From the third to the ninth century the ideal of asceticism absorbed a great part of the moral enthusiasm of Christendom. During the later part of this period, however, as we have noted, there was growing up alongside the ascetic ideal another of a very different character—the martial ideal of knighthood. In the present chapter we shall first make a brief survey of the various causes that gave this new trend to the moral feelings and convictions of the age, and then shall glance at some of the more important historical outcomes of the vast enthusiasm evoked by this new ideal of character.
The ideal of knighthood, a product in the main of feudalism, grew up outside the Church, and only later was recognized by ecclesiastical authority and approved as compatible with the ethical spirit of Christianity. Had not the ideal been thus approved by ecclesiastical authority, and advantage taken of the enthusiasm it evoked to promote through it the cause of the Church, it would never have become the significant force it did in European history. Therefore we must first inquire what were the influences that engendered a military spirit in the Church and led it to approve the martial ideal of the knight and give the consecration of religion to the institution of chivalry which was its embodiment.
If at the advent of Christianity one reflecting upon the genius of the new religion and the teachings of its Founder had ventured to forecast the influence of the new faith upon the different departments of morality, he would almost certainly have predicted that this influence would be felt most decisively upon the ethics of war. The attitude assumed by the early Christians toward the military life would have justified this forecast, for Christianity brought into the world the new principle of nonresistance.672 This teaching made the primitive Christian community almost a Quaker body; but barely three centuries had passed before this religion which had entered the world as a gospel of peace and good will had become a martial creed and its emblem been made a battle standard.
The causes that produced this amazing transformation in the Christian Church were various and so interrelated as to make it difficult to determine just what influence was exercised by each. Yet it is possible to note the character of the different agencies at work, and to form at least some general idea of the way in which the transformation was wrought.
First, there was the inheritance from the past. War had always been one of the leading occupations of men. It had scarcely ever occurred to any one to question its legitimacy. It was looked upon as a part of the constitution of things. The ideas, feelings, habits, engendered by its practice through uncounted millenniums of history had become ingrained in every tissue and fiber of man’s being. Set in the midst of the world, the Church yielded to the influence of this baneful pagan heritage. It incorporated with its own moral code, wholly alien to the essential spirit of Christianity as these elements were, the war ethics of the pre-Christian world, and thus made this pagan international morality a permanent part of Christian ethics.673 It will be instructive for us to follow somewhat closely this reaction upon the ethics of the Church, first of the war code of the civilized world of the south, and then later of the war spirit of the barbarian world of the north.
The early Fathers of the Church in general condemned the military service as incompatible with the Christian life.674 Not till the second century of the Empire do we find any record of Christian soldiers serving in the Roman armies. By this time the early rule of the Church forbidding a member to serve in the army had become relaxed; but members of the Christian body who entered the Roman legions were required to undertake a prescribed penance and to seek absolution before partaking of the Eucharist. By the time of Diocletian Christians appear to have entered with little or no scruple upon the military life.675 A significant waymark of this gradual transformation is the great victory won by the Emperor Constantine over his rival Maxentius at the battle of Milvian Bridge, 312 A.D. Upon that field the soldiers of Constantine fought beneath the Labarum, a standard which bore as an emblem the Christian cross. The fortunate issue of the battle for Constantine seems to have greatly confirmed the feeling in the Christian community as to the legitimacy of war. The Church conformed more and more positively its teachings and discipline to the requirements of the military service. Saints Augustine (354–430 A.D.) and Ambrose (340–397 A.D.), in opposition to most of the earlier Fathers, were open apologists and defenders of war and of the military life.
Thus during the very period when the Church was putting under its ban the cruel and sanguinary amusements of the Romans by the suppression of the gladiatorial games,676 and thus lifting domestic morality to a new and higher plane, through a strange inconsistency it was first condoning and then finally consecrating the international pagan war system of which these sports were only a mild imitation.
After the fifth century the influence upon the ethics of the Church of the war system of the civilized world of the south was reënforced by the martial spirit of the barbarian world of the north. That world was now, largely through the missions of the monastic Church, being rapidly brought within the pale of Christianity. But all these northern peoples were the very incarnation of the war spirit. Their favorite deities were gods who delighted in battle and bloodshed. Fighters these men were, and fighters they remained even after conversion and baptism. The mingling of moralities which followed their conversion is well illustrated by the passionate outburst of the Frankish chieftain Clovis as he listened to the story of the Crucifixion: “Oh,” he exclaimed, “if only I could have been there with my trusty warriors!” The soul of Clovis lived on in his race. Four centuries later these Frankish warriors, as knight crusaders, were on the spot of the Crucifixion, redeeming with lance and sword the tomb of the slain Christ from the hands of infidels. It was this ineradicable war spirit of the northern barbarians to which was due, perhaps more than to any other agency, the infusion of a military spirit into that church of which the Founder was the Prince of Peace.
Among the customs of the early Germans there was one which had such a positive influence upon the evolution we are tracing in Church morality that we must here make special note of it. This was the ordeal by fire, by water, or by wager of battle to determine the guilt or innocence of an accused person. The prominent place held by this institution among savage or semicivilized peoples is familiar to the student of primitive society. Now the German folk brought with them this institution, and with it the belief which made the ordeal, and particularly the ordeal by combat, a solemn judicial matter in which God rendered decision and gave victory to the one whose cause was just. This barbarian conception of the wager of battle between individuals became incorporated with the common body of Christian ideas and beliefs. The same manner of thinking was perforce applied to war. A conflict between great armies was conceived as a wager of battle in which God gave victory to the right. Thus was war consecrated and made an agency whereby God executes judgment among the nations.
This interpretation of the nature and mission of war was reënforced by a like unfortunate interpretation of the records of the Old Testament. The good bishop Ulfilas was right when, in translating the Hebrew Bible into the Gothic tongue, he omitted the war chronicles through fear that these records of wars and massacres would fan into too fierce a flame the martial zeal of his Gothic neophytes. To these terrible chronicles, which represent God as commanding the Israelites to wage war against his enemies, and even as ordering the most horrid atrocities upon war captives, is due in large part the idea so dominant even to-day among Christian nations that God is a God of War, and that through the ordeal of battle he gives judgment on the earth.677
The transformation taking place in the ethical standard of the Church under the various influences we have named was hastened and completed by the reaction upon Christian ethics of the martial ethics of Islam.678 This new influence began to be exerted in the seventh century. By infection the crusading spirit of the Mohammedan zealots was communicated to the Christian Church. Toward the close of the eleventh century the spiritual head of Christendom, Pope Urban II, summoned the Christian nations of Europe to arms for the recovery of the Holy Sepulcher from the hands of the unbelievers.
Feudalism by this time had flowered in chivalry. The Christian lands were filled with brave young knights, especially knights of Norman descent, aflame with martial enthusiasm and eager for warlike adventure. It was the ancestors of these very men, instinct with the military spirit, that Rome had once enlisted in her legions to fight the battles of the Empire; it is the children of those legionaries that the Christian Church now summons in the name of Christ to her standard to fight the battles of the Cross.
The transformation of that Church was now complete. The age of the Crusades had opened. Christ and Mars were co-sovereigns in Christian Europe. The teachings of the Prince of Peace and the war spirit of the civilization of antiquity and of the German barbarians were reconciled.679 As Lecky finely portrays it, “At the hour of sunset when the Christian soldier knelt down to pray before his cross, that cross was the handle of his sword.”680
The foregoing brief account of the reconciliation and commingling in later Roman and early medieval times of the pagan ethics of war and the Christian ethics of peace has already acquainted us with what was the distinctive characteristic of the ethical ideal of knighthood, the ideal which resulted from this mingling of these two strongly contrasted moralities. It was a composite ideal, a combination of pagan and Christian virtues. The true knight, who was the incarnation of the ideal, must possess all the admired moral qualities of the pagan hero, and, together with these, all the essential virtues of the Christian saint. Among the pagan virtues we find a set of moral qualities that are attributes of character which, with possibly one or two exceptions, were assigned a high place either in the barbarian German or in the classical ideal of excellence. Chief among these qualities are personal loyalty, courage, truthfulness, justice, magnanimity, courtesy, and self-respect.
The first duty and virtue of the true knight was absolute loyalty to his superior, to his comrades in arms, and to the cause espoused. This virtue of loyalty is the virtue which Professor Royce makes the root from which all other virtues spring.681 Without doubt it is, if not the central virtue of every true moral system, one of the most attractive of all ethical traits, and one most sacredly held from taint by every person with a nice sense of what constitutes true nobility of character.
A second and indispensable virtue was courage. The knight must be brave as well as loyal. Cowardice and knighthood were wholly incompatible things.
Another moral quality was veracity, absolute fidelity to a promise. The pledged word of the true knight was sacrosanct and inviolable.682
Still another indispensable trait in the character of the ideal knight was love of justice. The true knight must be just; an unjust knight could not be a true knight any more than an unjust judge can be a true judge.
Again, the knight who would be loyal to the ideal of knighthood must be magnanimous. One of the elements of this virtue is unwillingness to take an unfair advantage of another, especially of an enemy. It was a disgraceful thing for a knight to attack his foe when at a disadvantage, as when disarmed or fallen. He must always meet his enemy in fair and open fight.
Furthermore, the true knight must be courteous. It was as much his duty to be courteous as to be truthful. Now courtesy is not a trait or feeling which inspires lofty action, but one which induces gentleness, kind consideration, and gracious deference toward all alike—rich and poor, high and low.
Lastly, the knight must possess dignity or self-respect. The age of chivalry interpreted this virtue or duty as requiring the knight to stand on his rights as a man. He must not let an injury to himself or to a friend go unpunished. He must resent every insult and return blow for blow. Not to do so argued cowardice and pusillanimity. All this was of course directly opposed to the Christian requirements of humility, meekness, nonresistance, and forgiveness of injuries, and was distinctly a part of the moral code of chivalry which was borrowed from pre-Christian or non-Christian morality.
To these essentially pagan virtues the knight, after the institution of chivalry had been approved and consecrated by the Church, must add all the distinctly Christian virtues, particularly the virtue of right religious belief. Only the true believer could be a true knight.
A striking illustration of the mixture of moralities with which we have to do in the period of chivalry is afforded by the celebrated religious military orders of the Hospitalers and Templars, which were formed just before the Second Crusade, when the enthusiasm for the chivalric ideal was at its height, while that for the ascetic had not yet sensibly abated. The Hospitalers were monks who, to their monastic vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience or humility, added the martial obligations of knighthood; the Templars were knights who to their military vows added those of the monk. Thus in these remarkable orders of knight-monks we see incongruously united the monastic and military ideals, two of the most sharply contrasted conceptions of worthy life that it is possible to find in the whole history of ethical ideals.
The ideal of chivalry had serious defects. First, the military spirit, borrowed from paganism, which the ideal apotheosized, was in absolute opposition to the spirit of Christianity, so that the perfect reconciliation and fusion of the different moral qualities entering into the ideal was impossible.
Second, from feudalism, with its sharply defined social classes, the ideal received an aristocratic stamp. In this respect it was the direct opposite of the monastic ideal. Any person, freeman or slave, king or peasant, could become a monk, and by following the more excellent way gain the homage of men and win the crown of sainthood. But the chivalric ideal was one to which no plebeian might aspire. Only a person of noble birth could become a knight. This exclusive aristocratic character of the ideal constituted one of its most serious defects. Yet in spite of this and other defects it was a noble and attractive ideal, and one which not only left a deep stamp upon medieval history, but contributed precious elements to the ethical heritage which the modern world received from the Middle Ages.
Just as the moral enthusiasm awakened by the monastic ideal gave a special character and trend to much of the history of the age of its ascendancy,—inspiring or helping to inspire the missionary propaganda among the barbarian tribes of Europe, giving birth to a special literature (the Lives of the Saints), and fostering the spirit of benevolence and self-renunciation,—so did the unmeasured enthusiasm created by the chivalric ideal give a distinctive character to much of the history of the age of its predominance—lending a romantic cast to the Crusades, creating a new form of literature, and giving a more assured place in the growing European ideal of character to several attractive traits and virtues. Respecting each of these matters we shall offer some observations in the immediately following pages, and then shall proceed to speak briefly of some reform movements which belong to the general moral history of the epoch under review.
The Crusades of the eleventh and twelfth centuries against the Moslems of the East, in so far as those enterprises were inspired by moral feeling,—and religious-ethical feeling was the chief motive force behind them,—were largely the translation into action of the ideal of chivalry now commended and consecrated by the Church. The oath of the Knights of Malta, who were a perfect incarnation of the spirit of chivalry, was “to make eternal war upon the Turks; to recognize no cessation of hostilities with the infidel, on any pretext whatsoever.”
It is an amazing change that, in the course of a few generations, has come over the ethical spirit and temper of the peoples of Christendom. In the earlier medieval time the best conscience of the age was embodied in the monk-saints Augustine, Columba, Winfrid, and a great company of other unarmed missionary apostles to the pagan Celts and Germans; in this later time the best conscience of the age is incarnated in the armor-clad warriors Godfrey of Bouillon, Raymond, Bohemond, Tancred, and a multitude of other knightly leaders of the hosts of Crusaders who go forth to redeem with blood and slaughter the tomb of their martyred Lord.
No element of civilization responds more quickly to the changing ethical ideal of a people than its literature. The change that passed over the popular literature of Christendom in the transition of Europe from the age of asceticism to the age of chivalry is finely summarized by Lecky in these words: “When the popular imagination [in the earlier age] embodied in legends its conception of humanity in its noblest and most attractive form, it instinctively painted some hermit-saint of many penances and many miracles.... In the romances of Charlemagne and Arthur we may trace the dawning of a new type of greatness. The hero of the imagination of Europe is no longer the hermit but a knight.”683
An interesting monument of this new species of literature, in what we may view as a transition stage, is the Gesta Romanorum,684 a collection of moral stories invented by the monks in their idle hours. These tales are a curious mixture of things Roman, monastic, and knightly.
But for a true expression of this romance literature we must turn to the legends of the Holy Grail, in which a lofty imagination blends, in so far as they can be blended, all the varied elements of the knightly ideal in a consistent whole. No age save the age of Christian knighthood could have produced this wonderful cycle of tales.
But it is neither in the crusading enterprises nor in the literary products of the age of chivalry that we are to look for the real historical significance of the ideal of chivalry. Its chief import for the moral evolution of the European nations lies in the fact that it helped to give fuller and richer content to the Christian ideal by contributing to it, or by giving a surer place in it, certain nontheological virtues, some of which the Church had laid little emphasis upon or had entirely neglected.
Thus the enthusiasm for the ideal of chivalry, like the Church’s veneration of the Holy Virgin,685 tended to elevate and refine the ideal of woman, and thus to counteract certain tendencies of the ascetic ideal. It helped to give a high valuation to the moral qualities of loyalty, truthfulness, magnanimity, self-reliance, and courtesy. We designate these attractive traits of character as chivalrous virtues for the reason that we recognize that knighthood made precious contributions to these elements of the moral inheritance which the modern received from the medieval world.
Very closely connected ethically and historically with chivalry is the movement during the later medieval time for the abolition of the right of private war.686 In the tenth century, as feudalism developed and the military spirit of knighthood came more and more to dominate society, the right of waging war, with which privilege every feudal lord of high rank was invested, resulted in a state of intolerable anarchy in all those lands where the feudal system had become established. Respecting this right, claimed and exercised by the feudal prince, of waging war against any and every other chieftain, even though this one were a member of the same state as that to which he himself belonged, there was in these medieval centuries precisely the same moral feeling, or rather lack of moral feeling, that exists to-day in regard to the right claimed and exercised by the different independent nations of waging war against one another.
As a result of this practice of private war, Europe reverted to a condition of primitive barbarism. Every land was filled with fightings and violence. “Every hill,” as one pictures it, “was a stronghold, every plain a battlefield. The trader was robbed on the highway, the peasant was killed at his plow, the priest was slain at the altar. Neighbor fought against neighbor, baron against baron, city against city.”
In the midst of this universal anarchy the Church lifted a protesting voice. Toward the end of the tenth century there was started in France a movement which aimed at the complete abolition of private war. The Church aspired to do what had been done by pagan Rome. It proclaimed what was called the Peace of God. It commanded all men everywhere to refrain from fighting and robbery and violence of every kind as contrary to the spirit and teachings of Christianity.
But it was found utterly impossible to make the great feudal barons refrain from fighting one another even though they were threatened with the eternal torments of hell. They were just as unwilling to surrender this highly prized privilege and right of waging private war as the nations of to-day are to surrender their prized privilege and right to wage public war.
Then the leaders of the clergy of France, seeing that they could not suppress the evil entirely, resolved to attempt to regulate it. This led to the proclamation of what was called the Truce of God. The first certain trace of this movement dates from the year 1041.687 In that year the abbot of the monastery of Cluny and the other French abbots and bishops issued an edict commanding all men to maintain a holy and unbroken peace during four days of every week, from Wednesday evening till Monday morning.688 Every man was required to take an oath to observe this Truce of God. The oath was renewed every three years, and was administered to boys on their reaching their twelfth year.
This movement to redeem at least a part of the days from fighting and violence came gradually to embrace all the countries of Western Europe. The details of the various edicts issued by Church councils and popes vary greatly, but all embody the principle of the edict of 1041. Holydays, and especially consecrated periods, as Easter time and Christmas week, came to be covered by the Truce. The Council of Clermont, which inaugurated the First Crusade, extended greatly the terms of the Truce, forbidding absolutely private wars while the Crusade lasted, and placing under the ægis of the Church the person and property of every crusader.
The Truce of God was never well observed, yet it did something during the eleventh and twelfth centuries to mitigate the evils of private war and to render life more secure and tolerable. After the twelfth century the kings of Europe, who were now strengthening their authority and consolidating their dominions, took the place of the Church in maintaining peace among their feudal vassals. They came to regard themselves as responsible for the “peace of the land,” which phrase now superseded those of the “Peace of God” and the “Truce of God.” Thus the movement to which moral forces had given the first impulse was carried to its consummation by political motives. To the Church, however, history will ever accord the honor of having begun this great reform which enforced peace upon the members of the same state, and which has made private wars in civilized lands a thing of the past.
The abolition of private warfare was the first decisive step marking the advance of Europe toward universal peace. Public war, that is, war between nations, is still an established and approved institution of international law; but in the moral evolution of humanity a time approaches when public war shall also, like private war, be placed under the ban of civilization, and will have passed upon it by the truer conscience of that better age the same judgment that the conscience of to-day pronounces on that private warfare upon which the Truce of God laid the first arresting hand.
Although the Church has done little in a direct way to abolish public war, or even directly to create in society at large a new conscience in regard to the wickedness of war in itself as an established method of settling international differences, its influence has been felt from early Christian times in the alleviation of its barbarities and cruelties. One of the first ameliorations in the rules of war effected through Christian influence concerned the treatment of war captives.
Among the ancient Greeks, as we have seen, under the influence of the sentiment of Panhellenism, there was developed a vague feeling that Greeks should not enslave Greeks. But aside from this Panhellenic sentiment, which had very little influence upon actual practice, there was in the pre-Christian period seemingly little or no moral feeling on the subject, and the custom of reducing prisoners of war to slavery was practically universal.
But the custom, in so far as it concerned Christian prisoners, was condemned by the Christian conscience as incompatible with the spirit of Christianity, and the rule was established that such captives should not be enslaved.689 We observe the first clear workings of this new war conscience in Britain after the conversion of the Saxon invaders. The Celts of Britain were Christians, and the Saxons, after they themselves had been won over to Christianity, ceased to sell into slavery their Celtic captives. Gradually this new rule was adopted by all Christian nations. No other advance of equal importance marks the moral history of public war during the medieval period.
This humane rule, however, did not, as we have intimated, embrace non-Christians. Our word “slave” bears witness to this fact. This term came to designate a person in servitude from the circumstance that up to the eleventh century, which saw the evangelization of Russia, the slave class in Europe was made up largely of Slavs, who, as pagans, were without scruple reduced to slavery by their Christian captors.
But the earlier rights which the immemorial laws of war conferred upon the captor were not wholly annulled in the case of Christian captives. The practice of holding for ransom took the place of sale into slavery. This custom prevailed throughout the feudal period, but gradually during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries this practice finally yielded to the more humanitarian custom of exchange of prisoners.690 Thus in this department of ethics there is to be traced a gradual humanization of the code, which, beginning in savagery with gross cannibalism and torture, advances through killing in cold blood, sale into slavery, and holding for ransom, to equal exchange.
During the age of chivalry the ideal of the knight overshadowed the ideal of the monk. Nevertheless throughout the whole period the monastic ideal inspired a great deal of moral enthusiasm. The founding and endowment of monasteries divided with the equipping of knightly expeditions for the Crusades the zeal and efforts and sacrifices of the European peoples.
In the old orders of monks, however, zeal for the ascetic ideal would often grow cold, and the high moral standard of the earlier time would be lowered. Then some select soul, set aflame by a fresh vision of the ideal, would draw together a group of devoted followers, and thus would come into existence a new order of monks, among whom the flame of a holy enthusiasm would burn brightly for a time.691
Among the numerous new orders called into existence by these reform movements there were two which, in the ideal of duty which they followed, stand quite apart from the ordinary monastic orders. This new ideal had its incarnation in St. Francis692 and St. Dominic, the founders respectively of the Franciscan and the Dominican order of friars.
In this new conception of what constitutes the worthiest and most meritorious life, the quietistic virtues of the earlier ascetic ideal, which had developed during the period of terror and suffering which followed the subversion of classical civilization by the northern barbarians, gave place to the active, benevolent virtues. In the earlier monastic movement there was a self-regarding element. The monk fled from the world in order to make sure of his own salvation. The world was left to care for itself. In the new orders, the brother, in imitation of the Master who went about among men teaching and healing, left the cloister and went out into the world to rescue and save others. In its lofty call to absolute self-forgetfulness and complete consecration to the service of humanity, the early ideal of the Mendicants was one of the noblest and most attractive that had grown up under Christian influence. The loftiness of the ideal attracted the select spirits of the age—for noble souls love self-sacrifice. “Whenever in the thirteenth century,” says the historian Lea, “we find a man towering above his fellows, we are almost sure to trace him to one of the Mendicant Orders.”693
It is in the exaltation of this virtue of self-renunciation that we find one of the chief services rendered by the Mendicant Orders, especially by the Franciscan, to European morality. Just as the early monks, through the emphasis laid on the virtue of chastity, made a needed protest against the sensuality of a senile and decadent civilization, so did the friars, through the stress laid on the virtue of self-denial for others, make a needed protest against the selfishness and hardness of an age that seemed to have forgotten the claims of the poor and the lowly.694 It can hardly be made a matter of reasonable doubt that the slowly growing fund of altruistic feeling in Christendom was greatly enriched by the self-devoted lives and labors of the followers of Saints Francis and Dominic.
But the value of the ideal of the friars as an ethical force in the evolution of European civilization was seriously impaired by certain theological elements it contained. It was an ideal in which, as in the ordinary monastic ideal, the duty of correct opinion came to be exalted above all others. The ethics of belief took precedence of the ethics of service. Thus the friars, particularly the Dominicans, through their zeal for orthodoxy, fostered the grave moral fault of intolerance. The growth of this conception of Christian duty, concurring with other causes of which we shall speak in the next chapter, ushered in the age of the Inquisition.
The ethical history of the friars or the preaching orders mingles with the ethical history of Scholasticism. The ethics of the Schoolmen was a syncretism of two moral systems, the pagan-classical or Aristotelian and the Christian. With the four classical virtues of wisdom, prudence, temperance, and justice were combined the three Christian virtues of faith, hope, and love. But these two moral types, the classical and the theological, each being taken in its entirety, were mutually inconsistent ideals of virtue. The pagan code was a morality based on the autonomy of the individual reason; the Church code was based on an external authority. The one was inner and natural, the other outer and supernatural. The scholastic system was thus an incongruous combination of naturalism and supernaturalism in ethics, of native virtues and “virtues of grace.” This dualism is the essential fact in the history of the ethics of Scholasticism.
As it was the great effort of the Schoolmen in the domain of dogma to justify the doctrines of the Church, to show their reasonableness and consistency, so was it their great effort in the domain of ethics to justify the Church’s composite moral ideal, to show all its duties and virtues to form a reasonable and consistent system. The best representative of this effort of reconciliation was the great Schoolman Thomas Aquinas. But a perfect fusion of the diverse elements was impossible. There were ever striving in the system two spirits—the spirit of Greek naturalism and the spirit of Hebrew-Christian supernaturalism.
But there was another line of cleavage in the system which was still more fateful in its historical consequences than the cleavage between the Aristotelian and the Church morality. This cleavage was created by the twofold ethics of the Church, for the ecclesiastical morality, considered apart from the Aristotelian element, was itself made up of two mutually inconsistent ethics, namely, Gospel ethics and Augustinian ethics.695 The saving virtue of the first was loving, self-abnegating service; the saving virtue of the second was faith, which was practically defined as “the acceptance as true of the dogma of the Trinity and the main articles of the creed.” Such was the emphasis laid by certain of the Schoolmen upon the metaphysical side of this dual system that there was in their ethics more of the mind of Augustine than of the mind of Christ. This making of an external authority the basis of morality, this emphasizing of the theological virtues, especially the virtue of right belief, had two results of incalculable consequences for the moral evolution in Christendom. First, it led naturally and inevitably to that system of casuistry696 which was one of the most striking phenomena of the moral history of the later medieval and earlier modern centuries; and second, it laid the basis of the tribunal of the Inquisition. Thus does the theological ethics of Scholasticism stand in intimate and significant relation to these two important matters in the moral history of Europe.