Proving Woman (51 page)

But the concept of a deceptive deity proved irrepressible, surfacing almost fifty years later in the work of Peter d’Ailly
(d. 1420). Moreover, Peter was hardly a marginal figure, assuming the position of chancellor of the University of Paris and
confessor to the king of France in 1389, and ending his career as a cardinal. Yet not only does Peter affirm God’s ability
to deceive; he likewise champions what might be considered the tacit implication that invariably surfaces when this question
is raised: the reduced culpability of the individual.With so unpredictable a deity, salvation might be sought through alternative
routes:

Someone who is saved and deserves merit through faith and hope is able to have merited this through infidelity or false judgment.
. . .Likewise someone is able to have merited damnation through proper judgment and true faith. . . . Whence it is apparent
that man does not merit in believing because what is believed by him is true nor does he earn demerit because something is
false.
⁴⁸

Elsewhere, Peter will likewise defend the position that an unlettered person can win merit by adhering to the heresy preached
to him by a prelate. He even entertains the proposition that, since the Jews regarded Christ as a destroyer of the law, they
would have sinned by not crucifying him—an issue carried over from Robert Holkot.
⁴⁹
The view that merit could be gained by false judgment or even infidelity clearly corroborates Robert’s defense of an individual
who devoutly worships a false Christ.
⁵⁰
Nor is divine deception reserved for humanity alone: in the course of examining whether a revelation of God is infallible
to the human intellect, Peter determines that even the angel Gabriel, the most exalted of God’s messengers, can be deceived
by God and hence be a vehicle of falsehood.
⁵¹

John Gerson, student and friend to d’Ailly and his immediate successor as chancellor, attempted to direct scholarly energy
away from this kind of speculation. For Gerson was not simply hostile to the modes of reasoning associated with the English
school; he largely attributed what he perceived as the university’s decline to such influence. Indeed, as Zénon Kaluza has
demonstrated, Gerson usually reserved what, for him, was the supremely derogatory term of “sophist” for English theologians—a
fact that both imparts a certain specificity and corresponds to Gerson’s natural anti-English sentiments during the waging
of the Hundred Years War.
⁵²
A letter of 1400 to Peter d’Ailly emphasizes the decline in the faculty of theology and broaches the question of reform.
⁵³
His critique is later crystallized in the treatise
Against the Curiosityof Students
(1402)—identifying curiosity and singularity as the daughters of pride, born of the evil mother, envy, and excoriating those
who linger over dangerous novelties.
⁵⁴
Gerson singles out for particular notice the discussions issuing from the concept of the absolute power of God: “But wanting
to push further, the scrutinizers failed in their scrutiny. By what means did this happen? Surely because when they attempted
to assign and adduce certain rules of necessity to those things that were considered to be within the entirely free power
of God, they became vain in their thoughts, and their foolish hearts were darkened (Rom. 1.21).”
⁵⁵
Later in the same treatise, Gerson compares the current state of affairs to Lactantius’s description of certain philosophers
who, finding nothing to add to the admirable works of their predecessors, “were turned by malign and proud curiosity and presumed
to deny or reduce them to doubt.” Such speculation led to heresy.
⁵⁶
Gerson acknowledges that certain eminences like William of Auvergne found it intolerable that academic speculation should
be censured and “the wisest inquisitors of the truth [
inquisitores veritatis
] should speedily be judged to err.” Even so, Gerson believed in stricter surveillance: “But I understand that if the most
careful scrutiny is had, their position may become indefensible.”
⁵⁷
Thus the frustrated chancellor repeatedly looks back to the golden age of scholasticism, and Bonaventure in particular, as
a paradigmatic remedy.
⁵⁸

Gerson’s later treatise
On the Examination of Doctrine
(1423) is, as the title suggests, even more insistent on the necessity of monitoring scholarly activity—a matter to be discussed
in greater depth in the context of spiritual discernment. For the moment, however, it suffices to note how the treatise posits
a still gloomier reading of academic inquiry, generally bringing the entire scholarly enterprise under the umbrella of original
sin and the fall of humanity. Thus the scholar’s role in interpreting revelation is construed partly as punishment, partly
as consolation, and partly as concession to human frailty. And so “God gave the world to the disputation of men (Eccles. 3.11),”
Gerson cleverly quips. Past scholars, such as Bonaventure, had succeeded in undertaking their intellectual inquiries with
integrity: “he draws away from curiosity, not mixing extraneous positions or secular doctrines, dialectics or obscure philosophies
with theological ends, in the manner of many.”
⁵⁹
But Gerson’s very nostalgia for the golden age of scholasticism casts doubt not only on the recent endeavors of his excoriated
cohort but on his own as well. “The more diligently I’ve turned to the study [of Bonaventure] in my old age, the more my garrulity
becomes confused. And I said to myself: this doctrine is sufficient—by what stupid work are you consumed? What are you saying?
What are you writing?”
⁶⁰

To Gerson’s mind, scholasticism needed reinvigorating; the university needed reforming. A first step must be taken toward
tightening surveillance of scholarly activity. But even if monitored more carefully, scholars desperately needed a new direction.
One possible route that appealed to Gerson might be dubbed the
via nostalgica
: a retreat to an earlier era of scholasticism. Another was to look inward to contemplation: the
via
mystica
. Rather than choosing between the two paths, however, Gerson believed himself to be advancing along both, using the landmarks
of the former to orient himself along the latter. And thus, as with all reformers, the interpretation of the past that Gerson
brought to bear on the present created something entirely new: a nostalgically inflected, academic mysticism. But before Gerson
could turn his students loose upon this road with a clear conscience, the
via mystica
had to be cleared of certain hazards—perilous but intriguing obstructions cast in female form. The immediate task that presented
itself entailed nothing less than disassociating mysticism from its contingent of primarily female lay practitioners and appropriating
it for the male world of clerical academe. Gerson’s cause would be assisted immensely by a gradual pathologization of female
spirituality and an increasing scholarly attention to the discernment of spirits—dramas in which we have seen and will see
that he played leading roles.

THE DISCERNMENT OF SPIRITS

Sometimes the soul should not stipulate for a reward in this life lest it be punished in the next for its misdeeds.For there
are such consolations of grace conceded gratuitously that can coexist with sin, indeed through which and with which the soul
commits fornication against God, just as a queen might fornicate with the beautiful messenger of a king.
⁶¹

(John Gerson)

For Satan transformeth himself into an angel of light.Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers be transformed into
ministers of justice.

(2 Cor. 11.14–15)

Spiritual discernment was the ability to distinguish the agency behind spiritual impulses and inspirations. Its exercise was
in conformity with the evangelical injunction to “Prove the Spirits—whether they are of God or Satan” (1 John 4.1). But since
Paul describes this ability as one of the gifts of the spirit, it was the rare individual who was possessed of this skill.
In the early church, when the devil often roamed the earth in different guises, spiritual discernment was a crucial concern.
Indeed, in certain celebrated cases the devil attempted the ultimate impostorship by posing as Christ. Most saints worthy
of the name passed muster by displaying appropriate skepticism. For instance, when confronted with this test, Martin of Tours
acquitted himself by answering, “I will not believe that Christ has come, unless he appears with that appearance and form
in which he suffered, and openly displaying the marks of his wounds upon the cross,” and the demon was routed, leaving a foul
stench in its wake.
⁶²

In the High Middle Ages, when the devil once again began to walk abroad, spiritual discernment resurfaced as a pressing issue.
Thomas of Cantimpréwas privy to many occasions on which demons attempted to pass themselves off as someone else: indeed, his
work
On Bees
constitutes something of a primer on the sheer range of demonic virtuosity in this area of deception. Masquerading as a member
of the clergy was seemingly a favorite demonic pastime. Some instances of impostorship were relatively benign, even providing
a kind of comic relief. Thomas was hence awakened by what he took to be his confrere urinating at the foot of the bed one
night. Disgusted, Thomas was about to upbraid him when he realized it was a demon because he heard his companion snoring beside
him.
⁶³
But many demonic impersonations were not so innocuous. For example, the devil was periodically inclined to appear as a confessor
(a motif not peculiar to Thomas but common enough that it could be added to our arsenal of confessional ambivalence). Thus
a victim of paternal rape, having just given birth, is advised by a demonic monk to cast the baby into a swamp. He then urges
the woman to make her confession to him before drowning herself.
⁶⁴
A demon dressed as a priest tries to inveigle a young boy into making a fraudulent confession and communion on his deathbed.
⁶⁵
Demons sometimes took on the guise of female religious as well. A noble encounters a Benedictine nun singing in the forest
of Westphalia one night. “Believing her to be one of the saints, he said to her: ‘I beseech you to tell me what is my future?’
She promised the knight a long life ending honorably on Crusade just to ensure that death caught him unawares, taking him
when he had done insufficient penance.”
⁶⁶
Demonic simulations could also be extremely elaborate: a Dominican was led by some heretics into a grotto where he was invited
to worship a demonic Virgin Mary, flanked by elders and angels—a ruse that he immediately discerned.
⁶⁷
In view of this proliferation of such compelling illusions, it is no wonder that Thomas cites the Virgin Mary’s initial suspicion
of the angel Gabriel with approval. His appearance was especially suspect since the supernatural messenger took the form of
a man, thereby constituting a potential sexual threat.
⁶⁸

Efforts were made to distinguish outer signs that might shed light on the source of inspiration informing various experiences.
Strictly speaking, for instance, the angel Gabriel had little option but to assume male form since expert opinion held that
good angels invariably appear as men. If an angel took the shape of a woman, that was a sure indicator of its demonic nature.
⁶⁹
The various aromatic spices that Sybil of Metz saw fit to scatter after her fraudulent raptures reflected the widespread belief
that the angelic presence was marked by a beautiful aroma, corresponding to the odor of sanctity.
⁷⁰
Certainly the many somatic miracles associated with women in this period were considered powerful testimony that the person
in question was, indeed, inspired by God. As Sybil herself demonstrated, however, much of this “proof” could be aped by human
ingenuity. But supernatural fraud was much more difficult to distinguish. According to Thomas of Cantimpré, for instance,
the master general of the Dominican order, Jordan of Saxony (d. 1237), noticed that the most beautiful scent arose whenever
he said mass—something that would seem to be a clear-cut sign of the divine presence, that is, “unless perhaps to someone
who possessed the discernment of spirits.” As a result of this marvel, Jordan no longer desired food, another proof of holiness,
since many of the saints of this period were said to be sustained by the eucharist alone. And yet the “inner palate of his
heart discerned that the odor did not furnish spiritual refreshment.” When Jordan prayed to God, it was revealed to him that
this fragrance was the devil’s craft. He thereupon made the sign of the cross and the phenomenon ceased.
⁷¹
But Jordan’s gifts of discernment were uneven: when the master general visited a Dominican priory in Rome, a demoniac claimed
that Jordan’s arrival had miraculously cured him. Jordan not only immediately had the demoniac unchained but had a blanket
laid for him in his own room. He was awakened that night by the demoniac plying a razor at his throat. As Thomas puts it,
tactfully passing over this near fatal instance of spiritual pride, Jordan was rather “too quick to believe the demon.”
⁷²

But undoubtedly one of the most difficult tasks lay in discerning whether a particular individual with a reputation for holiness
was in some way corrupted by an evil spirit. For instance, Thomas of Cantimprétells of a simple and good man, living on the
borders of Gaul, who became hopelessly dependent on an angelic counselor of the fallen persuasion. Moreover, the man’s supernatural
visitor left him in a state of such serenity and illumination that many thought the man “an angel among men.” Seduced by his
fallacious mentor, the man would have committed suicide, had it not been for the timely intervention of his confessor.
⁷³
The condition of rapture could be similarly vitiated. Some theologians, including luminaries like Albert the Great, will entertain
the possibility that an individual could be raptured into evil.
⁷⁴
In fact, to William of Auvergne’s mind, there is no doubt that such wicked raptures occurred. Moreover, demonic raptures were
initially indistinguishable from the sweet and joyful raptures that the good angels were wont to effect.