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What happens when an institution created and monitored by the Catholic Church ceases to be loyal to it? How did ecclesiastical authorities respond when heterodoxy was spreading in front of their eyes? As the thirteenth century wore on, students and faculty alike at the University of Paris came face to face with these questions. This paper will examine the period known as the “Condemnations,” which spans approximately 1200 to 1277. During this period, ecclesiastical authorities imposed various restrictions on the curriculum and conduct at the University of Paris to combat heterodoxy and heresy. As this paper will demonstrate, these controls were ineffective. Be that as it may, the study provides fascinating insight into a question still relevant today: can an institution ever truly police those it claims to serve?

From its inception, the University of Paris had been understood as a place created by and for Catholics. This is evident from an edict issued by King Philippe-Auguste in 1200 that placed the University of Paris solely under ecclesiastical jurisdiction. The University drew comparisons with monasteries, as it was seen as a safe place to study religion. This view would come to be challenged time and time again. Unlike monasteries, the University of Paris had up to two thousand students at one time, marking its significance by size alone. As the thirteenth century waned, the seemingly sound control that ecclesiastical authorities wielded over the University began to falter. By analyzing contemporary documents, a clear picture emerges of how, to ensure loyalty, ecclesiastical authorities sought to stamp out heterodoxy within the University before it spread to the town. I test this thesis over three periods: 1200-1215, 1230-1245, and 1270-1277. The primary intent of this article is to establish how ecclesiastical authorities sought to control the curriculum and the boundaries of appropriate conduct at the University of Paris throughout the thirteenth century to ensure the scholastic community remained loyal to the Church, and to explain why these controls were ultimately ineffective.

First, a brief note on the geographic importance of the University. We must remember the University of Paris straddled “town” and “gown,” or urban and scholastic communities. Local vendors and lodges benefited economically from the influx of students that came to study in Paris. Masters of Theology were responsible for lectione, or reading, disputatio, or disputation, and preaching—the last of which is particularly relevant for the greater urban community. When conflict arose between scholars and townspeople, the former remained strongly committed to preaching. The rise of ars praedicandi, a genre of manuals dedicated to providing preaching aids in this period, demonstrates the care given to urban preaching. Ars praedicandi provided scholars with a set of standardized, ecclesiastically approved talking points for preaching to townspeople. By emphasizing the importance of preaching and providing guides, ecclesiastical authorities ensured that Masters of Theology continued to disseminate information that upheld the principles of Christianity. Town and gown were deeply linked, and the latter sought to ensure this relationship upheld Christian understandings of good practice and behaviour.

To examine how ecclesiastical authorities sought to ensure the loyalty of the scholastic community at Paris, it is worthwhile beginning with the Amalrician heresy, which unfolded in the first decade of the thirteenth century. In 1207, Master Amalric of Bene was burnt at the stake for heresy. He was a Master of Theology at the University of Paris for decades prior and had even tutored the King’s son, the future Louis VIII, at the French Court. Throughout his career, he developed a reputation for maintaining unconventional opinions. Contemporary chroniclers remark upon his unwavering oppositional nature, regardless of the material presented. In general, finding impartial evidence is challenging because the majority of what is known about the Amalricians comes from the writings of their adversaries. Luckily, Caesarius of Heisterbach can help us. Caesarius was born in 1180 near Bonn, in modern-day Germany, and lived at the Cistercian monastery of Heisterbach, where he wrote extensively. Most relevant for this paper is his Dialogue on Miracles, in which Caesarius examines Waldensian, Albigensian, and Amalrician heretics. His claim that the Albigensian heresy “infected more than a thousand towns” is undoubtedly an exaggeration, but he is correct in conveying the fear and distrust French Catholics maintained against their perceived enemies. This becomes evident in a later passage when Cistercian abbot Arnaud Almaric is asked by his followers how to identify a heretic from a Catholic. According to Caesarius, Almaric replied, “Kill them all; for the Lord knoweth them that are His.” Although surely apocryphal, the sentiment gives insight into how Catholics viewed heresy.

Caesarius addresses the Albigensian heresy in Chapter XXI, preceding the chapter on the Amalricians. He conveys the relevant points through a dialogue between a monk and a novice. At the end of the scene, the novice remarks, “If there had been learned men among these heretics, perhaps they would not have strayed so far.” Ignorance, the novice believes, leads to heresy. “When learned men begin to fall into error,” the monk responds, “they are driven by the devil to display even greater and more grievous folly than the illiterate.” The section on the Amalricians begins immediately after this quote, with Caesarius noting that Paris is a place of great learning and veneration for the Holy Scriptures. In light of the previous section, however, this sentence conveys a more sinister message. If learned men are more susceptible to the devil’s influence, and Paris is a place of great learned men, then the very existence of the University increases the likelihood of all of Paris falling under the devil’s influence. Such argumentation frames the Amalrician heresy as inevitable, suggesting that liberal education and the implementation of classical knowledge in the curriculum will inevitably lead to heresy. We mustn’t forget, nine out of the thirteen conspirators listed by Caesarius were Masters of Theology.

The suspicion continues through Chapter XXII, in which Caesarius discusses the fate of Almaric of Bene. Almaric, also known as Amaury, was a Master of Theology at the University of Paris in the late twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. In his Chronicle, Guillaume le Breton states that he believed Amaury to be one of the most clever theological teachers of their time. One belief, however, stands out as glaringly threatening to the Church: antinomianism or the belief that faith alone is necessary for Salvation. According to Caesarius, Amalric and his followers believed the body would not be resurrected, nor go to Heaven or Hell. Amalric is quoted as stating one has “Paradise within himself who possessed the knowledge of God.” Equally worrying, he believed the Holy Spirit dwelt in every person. If good works and adherence to the sacraments were unnecessary, Catholics argued, then what was stopping the Amalricians from disobeying Mosaic Law altogether? Penitential culture was the glue that held Catholicism together, resulting in an understanding that to undermine the importance of sin was to attack the Church itself. To prevent this threat from spreading, the Amalricians needed to be condemned. First, however, we must understand what they stood for.

Although almost certainly not his intention, Caesarius’ contextualization of Amalrician beliefs with Scripture serves as a reminder that heresy is subjective and can be wielded as a tool against individuals whose interpretation of Catholicism is viewed as harmful to the continued prosperity of the religion. This is evident when comparing the fates of Amalric and David of Dinant. David of Dinant was a philosopher often associated with the Amalricians because of their shared beliefs. In 1215, Robert of Courçon condemned both the doctrines of “master David de Dinant” and “the heretic Amalric.” Despite their joint mention by Robert, the Fourth Lateran Council, held in the same year, only condemns the “perverse doctrine of the impious Almaric.” This is strange considering David’s reputation. He was responsible for translating Aristotle’s texts and introducing them into the Parisian scholastic scene. His writing was considered so dangerous that anyone found in possession of it would be declared a heretic. Despite this, and a shared heretical pantheism at the core of both men’s beliefs, David fled the city while Amalric burned. Why was David not held to the same standard as Amalric? Two reasons stand out: Amalric’s post as a Master of Theology at the University of Paris and David’s connection with Pope Innocent III. The anonymous chronicler from Laon claims that David once held office under Innocent III and that he “was often in the company of Pope Innocent because the Pope dedicated himself passionately to subtle questions.” David also travelled to Byzantium in 1205 to participate in the Fourth Crusade. Here, he recovered some of Aristotle’s original texts, including Physics and Metaphysics, which inspired his philosophy. Both his works and Aristotle’s would later become banned at the University of Paris, yet he was not sentenced to death. Perhaps this was due to his connection with Innocent, or simply because he was considered less threatening than Amalric.

Leaving aside David, let’s consider the symbolic value of Amalric’s death, for his reputation certainly did not die with him. When his followers were sentenced to burning in 1209, two years after Amalric’s death, he was exhumed, excommunicated, and re-buried in unconsecrated ground. Contemporary chronicler Robert of Courçon concluded this process of posthumous excommunication is justified if it frightens others away from similar heretical action. From his discussion, it is implied that the Amalrician heresy spread to several dioceses. Why else continue to punish a dead man, unless his influence was great? More importantly, why continue to punish a dead man who had confessed his sins?

With Amalric’s life and death in living memory, the struggle against heresy at Paris continued. Between 1230 and 1245, ecclesiastical authorities launched new strategies. Gregory IX’s 1231 Papal Regulations responded to the Great Dispersion beginning in 1229 and sought to reassert boundaries of appropriate conduct. Compared with the earlier 1215 Rules for the University of Paris, this document is far more organized and thorough with its regulations. As a former student of the University, Gregory IX seems to be concerned with students’ rights. Indeed, the document is often viewed as a Magna Carta of sorts that restricts the chancellor’s powers and grants privileges to scholars. Gregory IX’s 1231 letter, The Books of Nature to be Expurgated, reiterates these themes. Interestingly, this document acknowledges that there is some good to be found in Aristotle’s texts on nature, despite being clouded by occasional ill discussion. The letter encourages scholars to use their discretion to decide when knowledge is likely to offend readers. In light of the previous discussion of ecclesiastical control, this might seem counterintuitive, but, as this section will demonstrate, it is simply a different tactic serving the same end: control over curriculum and student learning. Gregory explains that the purpose of the 1231 Papal Regulations is “concerning dissension arisen there by instigation of the devil, greatly disturbing the university.” After discussing the matter greatly with advisors, he concludes that these issues “should be quieted by moderate provision rather than judicial sentence.” While a decidedly different tactic than the handling of the Amalrician heresy, the end goal remains.

New regulations for the office of chancellor, including an oath of “good faith on his conscience,” exemplify Gregory’s aim of standardizing conduct at the University. This is evident in the new rules governing the inception of a Master of Theology. According to this bull, the chancellor must “make diligent inquiry as to the life, knowledge, facility, and also the promise and hope of success” of a candidate in front of every Master of Theology in the city. Such a process, akin to a background check, legitimizes the new candidate and provides ample opportunity for a current Master of Theology to expose any potential heterodoxy before the scholar’s inception. Likewise, rules such as the prohibition of students arming themselves in town further illustrate how ecclesiastical authorities sought to maintain influence over scholars in matters outside of scholastic life. Why prohibit a student from carrying a weapon off-campus unless you believe their inevitable ill-conduct will ultimately reflect poorly on the institution? Most students who attended the University only did so for a few years at a time and did not go on to become masters. Yet, as this bull demonstrates, ecclesiastical authorities sought to regulate elements of their conduct that went beyond simple scholastic activity.

As early as the 1230s, we can see the struggle for scholastic and broader theological unity reflected in the University of Paris’s heightened corporate identity. William J. Courtenay’s analysis of surviving master’s seals reinforces this conclusion. Although Pope Honorious III forbade the University from having its own seal in 1221, surviving material evidence from 1229 shows at least twenty-one masters had their own seals. As a faculty, therefore, the theologians were beginning to exert collective influence, even when the University as a whole did not. Courtenay also tracks an iconographic shift over the thirteenth century in which the seals of the Masters of Theology begin to incorporate more Gothic and Marian imagery. This may reflect a standardization of religious belief, correlating with a narrowing of the curriculum of acceptable theological discussion. At the very least, the existence of seals on official documentation demonstrates how the Masters of Theology utilized their collective influence in times when the University as a whole could not advocate for itself. Thus, assuming I am correct in emphasizing the University’s desire for control and that the Masters of Theology were gaining power as a collective, influential body in the 1230s, it would follow that ecclesiastical authorities would make greater efforts to ensure this body’s loyalty in this period. To see this, one need look no further than the new Statutes of the University of Paris, unveiled in 1241.

The 1241 Errors Condemned at Paris is unlike any of the earlier documents because it speaks directly to theological errors, rather than rules for scholars. Whereas the 1210 and 1215 condemnations simply forbade certain erroneous texts, and the 1231 Papal Regulations emphasized studying “questions only which can be settled by theological works and the treatises of the holy father,” the 1241 condemnations explicitly identify what these unacceptable errors are. There are ten errors in total. Interestingly, the document claims that these errors are disapproved not just by the chancellor, but also “the masters teaching theology at Paris.” The masters would not report themselves as teaching theological errors, so how did these errors arise? The close relationship between lectione, disputatio, and preaching makes it difficult to place exactly where erroneous ideas originated. Moreover, within disputatio, many scholars practiced debating topics in utramque partem, or on both sides. In these situations, a heterodox idea could enter the classroom unintentionally as a rebuttal to an orthodox prompt. Policing heterodoxy became highly complicated in such situations. Unlike the Amalricians, specific individuals could not be held accountable; therefore, it was necessary to widely condemn errors rather than people, in hopes of reinstating orthodoxy.

Moreover, several of the errors condemned in 1241 reflect the beliefs for which Amalric and David were condemned decades earlier. This indicates an ecclesiastical failure to control the spread of heterodoxy at Paris. Consider the third error, which states “The Holy Spirit, as a bond or love, does not proceed from the Son but merely from the Father.” If the Holy Spirit’s love were given freely by God and thus not reliant on Christ, the whole of penitential culture would be threatened, in a process akin to the Amalrician belief in antinomianism. Similarly, the seventh condemnation, which states “there are many eternal truths which are not God,” gets at the heart of the ban on Aristotelian metaphysics and other philosophical topics that the Church believed led to pantheistic conclusions. The implications of these condemnations are so widespread that Master James of Douai complained that the ecclesiastical authorities were acting out of ignorance and malice, effectively oppressing philosophers with their far-reaching condemnations.

Indeed, some scholars might have felt like they were constantly in danger of being hereticized. In the period from 1270 to 1277, the intensity of condemned beliefs and actions appears to peak. A scholar did not even have to be found guilty of false teaching for his career to suffer—after all, scholars were presumed guilty when charged. Appealing was an expensive and time-consuming process that served as a punishment in its own right. Masters of Arts, in particular, were known to challenge philosophical doctrines and needed to learn how to have these conversations without encroaching on theological matters. By 1270, the pressure was so strong that the Faculty of Arts banned certain practices to appease their theological counterparts. Although this oath was voluntary, the memory of masters burning for heresy likely influenced scholars to go along with it.

In 1272, Masters of Arts were asked to swear an oath prohibiting them from teaching theological material that exceeded their intellectual capabilities. If an instructor is faced with a question he fears will require answers contrary to faith, he is to remain silent. How were students supposed to study philosophy if they were afraid of asking questions? Master James of Douai stands out as a figure who believed his teaching was impaired by these regulations, and that the ability of the University to recruit students would falter as a result of such oppression. Clearly, this warning was not enough as the 1277 Condemnations issued by Bishop of Paris Stephen Tempier were aimed at both the Faculty of Theology and Arts.

Stephen Tempier, Bishop of Paris, writes that the 1270 Thirteen Errors Condemned is aimed at “all who taught or asserted them knowingly.” It is striking how errors were condemned already in previous documents. Articles like “the soul separated after death does not suffer from corporal fire” contain seeds of the Amalrician belief that there was no corporeal Hell for a man who sinned because “he had Hell within himself just as a man with a rotten tooth in his mouth.” Another condemned article is “the world is eternal.” This was also included in 1241 and reproved to state that there is “only one eternal truth which is God.” Tempier does not single out scholars in his condemnations, leading some historians to believe that these errors were disseminated on a large scale. The 1277 condemnations, comprising 219 propositions, were the largest yet, thus revealing a renewed sense of urgency to gain scholastic loyalty. If any of the errors listed were knowingly taught or discussed, Tempier warns, the perpetrator would face excommunication. Interestingly, he also provides the option for the perpetrator to turn themselves in within 7 days of the charges being laid. This new option allows ecclesiastical authorities to publicly condemn and make examples of scholars they feel are threatening, without sentencing them to death. The emphasis on students in Tempier’s introduction, as well as the wealth of examples, has led some historians to believe that the errors resulted from disputatio. It is perhaps unsurprising that the majority of errors condemned relate to heterodoxy. We find pantheism, antinomianism, and antisacramentalism—heretical ways akin to Master Amalric’s beliefs over seventy years ago.

The most striking proposition from 1272 is number 180, which condemns, under threat of excommunication, the belief “that Christian law impedes learning.” Was this idea spreading amongst scholars frustrated by a century of condemnations and censorship? Given Master James of Douai’s previous complaint about oppression, it is extremely likely. This puts the rest of the document into perspective. If scholars were already frustrated with the condemnations, how threatened must the Church have felt that they believed condemning a further 219 propositions would fix the problem? Taken in this light, Tempier’s document seems to reflect a final, exhaustive attempt to rein in heterodoxy at the University of Paris. If this is true, it can be argued that the previous condemnations were ineffective. Condemnations 181 to 183 continue thematically from 180, striking the notion that Christian law is based on falsehoods, that learning theology does not equate to greater overall knowledge, and that theology springs from fables. If these ideas were truly spreading throughout the University, it seems that the very existence of the Faculty of Theology and the ecclesiastical authorities’ jurisdiction over the school were being questioned. Such a conclusion has profound implications, implying the previous condemnations were received very poorly by contemporary scholars. It is blatant from the 1277 condemnations, therefore, that efforts made by ecclesiastical authorities to gain the loyalty of the scholars at the University of Paris failed time and time again over the course of the thirteenth century. I do not reject that this is an argument strengthened by hindsight; however, even in each identified period on its own, it is clear that theological discourse and practice at Paris escaped control and standardization. For ecclesiastical authorities, the fear and anxiety caused by such disorder can be best summarized in a warning issued by Gregory IX in 1231. “Where there is no order,” he cautioned, “horror easily creeps in.”

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About the Author:

Caliesha Harris is a contributor with Written in the Waves. You can read her full profile here.