The experimental method had already been practically initiated: Albert of Bollstadt and Roger Bacon had begun their work in accordance with its methods; but St. Thomas gave all his thoughts to bringing science again under the sway of theological methods and ecclesiastical control. In his commentary on Aristotle's treatise upon Heaven and Earth he gave to the world a striking example of what his method could produce, illustrating all the evils which arise in combining theological reasoning and literal interpretation of Scripture with scientific facts; and this work remains to this day a monument of scientific genius perverted by theology.(272)
(272) For citations showing this subordination of science to theology,
see Eicken, chap. vi.
The ecclesiastical power of the time hailed him as a deliverer, it was claimed that miracles were vouchsafed, proving that the blessing of Heaven rested upon his labours, and among the legends embodying this claim is that given by the Bollandists and immortalized by a renowned painter. The great philosopher and saint is represented in the habit of his order, with book and pen in hand, kneeling before the image of Christ crucified, and as he kneels the image thus addresses him: "Thomas, thou hast written well concerning me; what price wilt thou receive for thy labour?" The myth-making faculty of the people at large was also brought into play. According to a widespread and circumstantial legend, Albert, by magical means, created an android—an artificial man, living, speaking, and answering all questions with such subtlety that St. Thomas, unable to answer its reasoning, broke it to pieces with his staff.
Historians of the Roman Church like Rohrbacher, and historians of science like Pouchet, have found it convenient to propitiate the Church by dilating upon the glories of St. Thomas Aquinas in thus making an alliance between religious and scientific thought, and laying the foundations for a "sanctified science"; but the unprejudiced historian can not indulge in this enthusiastic view: the results both for the Church and for science have been most unfortunate. It was a wretched delay in the evolution of fruitful thought, for the first result of this great man's great compromise was to close for ages that path in science which above all others leads to discoveries of value—the experimental method—and to reopen that old path of mixed theology and science which, as Hallam declares, "after three or four hundred years had not untied a single knot or added one unequivocal truth to the domain of philosophy"—the path which, as all modern history proves, has ever since led only to delusion and evil.(273)
(273) For the work of Aquinas, see his Liber de Caelo et Mundo, section
xx; also Life and Labours of St. Thomas of Aquin, by Archbishop Vaughn,
pp. 459 et seq. For his labours in natural science, see Hoefer, Histoire
de la Chimie, Paris, 1843, vol. i, p. 381. For theological views of
science in the Middle Ages, and rejoicing thereat, see Pouchet, Hist.
des Sci. Nat. au Moyen Age, ubi supra. Pouchet says: " En general au
milieu du moyen age les sciences sont essentiellement chretiennes,
leur but est tout-a-fait religieux, et elles sembent beaucoup moins
s'inquieter de l'avancement intellectuel de l'homme que de son salut
eternel." Pouchet calls this "conciliation" into a "harmonieux ensemble"
"la plus glorieuse des conquetes intellectuelles du moyen age." Pouchet
belongs to Rouen, and the shadow of the Rouen Cathedral seems thrown
over all his history. See, also, l'Abbe Rohrbacher, Hist. de l'Eglise
Catholique, Paris, 1858, vol. xviii, pp. 421 et seq. The abbe dilates
upon the fact that "the Church organizes the agreement of all the
sciences by the labours of St. Thomas of Aquin and his contemporaries."
For the complete subordination of science to theology by St. Thomas, see
Eicken, chap. vi. For the theological character of science in the
Middle Ages, recognised by a Protestant philosophic historian, see the
well-known passage in Guizot, History of Civilization in Europe; and
by a noted Protestant ecclesiatic, see Bishop Hampden's Life of Thomas
Aquinas, chaps. xxxvi, xxxvii; see also Hallam, Middle Ages, chap. ix.
For dealings of Pope John XXII, of the Kings of France and England, and
of the Republic of Venice, see Figuier, L'Alchimie et la Alchimistes,
pp. 140, 141, where, in a note, the text of the bull Spondet paritur is
given. For popular legends regarding Albert and St. Thomas, see Eliphas
Levi, Hist. de la Magie, liv. iv, chap. iv.
The theological path thus opened by these strong men became the main path for science during ages, and it led the world ever further and further from any fruitful fact or useful method. Roger Bacon's investigations already begun were discredited: worthless mixtures of scriptural legends with imperfectly authenticated physical facts took their place. Thus it was that for twelve hundred years the minds in control of Europe regarded all real science as FUTILE, and diverted the great current of earnest thought into theology.
The next stage in this evolution was the development of an idea which acted with great force throughout the Middle Ages—the idea that science is DANGEROUS. This belief was also of very ancient origin. From the time when the Egyptian magicians made their tremendous threat that unless their demands were granted they would reach out to the four corners of the earth, pull down the pillars of heaven, wreck the abodes of the gods above and crush those of men below, fear of these representatives of science is evident in the ancient world.
But differences in the character of magic were recognised, some sorts being considered useful and some baleful. Of the former was magic used in curing diseases, in determining times auspicious for enterprises, and even in contributing to amusement; of the latter was magic used to bring disease and death on men and animals or tempests upon the growing crops. Hence gradually arose a general distinction between white magic, which dealt openly with the more beneficent means of nature, and black magic, which dealt secretly with occult, malignant powers.
Down to the Christian era the fear of magic rarely led to any persecution very systematic or very cruel. While in Greece and Rome laws were at times enacted against magicians, they were only occasionally enforced with rigour, and finally, toward the end of the pagan empire, the feeling against them seemed dying out altogether. As to its more kindly phases, men like Marcus Aurelius and Julian did not hesitate to consult those who claimed to foretell the future. As to black magic, it seemed hardly worth while to enact severe laws, when charms, amulets, and even gestures could thwart its worst machinations.
Moreover, under the old empire a real science was coming in, and thought was progressing. Both the theory and practice of magic were more and more held up to ridicule. Even as early a writer as Ennius ridiculed the idea that magicians, who were generally poor and hungry themselves, could bestow wealth on others; Pliny, in his Natural Philosophy, showed at great length their absurdities and cheatery; others followed in the same line of thought, and the whole theory, except among the very lowest classes, seemed dying out.