“Tell me about that.”
“The expression ‘City of God,’ or ‘Kingdom of God,’ comes from the Bible and
the teachings of Jesus. St. Augustine believed that all human history is a struggle
between the ‘Kingdom of God’ and the ‘Kingdom of the World.’ The two ‘kingdoms’
are not political kingdoms distinct from each other. They struggle for mastery inside
every single person. Nevertheless, the Kingdom of God is more or less clearly present
in the Church, and the Kingdom of the World is present in the State—for example, in
the Roman Empire, which was in decline at the time of St. Augustine. This
conception became increasingly clear as Church and State fought for supremacy
throughout the Middle Ages. There is no salvation outside the Church,’ it was now
said. St. Augustine’s ‘City of God’ eventually became identical with the established
Church. Not until the Reformation in the sixteenth century was there any protest
against the idea that people could only obtain salvation through the Church.”
“It was about time!”
“We can also observe that St. Augustine was the first philosopher we have
come across to draw history into his philosophy. The struggle between good and evil
was by no means new. What was new was that for Augustine the struggle was played
out in history. There is not much of Plato in this aspect of St. Augustine’s work. He
was more influenced by the linear view of history as we meet it in the Old Testament:
the idea that God needs all of history in order to realize his Kingdom of God. History
is necessary for the enlightenment of man and the destruction of evil. Or, as St.
Augustine put it, ‘Divine foresight directs the history of mankind from Adam to the
end of time as if it were the story of one man who gradually develops from childhood
to old age.’ “
Sophie looked at her watch. “It’s ten o’clock,” she said. “I’ll have to go soon.”
“But first I must tell you about the other great medieval philosopher. Shall we
sit outside?”
Alberto stood up. He placed the palms of his hands together and began to stride
down the aisle. He looked as if he was praying or meditating deeply on some spiritual
truth. Sophie followed him; she felt she had no choice.
The sun had not yet broken through the morning clouds. Alberto seated himself
on a bench outside the church. Sophie wondered what people would think if anyone
came by. Sitting on a church bench at ten in the morning was odd in itself, and sitting
with a medieval monk wouldn’t make things look any better.
“It is eight o’clock,” he began. “About four hundred years have elapsed since
St. Augustine, and now school starts. From now until ten o’clock, convent schools
will have the monopoly on education. Between ten and eleven o’clock the first
cathedral schools will be founded, followed at noon by the first universities. The great
Gothic cathedrals will be built at the same time. This church, too, dates from the
1200s—or what we call the High Gothic period. In this town they couldn’t afford a
large cathedral.”
“They didn’t need one,” Sophie said. “I hate empty churches.”
“Ah, but the great cathedrals were not built only for large congregations. They
were built to the glory of God and were in themselves a kind of religious celebration.
However, something else happened during this period which has special significance
for philosophers like us.”
Alberto continued: “The influence of the Arabs of Spain began to make itself
felt. Throughout the Middle Ages, the Arabs had kept the Aristotelian tradition alive,
and from the end of the twelfth century, Arab scholars began to arrive in Northern
Italy at the invitation of the nobles. Many of Aristotle’s writings thus became known