though the truths of faith transcend the boundaries of human rational capacity, Aquinas argued that reason could still be utilized to respond to objections against articles of faith. In other words, the Christian theologian cannot prove the Trinity, but he should be able to answer by reason alone objections that this article of faith is illogical. In the words of one scholar, "[s]ince faith rests upon infallible truth, and since the contrary of a truth can never be demonstrated, it is clear that the arguments brought against faith cannot be demonstrations, but are difficulties that can be answered" (Albl 48). Therefore, “Aquinas thought that Christians should never hesitate to ask a reasonable question about their faith -- an answer could always be found" (48). Second, while the truths of faith are not rationally provable or empirically demonstrable, there are signs, such as the fulfilled prophesies of the Bible and reports of miracles, indicating that the Scriptures are divinely inspired and since the truths of faith are part of the holy text, they are to be accepted on its authority (Craig 32-3).

Christian, particularly Catholic, theology is stigmatized by many misconceptions that continue to permeate public discourse in the West. One does not have to be a Catholic or Christian to appreciate and even admire the work of theologians. Hopefully, this essay has succeeded in puncturing the myth that these theologians, especially in the Middle Ages, were anti-intellectual, superstitious, and hostile toward secular knowledge, philosophy, and reason.
 

Works Cited

Albl, C. Martin. Reason, Faith, and Tradition: Explorations in Catholic Theology. Winona, Minnesota: Saint Mary’s Press, 2009. Print.

Craig, Lane William. Reasonable Faith. 3^rd edition. Wheaton, Illinois: Crossway. 2008. Print.

Durant, Will. The Age of Faith: A History of Medieval Civilization – Christian, Islamic, and Judaic – From Constantine to Dante: A.D. 325-1300. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1950. Print.

Grant, Edward. Science and Religion 400 BC- AD 1550: From Aristotle to Copernicus. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 2004. Print.

Howard, P. Ian. Perceiving in Depth, Volume 1: Basic Mechanisms. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012. Print.

Huff, Toby. The Rise of Early Modern Science: Islam, China and the West. 2nd edition. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Print.

_________. 2000. “Science and Metaphysics in the Three Religions of the Book.” Intellectual Discourse 8, no. 2: 173-98. Print.

Lindberg, C. David. The Beginnings of Western Science: The European Scientific Tradition in Philosophical, Religious, and Institutional Context, Prehistory to A.D. 1450. 2^nd edition. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2007. Print.
________________. "The Transmission of Greek and Arabic Learning to the West.” Science in the Middle Ages. Ed. David C. Lindberg. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1978. 52-90. Print.

MacCulloch, Diarmaid. A History of Christianity. London: Penguin Books, 2010. Print.
Pope Benedict XIV. Great Christian Thinkers: From The Early Church Through The Middle Ages. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2011. Print.

Watson, Peter. Ideas: A History of Thought and Invention, From Fire to Freud. New York: Harper Perennial, 2005. Print.

Woods E. Thomas. How the Catholic Church Built Western Civilization. Washington: Regnery History, 2012. Print.
 
 
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NOTE: Today we continue our three part series from Tamer Nashef on the relationship between philosophy and theology. Tamer's previous piece at Strange Notions, "I’m a Muslim But Here’s Why I Admire the Catholic Church", remains one of our all-time most popular posts.
 

 
The first part of the essay set forth the attitude of the Christian theologians of Late Antiquity toward reason and pagan philosophy. We noted that they viewed reason and philosophy as “handmaidens” to faith. The second part will focus on medieval theologians.

Boethius (480-524) was a Roman aristocrat living at a time when knowledge of the Greek language and the Classical tradition was in short supply in the West as a result of the Barbarian invasions and collapse of the Western Roman Empire. Unlike most of his contemporaries, Boethius knew Greek and set out to provide Latin translations of the Aristotelian and Platonic corpus. His premature death as a result of execution at the hands of the Ostrogothic King Theodoric on charges of treason prevented him from completing his task but he did manage to translate some of Aristotle’s treatises on logic. These translations in addition to Boethius’ own commentaries and works on logic came to be known as the “old logic” and “served as a major source of intellectual activity during the darkest days of Western civilization, between the sixth to eleventh centuries” (Grant’s Science and Religion 140).

Contrary to the caricature of the theologian who eschews the use of reason and logic and merely appeals to Scriptural authority, Boethius “insisted on applying logic and reason to theological problems,” including the Trinity and the apparent tension between divine foreknowledge and human free will (140). He perceived the application of reason and logic to theology as essential and “began a trend that would revolutionize Christian theology and transform it into a rationalistic and analytical discipline…” (141).

The Consolation of Philosophy, a treatise Boethius composed in prison while awaiting execution and which takes the form of a dialogue with Lady Philosophy, was the most popular work throughout the Middle Ages after the Bible. In said work, he reveals clear Platonic influences, as he argues that God is synonymous with “Goodness” because the “substance of God consisteth in nothing else but goodness” (Stokes 47). It follows that every good man somehow participates in or reflects God’s “Goodness” and divinity – an argument clearly reminiscent of Plato’s theory of Forms or Ideas (47).

Boethius also addressed the problem of free will and determinism, according to which if God as an omniscient creator has foreknowledge of our future actions, we are left with no free will, as our course of action appears to have been determined in advance. This begs the question of why God would punish us for actions we are not responsible for. Boethius came up with what I would describe as an ingenious philosophical solution to this perennial problem. He places God outside the flow of time, arguing that God lives in the eternal present and views all past, present, and future actions in the same way the way we know the present. In other words, God sees our future actions without interfering (thus preserving human free will), in the same way I am seeing that my cat is sitting on the couch in front of me without interfering in the cat’s free choice to take this particular course of action (Buckingham 74-5).

Like many other Church Fathers, Byzantine monk and priest John of Damascus (675 or 676 –749) viewed philosophy favorably and asserted that “the best contributions of the philosophers of the Greeks” were “given to men from God above” (Grant’s Science and Religion 110). He also placed a high value on knowledge and felt nothing but scorn for ignorance: “Nothing is more estimable than knowledge, for knowledge is the light of the rational soul. The opposite, which is ignorance, is darkness. Just as the absence of light is darkness, so is the absence of knowledge a darkness of the reason. Now, ignorance is proper to irrational beings, while knowledge is proper to those who are rational” (110). He extolled philosophy as “the art of arts and the science of sciences,” and countered claims denying its very existence: “There, are, however, some people who have endeavored to do away entirely with philosophy by asserting that it does not exist and that neither does any knowledge or perception exist. We shall answer them by asking: How is it that you say that there is neither philosophy, nor knowledge, nor perception? Is it by your knowing and perceiving it, or is it by your not knowing and perceiving it? But if it is by your not knowing it, then no one will believe you, as long as you are discussing something of which you have no knowledge” (110-1).

Next comes Scotus Erigena (810-877), indisputably one of the greatest Christian philosophers in the Early Middle Ages and one of the towering figures of the Carolingian Renaissance. Erigena served in the court of the Carolingian King Charles the Bald of France. He knew Greek (a unique skill in the West at the time) and used his linguistic privilege to bring forth Latin translations of the Greek works of Dionysius the Areopagite (an anonymous Christian Neo-Platonist) and other Greek Church Fathers. Erigena, also known as John the Scot, authored On the Division of Nature, a neo-Platonic philosophical work in which he divides nature into (1) nature creating and uncreated (God) (2) nature created and creating (the Platonic Ideas) (3) nature created and uncreating (animals, plants, rocks, or the everyday world seen and felt in space and time) and finally (4) nature uncreated and uncreating (a return to the uncreated God but this time as the end to which all things return). In addition, Erigena argued that God is indescribable in human language and it would be even more accurate to say God does not “exist” in the sense that He is beyond and above existence. He concludes, therefore, that Biblical passages on God should not be taken literally, stressing that each Biblical verse has multiple meanings (Kenny 115-6).

In line with the thought of many Christian theologians, Erigena held reason in high regard, enshrined it as the highest arbiter, and went as far as subordinating authority to it: “For authority proceeds from true reason, but reason certainly does not proceed from authority. For every authority which is not upheld by true reason is seen to be weak, whereas true reason is kept firm and immutable by her own powers and does not require to be confirmed by the assent of any authority. For it seems to me that true authority is nothing else but the truth that has been discovered by the power of reason and set down in writing by the Holy Fathers for the use of posterity” (Grant’s Science and Religion 148). A poignant passage indeed, which refutes the deeply entrenched falsehood that Catholic theologians have always been inimical to reason.

Rise of Reason, Cathedral Schools in Europe

At the turn of the first millennium, Latin Christendom was on the cusp of monumental changes that would drastically alter the course of its intellectual history and pave the way for its primacy in science, technology, and economy from the late Middle Ages onwards. These fundamental changes involved technological and agricultural developments (such as the introduction of the three-field crop rotation system), a subsequent increase in agricultural output and food supply, a population explosion, relative political stability (after centuries of persistent invasions by Barbarians, Vikings, Arabs), and the growth of commerce. This period also witnessed the re-urbanization of Europe (after centuries as a rural backwater) and the construction of cities. These developments in turn led to the rise of cathedral and urban schools (later evolved into universities) as major intellectual centers in cities such as Paris, Orleans, Toledo, Chartres, Cologne, thereby replacing the rural monasteries which had taken upon themselves the preservation of Classical learning and literacy in the wake of the Barbarian invasions. However, the most crucial transformation relevant to our discussion was the renewed confidence in the powers of reason and its application to many activities, including economy, commerce, law, and above all theology (on all these developments see Lindberg’s Beginnings 203-6; Grant’s Foundations of Modern Science in the Middle Ages 19, Science and Religion 146-8).

This remarkable emphasis on reason and logic was manifested in the thought of many Catholic theologians as early as the 10^th and 11^th centuries, including Gerbert of Aurillac (946-1003), St. Anselm (1033-1109), and Berengar of Tours (1000-1088).

Gerbert of Aurillac, later known as Pope Sylvester II (999-1003), was “the most learned man in Europe of his day,” and his interests spanned a broad spectrum of fields ranging from astronomy, mathematics, philosophy to theology, music, and Latin literature (Woods 22). Gerbert’s thirst for knowledge prompted him to travel to Catalonia (which was contiguous with territories still under Muslim rule) to study mathematics and procure precious manuscripts, and he is considered one of the first Europeans to have introduced Arabic learning in the West, especially the Hindu-Arabic numerals and the abacus (Huff’s Rise of Early Modern Science 50). Lindberg hails Gerbert as “the first, or one of the earliest, and certainly the most important, initiators of fruitful intellectual contact between Islam and Latin Christendom” (Beginnings of Western Science 199). He also won wide acclaim as teacher of the seven liberal arts, especially at the Cathedral School of Rheims, and played a key role in reviving Boethius’ “old logic” and in transforming logic into “a basic subject of study in the cathedral schools of Europe” (Grant’s Science and Religion 149). He further placed a high premium on science and knowledge, stressing that “[t]he just man lives by faith, but it is good that he should combine science with his faith” and that “[t]he Divinity made a gift to men in giving them faith while not denying them knowledge…Those who do not possess it [knowledge] are called fools” (Woods 23).

St. Anselm, the Archbishop of Canterbury, is considered "the father of the Scholastic tradition" (Stokes 48) and "the most important philosopher of the eleventh century" (Kenny 119). While affirming the primacy of faith, Anselm disapproved of a faith that lacked understanding: "It seems to me a case of negligence if after becoming firm in our faith, we do not strive to understand what we believe" (Watson 330). Rather than accept God’s existence solely on the basis of blind faith, Anselm sought to devise rational arguments for the existence of God, one of which is known as the Ontological Argument, without having recourse to revelation. He also came up with a rational argument for the Christian doctrine of Incarnation.

Anselm's basic definition of God, which he says both the believer and non-believer would agree on, is the foundation upon which he constructs his ontological proof. He defines God as "a being than which nothing greater can be thought." God is a perfect being and the greatest entity imaginable or conceivable. It follows that such a being would have to exist because existence is a necessary attribute of perfection. If God didn't exist, He would not be perfect and this would contradict the premise of the argument. Something that exists is surely greater than that which does not. If God is the greatest entity possible then He must exist because otherwise He wouldn't be. In other words, "the existence of God would seem to follow necessarily from the definition. For it would be a contradiction to suppose that God is on the one hand something than which nothing greater can be thought of and on the other hand does not exist" (Stokes 49). Anselm’s argument is by no means airtight, but even the celebrated atheist philosopher Bertrand Russell (1872-1970) admitted that “it is easier to feel convinced that it must be fallacious than it is to find out precisely where the fallacy lies” (Hannam 38).

It is worth pointing out that Anselm felt compelled to provide rational proof of God without appealing to Scripture because his fellow monks had requested such proof. These monks, Anselm said, requested that “nothing in Scripture should be urged on the authority of Scripture itself, but that whatever the conclusion of independent investigation should declare to be true, should, in an unadorned style, with common proofs and with a simple argument, be briefly enforced by the cogency of reason, and plainly expounded by the light of truth” (Grant’s Science and Religion 153). The fact these monks requested reasoned arguments in defense of revealed truths without invoking Scriptural authority speaks volumes about the high status of reason in Catholic theology.

Anselm also set out to provide a reasoned argument in defense of the Incarnation. Adam's original sin was an offense against God and the scale of atonement had to be commensurate with the severity of the offense. Man could not, through his own efforts as a finite being, atone for the infinite sin against God and therefore he needed divine assistance or intervention. Kenny explains: "Satisfaction can only be adequate if it is made by one who is human (and therefore heir of Adam) and one who is divine (and can therefore make infinite recompense). Hence the incarnation of God is necessary if original sin is to be wiped out and the human race is to be redeemed" (121).

Berengar of Tours was undoubtedly a controversial figure who raised alarm among some ecclesiastical quarters for applying reason, which he viewed as a gift from God, to the revealed articles of faith, specifically the doctrine of transubstantiation. He defended his position, however, by asserting that “it is incomparably superior to act by reason in the apprehension of truth; because this is evident, no one will deny it except a person blinded by madness” (Grant’s Science and Religion 152). He also charged that it is man’s rational faculties that essentially make him an image of God: “…to have recourse to dialectic is to have recourse to reason; and he who refuses this recourse, since it is in reason that he is made in the image of God, abandons his glory, and cannot be renewed from day to day in the image of God” (152).
 

Works Cited

Buckingham, Will, et al. The Philosophy Book: Big Ideas Simply Explained. London: DK, 2011. Print.
Grant, Edward. The Foundations of Modern Science in the Middle Ages: Their Religious, Institutional, and Intellectual Contexts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Print.

____________. Science and Religion 400 BC- AD 1550: From Aristotle to Copernicus. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 2004. Print.

Hannam, James. The Genesis of Science: How the Christian Middle Ages Launched the Scientific Revolution. Washington: Regnery Publishing, 2011. Print.

Huff, Toby. The Rise of Early Modern Science: Islam, China and the West. 2nd edition. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Print.

Kenny, Anthony. A Brief History of Western Philosophy. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1998. Print.
Lindberg, C. David. The Beginnings of Western Science: The European Scientific Tradition in Philosophical, Religious, and Institutional Context, Prehistory to A.D. 1450. 2^nd edition. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2007. Print.

Stokes, Phillip. Philosophy: 100 Essential Thinkers. New York: Enchanted Lion Books, 2005. Print.
Watson, Peter. Ideas: A History of Thought and Invention, From Fire to Freud. New York: Harper Perennial, 2005. Print.

Woods E. Thomas. How the Catholic Church Built Western Civilization. Washington: Regnery History, 2012. Print.

NOTE: Today we begin a three part series from Tamer Nashef on the relationship between philosophy and theology. Tamer's previous piece at Strange Notions, titled "I’m a Muslim But Here’s Why I Admire the Catholic Church", remains one of our all-time most popular posts.
 

 
This three-part essay sets out to explore the complex yet fascinating relation between Christianity (particularly Catholicism) and faith on the one hand and reason and philosophy on the other. It is commonplace to view this relation as adversarial or even bellicose. According to conventional wisdom, Christianity and Catholic theology are founded on irrational superstition, blind faith, rigid dogmatism, and unreason. It is also a widely held view that Christian theology is devoid of reasoned argumentation and that the Catholic Church, especially during the “Dark Ages,” sought to stamp out Classical knowledge and to curb the use of reason.

However, contrary to these grossly inaccurate conceptions, many Catholic theologians, including in Late Antiquity and throughout the Middle Ages, exalted the powers of reason and stressed that reason and revelation are in harmony rather than in conflict. They also advocated the use of Greek philosophy and philosophical methods to enhance understanding of the Bible and defend the articles of faith. The first part of the essay will focus on the views of the Church Fathers of Late Antiquity.

There are several reasons why Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular adopted a favorable and accommodating view of Greek philosophy. First, Edward Grant, the highly acclaimed historian of science, has pointed out that a “notable feature of the spread of Christianity was the slowness of its dissemination” (Foundations of Modern Science in the Middle Ages 2). Christianity became a legal religion only in A.D 313 when Emperor Constantine issued the Edict of Milan, and towards the end of the fourth century, namely in A.D 392, Emperor Theodosius banned pagan worship, turning Christianity into the only legal faith. In other words, it took Christianity almost four centuries to become the dominant and exclusive religion in the Roman Empire. The slow and gradual process by which Christianity was propagated enabled the faith to adjust to its pagan surroundings, come to terms with Greek/pagan philosophy, and incorporate some of its elements into theology.

Second, Toby Huff, another distinguished historian of science, has noted that unlike the other two Abrahamic religions (Judaism and Islam), Christianity had emerged in a Greco-Roman environment and as a result it was infused with Greek philosophical concepts and notions from its inception (“Science and Metaphysics in the Three Religions of the Book” 179-81). We should keep in mind that the Gospels were written in Greek and that the New Testament contains Greek philosophical terms, such as Logos. St Paul was influenced by the Stoic concept of Synderesis, a term referring to man’s innate capacity to make moral judgements, reach moral truths, and distinguish between good and evil without the aid of revelation (Rise of Early Modern Science 105-8). In addition, Christian theologians endorsed the Platonic view (expounded in a treatise entitled Timaeus) that the universe is the purposeful creation of a divine intelligence or Demiurge. This creation is rationally designed and governed by “necessity,” “causation,” reason, but also chance (the “Errant Cause”). The Demiurge conferred sight and reason on man and thus human beings possess the capacity to observe the workings of nature, including the movement of the planets and celestial bodies, and ultimately to unveil its secrets. The investigation of nature led human beings to come to know the concept of time and numbers, as well as philosophy, “than which no greater boon has ever come or shall come to mortal man as a gift from heaven” (Huff’s “Science and Metaphysics in the Three Religions of the Book” 176-7).

Third, Christianity in its initial phases appealed mainly to the poor and underprivileged classes of society, but as time passed on, members of the higher and educated classes started converting to the faith as well. Many of those converts had received pagan education and had been steeped in the classical tradition. Therefore, they were able to tap into their pagan background to defend the Christian faith and to devise philosophically sophisticated arguments to prove the tenets of their new religion.

Fourth, the nature of the Christian faith may have played a role in encouraging Christian scholars to have recourse to Greek philosophy. These scholars found Greek philosophical concepts useful tools to explicate the complex articles of faith, such as the Eucharist, Trinity, or Incarnation. In this regard, Grant says: “Certain aspects of their religion may also have drawn Christians to Greek philosophy. One example is the problem of the Eucharist, with its difficulties about the nature of substances and their attributes. Adoption of a Trinitarian position placed enormous metaphysical burdens on Christianity. Once Jesus was perceived as the Son of God, the problems of expounding the nature of the Godhead were formidable indeed. To help explain theological difficulties, scholars deemed the concepts and terminology of Greek metaphysics essential. Logic was also considered important” (Foundations 183).

Surely, despite all of the above, some Christian theologians and Church Fathers viewed secular literature and Greek philosophy with suspicion and as potentially dangerous and subversive to the faith. Tertullian (155–240), for example, a Christian author from Carthage, found Christianity and Greek philosophy to be diametrically opposed and irreconcilable, wondering: “What indeed has Athens to do with Jerusalem? What concord is there between the Academy and the Church? What between heretics and Christians?” (Grant’s Science and Religion 104). John Chrysostom (349–407), Archbishop of Constantinople and an early Church Father, urged believers to "[r]estrain our own reasoning, and empty our mind of secular learning, in order to provide a mind swept clear for the reception of divine words” (Watson 244).

However, these views were the exception rather than the norm. Many Church Fathers saw philosophy and science as “handmaidens to theology” (Grant’s Foundations 3). In other words, the study of secular disciplines was legitimate insofar as they threw light on the Biblical text and led to conclusions in agreement with Christian truths. Anti-Catholic critics might respond that the theologians’ attitude toward the philosophical heritage of the pagans was selective, as they accepted philosophy only to the extent that it served their faith. Even if true, such a particular and selective approach is a far cry from outright rejection of philosophy and wholesale reliance on faith– an allegation often hurled at the Catholic Church. Rather than view pagan philosophy as a cancer that needed to be excised from Christian theology, theologians sought to benefit from philosophy and utilize its tools for the advancement of Christian studies. They were also confident that there were no necessary contradictions between many of the truths of philosophy and those of Christianity.

Christian theologian Clement of Alexandria (150-219), whom Pope Benedict XVI has hailed as “one of the pioneers of the dialogue between faith and reason in the Christian tradition” (16), deemed the study and use of Greek philosophy not only permissible but necessary. He advanced the interesting argument that the Greek philosophers had been divinely inspired to ensure that humanity had reached a state of intellectual maturity by the time of Christ’s arrival (Kenny 95). In fact, these philosophers had arrived at many truths because they had been inspired and guided by the divine logos (Grant’s Science and Religion 107). Clement went as far as saying that the philosophers had borrowed many of their ideas from the Old Testament – hence the harmony between Scripture and Greek philosophy (107).

On the role of philosophy, Clement wrote: “…before the advent of the Lord, philosophy was necessary to the Greeks for righteousness. And now it becomes conducive to piety; being a kind of preparatory training to those who attain to faith through demonstration” (107). He continued: “Philosophy, therefore, was a preparation paving the way for him who is perfected in Christ” (107). Against those suspicious of philosophical ideas, Clement stressed: “Philosophy is not, then, the product of vice, since it makes men virtuous; it follows, then, that it is the work of God, whose work it is solely to do good. And all things given by God are given and received well” (107). On whether the study of philosophy was legitimate or not, his conclusions were unequivocal: “…if we are not to philosophize, what then? (For no one can condemn a thing without first knowing it): the consequence, even in that case, is that we must philosophize” (107-8).

Church Father, philosopher, and apologist Justin Martyr (100–165) regarded Christianity as the best philosophical system. At the same time, he had a positive attitude toward Greek philosophy, viewing Socrates as a Christian before Christ. He also believed that Greek philosophy and Christianity were compatible and suggested that the philosophers had been influenced by the Old Testament (106). In his view, the divine Logos had revealed itself to the Hebrews and “in seeds of truth” to the Greek philosophers. In other words, both the Old Testament and Greek philosophy (or at least many of its truths) were two paths leading to Christ. Therefore, Justin encouraged Christians to learn from other traditions, arguing that “whatever things were rightly said among all men are the property of us Christians” (Pope Benedict 9).

Rather than turn his back on Classical heritage and cut himself off from his pagan surroundings, Justin employed the terminology of Greek philosophy to make the tenets of Christianity palatable and sensible to pagans, especially those with a philosophical bent. Scholar Diarmaid MacCulloch states that Justin “was concerned to explain his newly acquired Christian faith to those outside its boundaries in terms that they would understand; he was chief among a series of ‘Apologists’ who, in the second century, opened a dialogue with the culture around them in order to show that Christianity was superior to the elite wisdom of the age. In particular, he was happy to explain the mysterious relationship of Jesus Christ to God the Father in terms which would make sense to intelligent Greeks puzzled by Christian claims. He deployed one of the commonplace terms used alike by Platonists, Stoics and Hellenized Jews…: Word (Logos)” (142).

Scholar and theologian Origen of Alexandria (184-254) was fully aware of the points of disagreement between Christianity and certain aspects of philosophy, but saw the latter as a preparation for the study of theology, particularly “those parts of the philosophy of the Greeks which are fit, as it were, to serve as general or preparatory studies for Christianity” (Grant’s Science and Religion 108-9). Origen saw astronomy and geometry as “helpful for the interpretation of the Holy Scriptures” and philosophy as “ancillary to Christianity” (109).

Influenced by the way learned Greeks had read Homer and Hellenized Jewish scholars like Philo of Alexandra had read the Old Testament, Origen believed that the main significance of the Bible did not lie in its literal meaning (MacCulloch 151-2). Commenting on the Book of Genesis, he wondered: “[W]ho is so silly as to believe that God, after the manner of a farmer, planted a paradise eastward in Eden, and set in it a visible and palpable tree of life, of such a sort that anyone who tasted its fruit with his bodily teeth would gain life?” (151). Certainly, Origen accepted the scriptures in their entirety as the divinely inspired truth, but believed they had multiple layers of meaning and put forward allegorical interpretations of the Biblical text.

The philosophy of St Augustine (354-430) had exerted a tremendous influence on Western civilization and Latin Christendom for approximately a thousand years. His attitude toward the relation between reason and faith has been described as "very difficult to interpret, especially because his views apparently evolved over the years" (Craig 29). It is true that on the one hand he subordinated reason to faith, viewing the former as the “servant” of the latter (Stokes 45). It is equally true that he saw faith as superior to reason in the pursuit of truth. He also proclaimed the superiority of divine or inspired knowledge to philosophical or human learning, arguing that “all the knowledge derived from the books of the heathen, which is indeed useful, becomes little enough if it is compared with the knowledge of the divine scriptures” (Grant’s Science and Religion 113). He even feared that philosophy might foment heresy (Lindberg’s Beginnings of Western Science 149).

On the other hand, it should be made clear that Augustine did not call for abandoning reason or discarding its tools. On the contrary, he acknowledged that reason coupled with faith are "the two forces that lead us to knowledge" (Pope Benedict 109). Nor did he reject philosophy, as he urged Christians to embrace the findings of its practitioners: “If those…who are called philosophers happen to have said anything that is true, and agreeable to our faith, the Platonists above all, not only should we not be afraid of them, but we should even claim back for our own use what they have said, as from its unjust possessors” (113). Indeed, St. Augustine was heavily influenced by Platonic and neo-Platonic thought and was well-versed in pagan learning. He also used logic to resolve theological problems (Grant’s Foundations 183-4) and believed that scientific knowledge would contribute to the interpretation of the Bible and the development of Christian doctrine (Lindberg’s Beginnings 150).

Works Cited

Craig, Lane William. Reasonable Faith. 3^rd edition. Wheaton, Illinois: Crossway. 2008. Print.

Grant, Edward. The Foundations of Modern Science in the Middle Ages: Their Religious, Institutional, and Intellectual Contexts. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996. Print.

____________. Science and Religion 400 BC- AD 1550: From Aristotle to Copernicus. Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press, 2004. Print.

Huff, Toby. The Rise of Early Modern Science: Islam, China and the West. 2nd edition. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Print.

_________. 2000. “Science and Metaphysics in the Three Religions of the Book.” Intellectual Discourse 8, no. 2: 173-98. Print.
Kenny, Anthony. A Brief History of Western Philosophy. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1998. Print.

Lindberg, C. David. The Beginnings of Western Science: The European Scientific Tradition in Philosophical, Religious, and Institutional Context, Prehistory to A.D. 1450. 2^nd edition. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2007. Print.

MacCulloch, Diarmaid. A History of Christianity. London: Penguin Books, 2010. Print.

Pope Benedict XIV. Great Christian Thinkers: From The Early Church Through The Middle Ages. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2011. Print.
Stokes, Phillip. Philosophy: 100 Essential Thinkers. New York: Enchanted Lion Books, 2005. Print.

Watson, Peter. Ideas: A History of Thought and Invention, From Fire to Freud. New York: Harper Perennial, 2005. Print.

The common wisdom in many circles (most located in certain cities on the East and Left Coasts) is that religion, in general, is a bad thing, and that in the hands of "fundamentalists," the Ku Klux Klan, neo-Nazis, and ultra-super-radical-Islamic terrorists, it is inevitably evil. Eliminating religion, it is then suggested or even openly argued, is a sure way to rid the world of evil. The term "religion," it should be noted, almost always refers to Christianity (or a form of pseudo-Christianity) and then, in some cases, to Islam.

An example of such thinking is the story of a film that documents the abuse of religion and the deadly bigotry that can flow from racists who twist the Bible for evil purposes. The Detroit Free Press reports on a showing of the documentary at Rochester College in Michigan and the reaction to it:

In the often-emotional discussion after the film, Rubel Shelly, a Rochester College professor who teaches courses on religion, told the crowd, "This startles me, aggravates me and humbles me. It scares the life out of me."

He said the film made him wonder about everything from the abuse of Christianity by white-supremacist groups like the Ku Klux Klan to the twisting of Islam by suicide bombers. "For me, the insight from this film is that religion can become downright evil," he said.

Based on these comments, one might conclude that the film is about "white-supremacist groups like the Ku Klux Klan" or "suicide bombers" or perhaps a crazed "fundamentalist" Christian who tried to bomb an abortion clinic. But the film (which aired on PBS in Michigan) is titled "Theologians Under Hitler: Could It Happen Again?":

The film focuses on several 1930s-era Protestant theologians in Germany who encouraged the rise of Nazism, publicly praising it as a gift from God to resurrect the impoverished German people. These men also added their moral weight to the attempted destruction of Judaism.
 
Among the most infamous was Gerhard Kittel, at the time a world-famous Protestant expert on the ancient history of the Bible. Far from a marginal figure or thug, like many of Hitler's early followers, Kittel taught at the centuries-old Tubingen University, the same school that later would have Joseph Ratzinger, later Pope Benedict XVI, on its faculty.

Reading this, a couple of questions come to mind. First, was Gerhard Kittel some sort of knuckle-dragging, half-witted "fundamentalist"? No, he wasn’t. On the contrary, he was a highly regarded and well-educated New Testament scholar who produced work – the ten-volume Theological Dictionary of the New Testament – that is still used today.

Secondly, if religion is proven bad because Kittel and some other Christians supported the Nazis, what was proven by the many Protestants and Catholics—including the much-maligned Pope Pius XII—who helped save hundreds of thousands of Jews? What about Hitler’s obsessive hatred of orthodox Christianity? Is religion itself really the problem? Specifically, when someone states that "religion can become downright evil," is he saying that religion inevitably leads to evil, or religious people commit the majority of evil acts, or that the religious impulse must be severely contained (or even destroyed)?

Sam Harris thinks so. The popular atheist author of The End of Faith: Religion, Terror, and the End of Reason (New York: W.W. Norton and Co., 2004) makes a passionate, if not convincing, case for the elimination of religion, namely (of course) Christianity and Islam. Lamenting that many people, including some public leaders, still take seriously Christian doctrine, Harris writes: "As we stride boldly into the Middle Ages, it does not seem out of place to wonder whether the myths that now saturate our discourse will wind up killing many of us, as the myths of others [terrorists] already have."

He then boldly insists that "faith" must go the way of the dodo bird: "We must find our way to a time when faith, without evidence, disgraces anyone who would claim it. … It is imperative that we begin speaking plainly about the absurdity of most of our religious beliefs" (47, 48). It comes as no surprise that Harris’s polemic is praised by Peter Singer, professor of bioethics at Princeton, who advocates infanticide and euthanasia and all else in-between (yet, irrationally, Singer spent much moneykeeping alive his mother, who is stricken with Alzheimer's disease).

Professor Shelly apparently missed Harris’s book (which was well-received among those who read The New York Times Book Review—"This in an important book"—and sleep in on Sunday mornings). Still, when a professor of religion states, "For me, the insight from this film is that religion can become downright evil," one can be forgiven for wondering what they have studied and if they have ever contemplated human nature, both by considering the actions/thoughts of others and examining their own actions/thoughts. Sure, there is a sense in which "religion can become downright evil," which is because people can become downright evil. As G.K. Chesterton rightly noted somewhere (the exact location escapes me), if you think the world is in bad shape you might be shocked how much worse it would be if Christianity weren’t around. And before anyone argues that it’s a completely subjective point, do check out The Black Book of Communism.

The problem many people have today is not that they deny outright the existence of evil, but that they deny they could have anything to do with evil. Sure, evil is personal and is committed by persons—but not by me. Yes, Hitler was human—but I’m different from Hitler. Some folks aren’t even comfortable at that distance, so they create more space by conceiving of evil as something done to them or forced upon them (usually by an institution) rather than a specific attack on the good and on others that humans can freely choose to commit. Another comment by Professor Shelly from the Free Press article points toward this second option:

Without a stricter separation of church and state, Shelly argued, "we can still allow ourselves as Christians to be played by political power," just as in Germany in the 1930s. At that point, he turned to Martin and asked, "So where are the religious leaders who are strong enough to resist the stroking of political power today?"

The implication, it seems clear, is that evil comes in the form of large, faceless, and frightening institutions—usually political—that force themselves on us. Strangely enough, a common (and sometimes warranted) criticism of some "fundamentalists" is that they have a conspiratorial mindset and operate out of fear of the Big, Bad Bogeyman (the U.N., the European Union, Hollywood, etc.). But if one feature of "fundamentalism" is an irrational, conspiratorial, and highly emotional fear of beliefs and institutions that we do not understand (nor try to understand), then "fundamentalism" is hardly limited to the realms of traditional Christianity, conservative politics, or Middle America. Nor is evil the sole property of a certain religion, political party, or ideology, even if a particular religion or ideology carries fuel that feeds the thought and actions of a person bent on committing acts of evil.

Admittedly, it is often difficult to see where religious teaching ends and adherence to that teaching begins. It becomes even more difficult when the teaching appears to be ambivalent or open to different interpretations. But to say, for instance, that a priest who molests a boy does so because of his religion (or, as it is sometimes argued, the unrealistic or "unnatural" disciplines of his religion) is to ignore that Catholicism condemns such an act. In the case of Kittel, I don’t know all of the influences—either theological or political—that shaped his thinking. But I know that nearly a million Jews were saved by the actions of Pope Pius XII, who acted in accord with the religious belief that all men are created in the image of God and that murder is evil. (And yet, when many people think of Christianity and Nazism, they also think of "Hitler’s Pope," a sad testament to the reality of evil attacks on truth.)

We can see the effects of this skewed thinking when confronted with the "solution" so often promoted by educators such as Professor Shelly, which is a "stricter separation of church and state." If that is the answer, look no further than the former Soviet Union to see what happens when the ultimate separation of church and state takes place—that is, when the state essentially destroys the church (and I use "church" here to mean an authentic body of Christians who don't give lip service the state to save their skins). The result is not just the eradication of traditional religion but also the establishment of a grotesque and bloody new religion—or anti-religious religion.

In the words of Simone Weil: "Marxism is undoubtedly a religion, in the lowest sense of the word. Like every inferior form of the religious life it has been continually used, to borrow the apt phrase of Marx himself, as an opiate for the people." Weil's remark is quoted in Raymond Aron's The Opium of the Intellectuals, a classic work of political reflection on radical politics, especially Marxism and Communism. In another work, The Dawn of Universal History,Aron (1905-1983)—a French intellectual who was once classmates with Sartre but chose a far different path from the famed existentialist—has a lengthy analysis of "The Secular Religions," which include Fascism, Nazism, Marxism, and Stalinism.

Aron writes that these secular religions "related everything—men and things, thoughts and deeds—to that ultimate end [the totalitarian goals of each respective political movement], and utility in terms of that end is the measure of all values, even spiritual ones. Partisans of such religions will without any qualms of conscience make use of any means, however horrible, because nothing can prevents the means from being sanctified by the end. In other words, if the job of religion is to set out the lofty values that give human existence its direction, how can we deny that the political doctrines of our own day are essentially religious in character?" He then points out how these secular religions provide an interpretation of the world, the meaning or source of suffering, salvation and the hope of a future utopia, and the demand of sacrifice by commitment to the "movement."

Oddly enough, Harris also recognizes the religious character of certain totalitarian ideologies, although his comments suggest that his reasoning is self-serving: "Consider the millions of people who were killed by Stalin and Mao: although these tyrants paid lip service to rationality, communism was little more than a political religion. … Even though their beliefs did not reach beyond this world, they were both cultic and irrational" (79; emphasis added). Readers are apparently expected to take on good faith that Harris is not just paying lip service to rationality, but hates religion for perfectly rational, scientific reasons.

The point is that every "ism"—even atheism, materialism, and the "pragmatism" endorsed by Harris—plays riffs based on the same tunes since man moves to a religious beat; to further the metaphor, man has music within him and longs to know the composer. He is, in other words, a religious animal who thinks religious thoughts and has religious impulses. In the words of Chesterton:

Every man in the street must hold a metaphysical system, and hold it firmly. The possibility is that he may have held it so firmly and so long as to have forgotten all about its existence. This latter situation is certainly possible; in fact, it is the situation of the whole modern world. The modern world is filled with men who hold dogmas so strongly that they do not even know that they are dogmas. It may be said even that the modern world, as a corporate body, holds certain dogmas so strongly that it does not know that they are dogmas. (Heretics, [Ignatius, 1986], p. 205).

So, one of dogmas (either conscious or otherwise) of avowed secularists is that religion is unreasonable and almost inevitably produces evil. Another is that some form of pure secularism (often described using terms such as "education," "progressive thinking," "enlightenment," "sophisticated," "scientific," and so forth) is the much-needed answer to the problems that plague humanity.

But Chesterton is correct in observing that there "are two things, and two things only, for the human mind, a dogma and a prejudice" (What’s Wrong With the World [Ignatius, 1987], p. 48), and that doctrine "is a definite point," while prejudice is "a direction." Religion, especially orthodox Christianity, is despised because it is a definite and specific faith. Instead of vague platitudes about love, the Christian Faith speaks of specific suffering and a definite Cross. Instead of hazy affirmations of the goodness of man, Catholicism teaches a specific doctrine of sin and makes definite moral demands.

And instead of a general appeal to "just get along," the Church insists on specific sacrifices and definite choices between good and evil—and bluntly says that all of us are capable of evil, regardless of how non-religious our religion might pretend to be.
 
 
(Image credit: The Day)

First, allow me to start this short article with what might be deemed a startling confession: I am not a Catholic, nor am I even a Christian. In fact, I am a secular Muslim and an avid reader of philosophy and history with an unswerving commitment to the unmitigated truth no matter where it is even, nay especially, if it runs counter to commonly held beliefs.

I have spent the last few years researching the history of Christianity, especially the Catholic Church in the Middle Ages, and was shocked to discover that almost everything we had been taught about Catholicism was erroneous and apparently affected by anti-Catholic bias. In contradistinction to what most people both in the West and Middle East think, the Catholic Church and Church Fathers did not suppress science, reason, and knowledge. Quite the opposite, in many cases they even encouraged the acquisition of secular learning and the pursuit of science, and placed a high premium on man’s rational faculties. I was also astonished to discover that the “dark" Middle Ages were not intellectually barren after all. This period was not one of utter stagnation, superstition, or the persistent persecution of natural philosophers. In fact, the universities—where unhindered scholarly and intellectual debates were held—were founded in Europe during the High Middle Ages. In addition, 12^th- and 13^th-century Catholic scientists, who were committed both to their Christian faith and the scientific method, laid the groundwork for the Scientific Revolution. It is becoming more and more evident that this revolution, which began with the publication of Nicholas Copernicus' On the Revolutions of the Heavenly Spheres and Andreas Vesalius' On the Fabric of the Human Body, was not an abrupt outburst of creativity but a continuation of intellectual headway reached in previous centuries, namely the High Middle Ages. What is equally stunning is the importance medieval Catholic theologians and philosophers attached to human intellectual capacities, and their relentless pursuit to create a synthesis of reason and faith. In a nutshell, years of intensive research have made me respect and even admire the Catholic Church even though, as I have said earlier, I hail from a secular Arab family that has taught to investigate all issues without any pre-conceived dogma and to accept the truth even if it turns out to be incongruent with generally accepted views.

I feel utmost respect for the work of Catholic monks and monasteries in the Middle Ages. Their intellectual activities are one of the brightest chapters in the history of the Catholic Church. The monasteries played a positive role as centers of teaching, learning, and scholarship, and they can be aptly described as "proto-universities" (Trombley 58). These monasteries taught grammar, logic, rhetoric, and later mathematics, music, and astronomy, and they were "among the most important libraries in the history of Western thought” because they copied, transcribed, and stored valuable texts (58). While the Catholic Church is persistently accused of destroying classical or Greco-Roman culture, the fact is that the monasteries should be credited for "the careful preservation of the works of the classical world and of the Church Fathers, both of which are central to Western civilization" (Woods 42).

Christianity in general and the Catholic Church in particular could not have stifled or destroyed Classical learning because it emerged in a Greco-Roman environment and as a result it had to have assimilated Greek philosophical notions, such as Logos, synderesis, the idea of a rationally ordered and mechanical universe operating according to fixed and consistent laws, etc. This enabled Christianity to live in peace with Greek/pagan philosophy and rationalism—a crucial accomplishment that Orthodox Sunni Islam has unfortunately failed to make following the suppression of Mu’tazalite thinking (this topic in itself requires a long and thorough study).

Sometimes I wonder out loud: if the Catholic Church had indeed snuffed out the Classical tradition, as many scholars claim, then how come many early and medieval churchmen were conversant with Classical writings? Indeed, many monks and churchman commanded immense knowledge of classical texts, especially those by Virgil, Cicero, Pliny, Ovid, Horace, Plato, etc. These churchmen include, to name but a few, Alcuin (one of the architects of Emperor Charlemagne’s intellectual project), Lupus (805-862), Abbo of Fluery (950-1004), Desiderius (one of the greatest successors of St Benedict as the abbot of Monte Cassino and later served as Pope Victor III), Archbishop Alfano (a monk at Monte Cassino), Gerbert of Aurillac, Saint Hildebert (Woods 40-41). Clement of Alexandria (150-215), whom Pope Benedict XVI has described as "one of the pioneers of the dialogue between faith and reason in the Christian tradition" (16), stressed that the study of Greek philosophy was not only permissible but necessary for Christian believers (Kenny 95). In addition to viewing it as "instruction which prepared for Christian faith", Clement of Alexandria elevated Greek philosophy to the domain of revelation and compared it to the Old Testament (Pope Benedict XVI 18). In fact, God had given philosophy to the Greeks so as to ensure humanity had reached intellectual maturity by the time of Christ's arrival (Kenny 95). Justin Martyr (100 – 165) held the Greek philosophical tradition in high regard as well, viewing it as a legitimate property of Christians. Both the Old Testament and Greek philosophy are two paths leading to Christ and therefore there can no contradiction between Greek philosophical ideas and the gospels (Pope Benedict XVI 9-10).

To go back to the valuable monastic activities I was discussing, I would add that in addition to copying and preserving texts, the monks, especially Cistercian ones, were known for their technological sophistication and ingenuity. They used waterpower for all kinds of activities (including crushing wheat and tanning), demonstrated knowledge in metallurgy, and devised sophisticated clocks. In 996, Gerbert of Aurillac, later known as Pope Sylvester II, is believed to have built the first clock for the German town of Magdeburg. For his part, the Benedictine abbot Richard of Wallingford designed in the 14th century an astronomical clock, the most sophisticated one for the next two centuries. Monks also engaged in manual activities that brought benefits for their human surroundings. For example, they cultivated lands, drained swamps, cleared (and at other times preserved) forests, planted trees and vineyards, bred and reared animals, and introduced new crops, etc. They also produced wine, beer, champagne, and cheese, and stored up water for distribution in times of draught. They taught irrigation to peasants in places like Lombardy, and "were the first to work toward improving cattle breeds, rather than leaving the process to chance" (Woods 31).

The Middle Ages "offered some important antecedents to the Italian Renaissance," including the Carolingian Renaissance of the 8th and 9th centuries; the 10th-century Ottonian Renaissance, and 12th-, 13th- century Renaissance (Trombley 85-86). One of the important intellectual figures of the Carolingian Renaissance is the Irish Neo-Platonist John Scotus Erigena (810-877) whom I admire very much. Erigena was well-versed in Greek and conversant with the writings of both Western and Eastern theologians, especially St. Augustine, Maximus the Confessor, and Denys the Areopagite. Erigena translated the writings of Denys the Areopagite into Latin, thus enabling later medieval theologians, such as St. Bonaventure, to become familiar with the Greek philosopher’s work.

What is truly remarkable about Erigena is the high status he accorded reason. He stressed the harmony between faith and reason because of their common source, namely God, and encouraged its use to shed light on the Scriptures and the writings of Church Fathers. In fact, he seems to have seen reason as an arbiter of the validity of any authority including sacred one: "Any type of authority that is not confirmed by true reason must be considered weak...Indeed, there is no true authority other than that which coincides with the truth, discovered by virtue of reason, even should one be dealing with an authority recommended and handed down for the use of the successors of the Holy Fathers" (Pope Benedict XVI 187). He adds: "Let no authority intimidate you or distract you from what makes you understand the conviction obtained through correct rational contemplation. Indeed, authentic authority never contradicts right reason, nor can the latter ever contradict a true authority. The one and the other both come indisputably from the same source, which is divine wisdom" (187). Commenting on these brilliant passages, Pope Benedict says: "We see here a brave affirmation of the value of reason, founded on the certainty that the true authority is reasonable, because God is creative reason" (187). Erigena’s emphasis on the harmony between faith and reason anticipates the philosophy of 11th-, 12^th-, and 13^th-century theologians such as Saint Anselm, Thomas Aquinas, Peter Abelard, and others.

I need to say a few words about Gerbert of Aurrillac whom I mentioned earlier as the maker of a sophisticated clock. He is one of the key figures of the Ottonian Renaissance and the most erudite scholar in Europe at the time. His encyclopedic knowledge spanned a broad range of topics, including mathematics, astronomy, philosophy, logic, Latin literature, music, and theology. He secured his place in the history of the scientific development of the West by introducing the abacus or counting board and the Hindu-Arabic numerals (Huff, The Rise of Early Modern Science 50). He also is credited for being "the scholar who first brought Arabic science to the West," as he spent three years in Spain where he may have acquired knowledge of Arabic scientific work, and "traces of Arabic influence" are manifested in his astronomical and mathematical texts (Zuccato 192-93). Two years before becoming a pope, Gerbert received a letter from the German Emperor Otto III requesting his services and pleading with the great scholar to educate him and explain a book of arithmetic. Gerbert complied with the request, and stressed to the emperor that the Holy Roman Empire had a legitimate right to claim Greek and Roman wisdom as its own (Woods 23).

Like Erigena before him and many church figures after him, Gerbert of Aurrillac underlined the need to combine faith with learning, knowledge, and science. He is reported to have said that "[t]he just man lives by faith, but it is good that he should combine science with faith" and that “[t]he Divinity made a great gift to men in giving them faith while not denying them knowledge," adding that "those who do not possess it [knowledge] are called fools" (23). It is this profound commitment to reason that has made me admire Catholic philosophers and theologians.

Another Christian scholar and philosopher who has commanded my respect is Saint Anselm (1033-1109), the Archbishop of Canterbury. Anselm has been described as "the father of the Scholastic tradition" (Stokes 48) and "the most important philosopher of the eleventh century" (Kenny 119). His balanced commitment to faith and reason is evident in a saying attributed to him: "It seems to me a case of negligence if after becoming firm in our faith, we do not strive to understand what we believe" (Watson 330). Rather than accept God’s existence purely on the basis of faith, Anselm sought to devise rational arguments for the existence of God, one of which is known as the Ontological Argument. He also came up with a rational argument for the Christian doctrine of Incarnation. Like Aquinas after him, Anselm saw reason as a legitimate tool for defending and justifying the faith.

Anselm's basic definition of God, which he says both the believer and non-believer would agree on, is the foundation upon which he constructs his ontological proof. He defines God as "a being than which nothing greater can be thought." God is a perfect being and the greatest entity imaginable or conceivable. It follows that such a being has to exist because existence is a necessary attribute of perfection. If God didn't exist, He would not be perfect and this would contradict the premise of the argument. Something that exists is surely greater than that which does not. If God is the greatest entity possible then He must exist because otherwise He wouldn't be. In other words, "the existence of God would seem to follow necessarily from the definition. For it would be a contradiction to suppose that God is on the one hand something than which nothing greater can be thought of and on the other hand does not exist" (Stokes 49).

Anselm's argument drew a response from a Benedictine monk called Gaunilo who claimed that one could conceive of the greatest island imaginable and, if Anselm's reasoning were correct, it would follow that the existence of such an island is necessary because otherwise it would not be the greatest island imaginable. Gaunilo charged that Anselm's argument "licenses the existence of all sorts of imaginary objects and must therefore be faulty" (49). Anselm responded by saying that his definition only applies to God and therefore it cannot be used in relation to other beings or objects. The exchange or debate between Anselm and Gaunilo suggested that nothing lay outside the realm of intellectual inquiry including the issue of God's existence; it "assumed that one could talk about God in terms that were 'reasonable', that God could be treated like anything else..." (Watson 368).

Anselm also set out to justify the Incarnation or the central Christian idea that God became incarnate in man. Adam's original sin was an offense against God and the scale of atonement had to be congruent with the severity of the offense. Man as a finite being could not by dint of his own efforts expiate the infinite sin against God and therefore needed divine assistance or intervention. Kenny explains: "Satisfaction can only be adequate if it is made by one who is human (and therefore heir of Adam) and one who is divine (and can therefore make infinite recompense). Hence the incarnation of God is necessary if original sin is to be wiped out and the human race is to be redeemed" (121).

No essay on the rational tradition of the Catholic Church and the place of reason in the West can skip the thought of Dominican theologian and philosopher Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274). His importance lies in the bold attempt to stand up to the challenges Aristotelian thought supposedly posed to Christianity (especially the idea of an eternal universe) and to dispel the fears Aristotle's philosophy had instilled in some ecclesiastical quarters. Aquinas sought to reconcile reason and faith, Christianity and Aristotle, thus incorporating Aristotelian elements into Christian theology. Not only did Aquinas establish common ground between Christianity and Aristotle, but he also found Aristotelian logic a useful tool for defending the Christian doctrine. Like his teacher Albertus Magnus, Aquinas admired Aristotle, seeing that the Greek master's philosophy was "the greatest achievement of human reason to be produced without the benefit of Christian inspiration" (Watson 330).

Like many theologians of his time, Aquinas advocated the unfettered and free pursuit of knowledge. It is incumbent on human beings to pursue knowledge wherever it leads because it reveals God's design and enhances man's knowledge of Him (331). There are only three truths that must be accepted because they cannot be proved rationally: the creation of the universe, the Trinity, and Jesus' role in our salvation (370). Any other truth, however, should not just be accepted, but it has to be demonstrated and proved by reason. Osborne argues that Aquinas sought "to reinstate reason as a legitimate and worthy element in human nature" (220). The conclusions reached by human reason can never contradict or clash with the Christian doctrine because they both emanate from the same source, God.

This Dominican philosopher also revived the ancient Greek idea that the universe is imbued with order and purpose and that man is a rational creature. God is a rational and just creator who laid down the rational order of the universe and bestowed reason on man. Explaining Aquinas' thought, Osborne says: "Since both order in the universe and reason in the human mind were deliberate creations of God, it was a legitimate enterprise, indeed a Christian duty, to use the gift of reason to explore the meaning of God's creation" (221).

As evidence of his commitment to reason, Aquinas tried to prove God's existence through rational arguments unaided by revelation, known as the Five Ways (the last of which, the teleological argument, best demonstrates Aristotle's influence). Stokes has described the Five Ways, which appeared in the voluminous work Summa Theologica, as "the clearest and most succinct attempt to prove the existence of God by means of logical argument" (51). These five proofs show that Aquinas viewed reason as a legitimate tool for proving what is arguably the most important article of faith.

In addition to Aquinas, Peter Abelard (1079-1142) is considered one of the icons of rational Christian thought and one of the masters of logic. Huff opines that "it is virtually impossible to pick up any major work on the renaissance of the twelfth century dealing with law, logic, ethics, philosophy, reason, and conscience, as well as the founding of the universities, that does not give a major (and positive) role to the teachings and writings of Abelard" (140). Abelard is primarily remembered for formulating dialectical logic aimed at solving or reconciling what he saw as contradictions in Biblical passages and statements by religious authorities. The dialectical method consists of the following parts: (1) a questio presenting the contradictory passages in a text (2) a propositio spelling out reasons and arguments in support of one position (3) an oppositio stating reasons and arguments in favor of the contrary view (4) a solutio or conclusio resolves the conflict between the propositio and the oppositio (128). Abelard also emphasized the unity of truth and the harmony of its diverse manifestations, saying: "Truth cannot be opposed to truth" (141). His commitment to reason and logic did not in any way detract from his faith as evident in his famous assertion: "I do not wish to be a philosopher if it means conflicting with Paul nor to be an Aristotelian if it cuts me off from Christ" (141).

The Unprecedented Translation Activity

Those who still insist on calling the Middle Ages a “dark” period in the history of Europe choose to ignore the magnificent translation activity in Spain following the expulsion of the Muslim occupiers. There is no doubt that medieval Muslims, with the assistance of Nestorian Christian scholars (such as Hunayn Ibn Ishaq, his son Ishaq, and nephew Hubyash, in addition to Abu-Bishr Matta Ibn Yunus, Yahya ibn Adi' the Logician, Isa ibn Zur'a, and many others), had preserved Greek texts that had been lost in the West as a result of the Barbarian invasions and disintegration of the Western Roman Empire. Also, many Muslim scholars such as Ibn al-Haytham (a pioneer of the scientific experimental method), Kamal al-Din al-Farisi, Ibn Sina, Al-Razi, Nasir al-Din al-Tusi, Ibn al-Rushd, and others had produced excellent scientific and philosophical works. Following the liberation of some Spanish territories, Latin scholars flocked to these areas and collaborated with Spanish Christians (known as Mozarabics, those Christians who adopted Arabic culture) and Jews, producing translations of Arabic and Greek texts. In most cases, the Jewish and Christian scholars translated the Arabic texts into Spanish and their Western counterparts in turn translated them into Latin (Watson 279-80). This fruitful cooperation resulted in the translation of Ibn al-Haytham's Optics, the algebra of Al-Khwarizmi, Euclid's Elements, the medical writings of Ibn Sina (Canon), Galen, and Hippocrates, as well as Ptolemy's Almagest (Huff 181). This "unprecedented translation activity" or “monumental translation feat" eventually brought the corpus of Aristotle and his commentators, as well as other Greek and Arabic works, into Europe "in scarcely a hundred years" (180).

In Barcelona, Italian mathematician and astronomer Plato of Tivoli collaborated with Savasorda (a Jewish mathematician, astronomer and philosopher) in translating Arabic texts on astrology and astronomy (Watson 279). The center of translation was Toledo, where Archbishop Raymond spearheaded a major translation activity. Examples of productive cooperation between Latin and Iberian scholars include Gerard of Cremona and Gallipus (Ghaleb); as well as Dominicus Gundisalvi and the Jew Avendeath, also known as Ibn Dawwud. Two Englishmen, Adelard of Bath and Robert of Chester played a key role in this activity as well, as the former translated Euclid and Al-Khawarizmi while the latter is "notable for producing the first Latin version of the Qur'an and the first translation of Al-Khawarizmi's algebra" (280). As a result of this translation activity, “by the close of the 13th century, the bulk of Arabic (and therefore Greek) science had been transmitted to Europe” (280). From the Iberian Peninsula, this knowledge passed into southern French towns and from there to Liege (among other places) and on to Germany and England (280).

The 12^th- and 13^th-century Renaissance

This translation activity had the ultimate effect of sparking or igniting what is known as the 12^th- and 13^th-century Renaissance, which included brilliant Catholic scholars and scientists, such as Thomas Aquinas, Albertus Magnus, Robert Grosseteste, Jean Buridan, William of Conches, Thierry of Chartres, Peter Abelard, High of Saint Victor, Thomas Bradwardine, Witelo, and many others.

What characterizes their thought is (1) the idea that the universe is a rationally structured sphere or machine that operates according to consistent, intelligible, and discernable patterns. In other words, there is regularity, order, harmony, and purpose in nature. God is the ultimate or primary cause, but there are secondary causes independent of God that man is capable of discovering and understanding. The laws of nature operate independently of God and on the basis of cause and effect (natural causality). God is a loving, rational, and beautiful creator who does not interfere with the laws He has laid down. In fact, it would be inconsistent with His nature to tamper with these laws or to create randomness and arbitrariness in the cosmos.

Hugh of Saint Victor, for example, perceived orderliness and unity in the universe where all parts are somehow interconnected: "The ordered disposition of things from top to bottom in the network of this universe...is so arranged that, among all the things that exist, nothing is unconnected or separated by nature, or external" (Huff 99-100). He espoused a mechanistic view of the visible universe: "As there are two works, the work of creation and the work of restoration, so there are two worlds, visible and invisible. The visible world is this machine, this universe, that we see with our bodily eyes" (100). For his part, Adelard of Bath hailed the "amazing rational beauty of the universe" (Woods 87) while Thierry of Chartres (d. 1150) asserted that "the world would seem to have causes for its existence, and also to have come into existence in a predictable sequence of time. This existence and this order can be shown to be rational" (Huff 100).

(2) God has endowed man with rational faculties, and as a rational creature, man has the ability to decipher the laws of nature and to unravel the mysteries of the universe. Adelard of Bath said that “[i]t is through reason that we are men,” adding: "Although man is not armed by nature nor is he the swiftest in flight, yet he has that which is better by far and worth more -- that is, reason. For by possession of this function he exceeds the beasts to such a degree that he subdues them...You see, therefore, how much the gift of reason surpasses mere physical equipment" (102).

Man also possesses an innate moral faculty or agency that allows him to reach moral truths, solve moral dilemmas, and distinguish between good and evil unaided by revelation (106-108). Furthermore, man has the rational capacity to understand the scriptures and to decipher their mysteries without the aid of revelation (102).

The Catholic view of a rationally ordered universe shot through with purpose and of man as a reasonable creature capable of predicting nature’s operations encouraged medieval Europeans to engage in scientific activities and paved the way for the Scientific Revolution.

It is also noteworthy that this mechanistic view of the universe leaves little room for miracles. In contrast to the skewed belief that Catholicism is riddled with nothing but superstitious beliefs and myths completely detached from reality, here we have Catholic philosophers who seem to believe that miracles are not a norm or a regular occurrence, but a departure from the fixed laws of nature. Miracles do happen, but only against the backdrop of regularity and order. For example, Adelard of Bath charged that "we must listen to the very limits of human knowledge and only when this utterly breaks down should we refer things to God" (87). On the interpretation of Scripture, Andrew of St. Victor argued that the interpreter "should realize this: in expounding Scripture, when the event described admits of no naturalistic explanation, then and only then should we have recourse to miracles" (Huff, “Science and Metaphysics in the Three Religions of the Book” 189).

(3) a strong commitment to doubt, rationalism, and the unhindered, unfettered search for knowledge, learning, and the "truth": Hugh of Saint Victor encouraged his students to “learn everything” because “later you’ll see that nothing is superfluous” (Watson, 330). He is reported to have also said: “Learn willingly what you do not know from everyone. The person who has sought to learn something from everyone will be wiser than them all. The person who receives something from everyone ends by becoming the richest of all" (Pope Benedict XVI 220). Peter of Poitiers, chancellor of the University of Paris, went as far as saying that "although certainty exists, nonetheless it is our duty to doubt the articles of faith, and to seek, and discuss" (Watson 367). The great logician Peter Abelard said the search for the “truth” is founded on doubt: “We seek through doubt and by seeking we perceive the truth" (366). John of Salisbury, bishop of Chartres, saw reason as central to understanding and knowledge: “It was the mind, which by means of the ratio, went beyond the experience of the senses and made it intelligible, then, by means of the intellectus, related things to their divine cause and comprehended the order of creation, and ultimately arrived at true knowledge, sapentia” (367).

(4) the harmony between the truths of revelation and truths of reason, as both reason and faith originate from the same source, God.

(5) experimentation and observation as the basis for investigating the physical world: Roger Bacon, Albertus Magnus, and Robert Grosseteste can be seen as the precursors or forerunners of the scientific method in the West. These three scientists/priests embraced an empirical or experimental method that prioritized empirical data over theory. Bacon stressed that "the strongest argument proves nothing, so long as its conclusions are not verified by experience" (Woods 94). He added: "Without experiment, nothing can be adequately known. An argument proves theoretically, but does not give the credence necessary to remove all doubt; nor will the mind repose in the clear view of the truth, unless it finds it by way of experiment” (94). Echoing the same sentiments, Albertus Magnus said the aim of natural philosophy or science is "not simply to accept the statements of others, that is, what is narrated by people, but to investigate the causes that are at work in nature for themselves" (95). In science "only experience provides certainty" (Watson 369).

For the sake of intellectual accuracy, I would have to add that the three Christian scientists/theologians mentioned above were influenced by the Islamic medieval tradition of scientific experimentation and observation. Huff points out that "the scientific world of Islam was rich in experimental ideas...in optics, astronomy, and medicine" (218). Ibn al-Haytham and his successor Kamal al-Din al-Farisi performed experiments in optics while .Avicenna's Canon, which held sway over the medical field in Europe for centuries, laid down rules for testing drugs. Al-Razi refused to accept statements that had not been validated or verified by experiments and observations (216-18).

The experimental method of both Catholic and Muslim scientists stands in contrast with the predominantly theoretical, contemplative, and abstract approach of ancient Greek and Hellenistic scientists. Greek science was founded on all-embracing or overarching theories, and instances that challenged these theories were either brushed aside or forced to somehow conform with these theories. One medical theory, which "would bedevil the practice of medicine for more than two millennia" (Kriwaczek 199), claimed that illness was a result of the imbalance of the four bodily humors: blood, black bile, yellow bile, and phlegm. Aristotle had argued that an object twice as heavy as another object would fall twice as fast if both objects were dropped from the same height. This statement remained unchallenged for centuries even though a simple experiment would have proved him wrong. Though Aristotle collected empirical data for his studies on biology, he "persisted in believing that natural philosophy could be based on purely rational, as opposed to strictly empirical, investigation" (Woods 81). In The Republic, Plato was even more committed to the theoretical and abstract approach than Aristotle: "We shall approach astronomy, as we do geometry, by way of problems, and ignore what is in the sky, if we intend to get a real grasp of astronomy" (Freeman xvii). This Greek attitude to science may have been influenced by Plato's idea of the Forms, namely that sense perceptions do not convey reality and could only lead to opinion; what we see with our eyes are mere shadows or images of their ideal forms which can only be accessed through contemplation or reflection rather than observation.

Aristotle also made a distinction between two types of knowledge: "techne" and "episteme.” Techne is knowledge of recurring natural patterns or knowledge derived from experience, such as that the sun rises every day, clouds produce rain, etc. Aristotle defined episteme as knowledge that comes from the application of reason and the search for causes (knowledge of the "why" or "how" of things; knowledge of causes; how/why clouds produce rain, why the sun rises every day, etc). In the Greco-Roman world, scholars pursued the acquisition of episteme knowledge rather than techne (Osborne 285-6).

The Establishment of Universities

The establishment of universities in Europe during the Middle Ages is sufficient to debunk the myth of the “Dark Ages.” The first European universities were set up in Bologna (1088), Paris (1090), and Oxford (1096). Subsequently, a spate of other universities cropped up, especially in European cities such as Montpellier, Salamanca, and Cambridge. Certain universities were famous for their instruction in particular subjects: the University of Salerno was famous for its medical studies; Paris for theology and logic; Bologna for civil and canon law (Irnerius and Gratian taught there); and Oxford for mathematics and the natural sciences.

What is striking about these institutions of learning is that they incorporated into their curricula the natural sciences and the newly discovered texts of the Greek ancients and Arabs, especially Aristotle, Ibn al-Haytham, Euclid, Ptolmey, and others. Science was deeply embedded in medieval university education, and that is why Huff goes as far as saying that the medieval universities laid "the foundations for the study of modern science" (180). In other words, the study of science underwent a process of institutionalization during the High Middle Ages, thus enabling its dissemination. What is also interesting is that European universities were legally autonomous entities that provided their students and masters with legal protection and intellectual freedom to pursue their studies undisturbed. They created a protected and autonomous sphere where scholars could freely engage in intellectual and scientific inquiries. As corporate entities, the universities enjoyed several rights and privileges, such as legal autonomy from the church and secular rulers and the right to legislate their own laws and to run their own affairs without outside interference. University scholars enjoyed several privileges and prerogatives, such as exemption from civil duties, local taxes, and the jurisdiction of the town in which the university was located. They also enjoyed protection from the potential rage of the masses (Huff 234).

What struck me the most, however, is that the papacy in many cases played a key role in the establishment of universities and in providing a free academic environment. By the time of the Reformation, 81 universities had already been set up, 33 of which had received papal charters and 20 had obtained both imperial and papal ones (Woods 48). In 1254, Pope Innocent IV conferred upon the University of Oxford the privilege to award degrees without papal, imperial, or royal intervention. Pope Gregory IX issued in 1233 a document entitling students with a master's degree to teach anywhere in the world, thereby "encouraging the dissemination of knowledge and fostering the idea of an international scholarly community" (49). Two years earlier, this same pope issued a bull protecting the legal and academic autonomy of the University of Paris and giving students and teachers the right to go on strike if their rights were infringed upon. Pope Honorius III acted similarly when he interfered to protect the autonomy and independence of the scholars at the University of Bologna. In other cases, popes protected university students from the rage and abuse of the local townspeople by granting them the benefit of clergy. This meant that they had the right to have their cases heard in ecclesiastical rather than secular courts. Popes like Boniface VIII, Clement V, Clement VI, and Gregory IX are recoded to have intervened to pressure the universities into paying the salaries of the professors (48-51). Pope Innocent IV hailed the universities as "rivers of science which water and make fertile the soil of the universal Church" while Pope Alexander IV (1254-1261) described this institution as "lanterns shinning in the house of God" (65).

It is worth pointing out that the Catholic Church’s sponsorship of scientific activities persisted well after the Middle Ages and many Catholic priests continued making significant and often trailblazing scientific contributions. For example, Nicolas Steno (1638–1686) is considered the father of geology; Athanasius Kircher (1602–1680) the father of Egyptology; Roger Boscovich (1711 –1787) the father of atomic theory; Gregor Mendel (1822 –1884), the founder of the modern science of genetics; and Francesco Lana-Terzi (1631–1687), the father of aviation. Giovanni Battista Riccioli (1598 –1671) is credited with computing the acceleration of falling bodies while Francesco Maria Grimaldi (1618 –1663) discovered the diffraction of light and measured the height of lunar mountains and clouds. Father Nicolas Zucchi is considered the inventor of the reflecting telescope and Father J.B. Macelwane (1883–1956) introduced the first textbook on Seismology in America. All this valuable information is taken from Woods’ highly informative and well-researched book, How the Catholic Church Built Western Civilization.

I have not written this essay to whitewash Catholic history. Nor am I claiming that the Catholic Church has been nothing but infallible or that its record has been immaculate. My aim was to express admiration for the prodigious achievements that Catholicism and the Catholic Church deserve credit for—credit that is not often given to it due to deep-seated bias and firmly established myths.

Works Cited

Freeman, Charles. The Closing of the Western Mind: The Rise of Faith and the Fall of Reason. New York: Vintage Books, 2002. Print.

Huff, Toby. The Rise of Early Modern Science: Islam, China and the West. 2nd edition. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Print.

_________. 2000. “Science and Metaphysics in the Three Religions of the Book.” Intellectual Discourse 8, no. 2: 173-98. Print.

Kenny, Anthony. A Brief History of Western Philosophy. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1998. Print.

Kriwaczek, Paul. Babylon, Mesopotamia and the Birth of Civilization. London: Atlantic Books, 2010. Print.

Osborne, Roger. Civilization: A New History of the Western World. New York: Pegasus Books, 2006. Print.

Pope Benedict XIV. Great Christian Thinkers: From The Early Church Through The Middle Ages. London: Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge, 2011. Print.

Stokes, Phillip. Philosophy: 100 Essential Thinkers. New York: Enchanted Lion Books, 2005. Print.

Trombley, Stephen. A Short History of Western Thought. London: Atlantic Books, 2011. Print.

Watson, Peter. Ideas: A History of Thought and Invention, From Fire to Freud. New York: Harper Perennial, 2005. Print.

Woods E. Thomas. How the Catholic Church Built Western Civilization. Washington: Regnery History, 2012. Print.

Zuccato, Marco. "Gerbert of Aurillac." Medieval Science, Technology, and Medicine: An Encyclopedia. Ed. Thomas F. Glick, Steven Livesey, Faith Wallis. New York: Routledge, 2005. 192-94. Print.

 
 
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