Curtius, Ernst Robert: The Medieval Bases of Western Thought
[A lecture delivered by Ernst Robert Curtius on July 3, 1949, at the Goethe Bicentennial Convocation, at Aspen, Colorado. Published by permission of the Boellingen Foundation, Princeton University]
A European scholar who has dipped into medieval lore cannot but feel deeply grateful fοr the contributions to οur knowledge which have been made in recent times by American scholarship. Yοu have a great institution called the Medieval Academy of America. We have nothing of the kind in Europe. Historians such as Charles Homer Haskins, philologists such as Charles N. Beeson and Edward Kennard Rand, have shed much light οn the Middle Ages. The phenomenon which I might call American medievalism is highly interesting, and one which I should like to study some time. I believe that it has a deep spiritual meaning.
This was borne in οn my mind when I studied those admirable works of Henry Adams, The Education of Henry Adams and Mont-Saint-Michel and Chartres. It is obvious that Henry Adams was led to northern France by the instinct of his race. He was trying to get at the roots of the civilization to which he belonged. It was an offshoot, as Toynbee would say, of that Westem society which developed in Romanized Europe. From the close of the eleventh century to the first third of the thirteenth, northern France and England were more οε less united politi- cally. From the point of view of cultural history they formed a unity during those one hundred and fifty years. Yοu find prominent Frenchmen in Britain as you find English scholars occupying French episcopal sees. Students and teachers at the great episcopal schools of that glorious twelfth century spoke Latin and French, irrespective of their origin. That is what Henry Adams realized; that is why he undertook his pilgrimage. He went in search of his origins. But there were others who followed the same track.
When America became conscious of herself she strove to acquire the cultural inheritance of Europe. American literature and scholarship can boast of a number of pioneers who, as it were, conquered the European past. Some went to Spain, like Washington Irving οr Ticknor, some to Italy, others to France and Germany. But what strikes me most is this: The American mind might go back to Puritanism or to William Penn, but it lacked that which preceded them; it lacked the Middle Ages. It was in the position of a man who has never known his mother. The American conquest of the Middle Ages has something of that romantic glamor and of that deep sentimental urge which we might expect in a man who should set out to find his lost mother.
If the story of the American conquest of the Middle Ages were told, it would have to dwell οn the study and the cult of Dante which flowered in New England and which is again flourishing in T.S. Eliot. Tο the mind of the Bostonians in the 1880’s, Dante was not merely one of the world’s greatest poets. They were of the opinion, as Van Wyck Brooks has it, that the wοrld had been going to the dogs ever since the time of Dante. Dante, to them, appeared as the perfect expression of a perfect state of society. It was a romantic vision of the same kind as that which set the German romantic poets of 1800 dreaming about the ideal Middle Ages. Of late such visions seem to crystallize arοund St. Thomas Aquinas, in Εurοpe as well as in America. But we may venture to believe that the poet will outshine the philosopher. The poet carries a splendor and an imaginative power with which the thinker can hardly ever vie. Plato soars to the highest flights when he abandons conceptual thought for poetical myth. But yοu will not be able to transpose Aristotle’s οr St.Thomas’ severe disquisitions into poetry; they belong to another order.