A Re-Examination of Albert the Great’s Use of Thomas of Cantimpré’s De Natura Rerum

Abstract

The first twenty-one books of Albert the Great’s massive paraphrastic commentary on Aristotle’s De animalibus (completed in the 1260s) were followed by something very different in books 22-26, namely brief narrative descriptions of various animals arranged alphabetically and relying extensively upon Thomas of Cantimpré’s De natura rerum. The result is a peculiar composite that first articulates the general or common principles of animals—e.g., the manner of their reproduction, their nutrition, growth, shared behaviors, etc.—but then provides brief, narrative descriptions of different animal species which are sourced primarily from Thomas of Cantimpré’s encyclopedia (ca. 1256). In the following pages I examine Albert’s use in his De animalibus of Thomas of Cantimpre’s narrative descriptions in De natura rerum. I will show that although Albert often criticized Thomas’s text, he utilized it nonetheless to satisfy the requirements for a natural science and to make that science accessible to a wider audience.

1. The Introduction of Aristotle’s Natural Philosophy to the Medieval University

In the early 1260s, Albert the Great (Albertus Magnus; d. 1280) completed his monumental postilla commentary on three of Aristotle’s zoological treatises—the Historia animalium, De partibus animalium, and De generatione animalium. These three Aristotelian texts circulated in a medieval Latin translation of nineteen books under the single title De animalibus,1 which Michael Scot (d. 1235/36), court physician and astrologer to Emperor Frederick II, had translated from Arabic exemplars ca. 1215 in Toledo (van Oppenraay 2019, p. ix).2 Scot’s Latin translation of Aristotle’s De animalibus was often accompanied by his Latin translation of Avicenna’s Abbreviatio Avicenne de animalibus (van Oppenraay 2017, p. 405).3 As a result, Latin readers of Aristotle’s De animalibus like Albert the Great, who “paved the way for zoology as a separate scientific discipline” (van Oppenraay 2015, p. 413), were often introduced to Aristotle’s natural philosophy with accompanying commentary material from Arab philosophers.4

Interest in these Aristotelian works spread quickly. By 1255, the General Statutes of the University of Paris reveal that the Faculty of Arts curriculum had come to include not only Aristotle’s Physics and Metaphysics—which had been prohibited in 1210 and 1215 in Paris—but also all of Aristotle’s works on natural philosophy, including the Parva Naturalia. A statute of the arts faculty in Paris from 1255 stipulates that a master must lecture on the first four books of Aristotle’s Ethics, as well as Physics, Metaphysics, De animalibus, De caelo, Meteora, De causis, and De generatione et corruptione, along with the Aristotelian texts included in the logica vetus (Chartularium universitatis Parisiensis (Denifle and Chatelain 1899, 1: no. 246, p. 278); cf. Weisheipl (1974, p. 209)).

Although interest in the more recently translated Aristotelian texts (and Arabic commentaries upon them) grew in Paris, especially among masters in the arts faculty, magistri in the theological faculty often expressed dismay that some of Aristotle’s doctrines contradicted long-established Christian teachings. The general course of this conflict over the introduction of Aristotle’s work on natural science to the medieval university in Paris is well known: in Robert of Courçon’s 1215 Statutes for the university in Paris, Aristotle’s Metaphysics and his books on natural philosophy were explicitly prohibited: one was not to read or comment upon them either in public or in private;5 in his 1231 bull, Parens scientiarum, Pope Gregory IX imposed a moratorium on reading these Aristotelian texts at the University of Paris until they were purged of all error,6 and he appointed William of Auxerre and other scholars to examine the prohibited books.7 In 1245 Pope Innocent IV (d. 1251) extended this prohibition on Aristotelian books to Toulouse (Chartularium universitatis Parisiensis (Denifle and Chatelain 1899, 1: no. 149, pp. 185–86)), and Pope Urban IV (d. 1264) renewed the prohibition when the Statutes of the University of Paris were confirmed in 1263 (Chartularium universitatis Parisiensis (Denifle and Chatelain 1899, 1: no. 384, pp. 427–28)). Nevertheless, before the end of the thirteenth century, Aristotle’s treatises on natural philosophy had a broad readership. By 1340, moreover, according to the Statutes of the University of Montpellier, masters in the medical schools were forbidden to lecture on any text from logic, grammar, or natural science, with the exception only of Aristotle’s De animalibus (Germain 1890, vol. 1: p. 350, no. 68, art. 31; De Asúa 1999, p. 207). In just over a century, then, the place of Aristotle’s De animalibus had become well-established in the Latin world.

Interest in Aristotle’s natural philosophy and especially in his major zoological works that comprise De animalibus expanded after Michael Scot’s translation from Arabic exemplars became available. It would grow even more following the appearance of William of Moerbeke’s Latin translations from Greek exemplars, beginning with his translation of the De partibus animalium in Thebes ca. 1260 and his translation of Historia animalium ca. 1262–63 (van Oppenraay 2019, p. ix, n. 10).8 William of Moerbeke’s translation from Greek exemplars did not replace Michael Scot’s translation from the Arabic, however, which continued to be used and which retained its popularity: Scot’s translation survives in 64 manuscripts from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, whereas William of Moerbeke’s is attested in only 42 (van Oppenraay 2017, p. 403; Van den Abeele 1999, p. 292). Willliam of Moerbeke’s translations did nonetheless encourage the diffusion of the Aristotelian philosophy of nature.

Albert the Great’s commentary on De animalibus, which he completed in the 1260s, and his Quaestiones super de animalibus, which arose from a series of lectures he delivered in Cologne ca. 1258–59, are not the only evidence of the expanding interest in Aristotle’s natural philosophy in the thirteenth century. In addition, Peter of Spain (later Pope John XXI; d. 1277) composed a Quaestiones super Libro ‘De Animalibus’ Aristotelis (Navarro Sánchez 2019), perhaps between 1246 and 49, which Albert the Great may have consulted (De Asúa 1991; De Asúa 1997; De Asúa 1999, p. 189; De Asúa 2013, pp. 271, 274–75, 286–90). The Franciscan Peter of Gallego (d. 1267) prepared his own Liber de animalibus (Martinez Gásquez 2000, pp. 78–158; Lohr 1972, p. 352, no. 1), while Gerardus de Brolio/Gerard of Breuil composed a massive Scripta supra librum De animalibus after 1260 (Goldstein-Préaud 1969, 1981; Lohr 1968, pp. 160–61, no. 2), based on William of Moerbeke’s translations rather than Michael Scot’s. Caesarius ex vado Tuscanensi, a Dominican prior in Viterbo from 1286, also composed an Opus ad litteram Aristotelis De animalibus (Lohr 1974, p. 130). Other thirteenth-century Latin authors prepared quaestiones that are no longer extant, e.g., Boethius of Dacia’s (d. 1284) Quaestiones super librum De animalibus (Lohr 1967, p. 388, no. 19), and Roger Bacon’s (d. 1292) Quaestiones or Commentarium super XVIII libros de animalibus, probably composed between 1240 and 45 (Bettoni 1966, pp. 547–48; Lohr 1973, p. 120, no. 16). Simon of Faversham, Chancellor of the University of Oxford from 1304 to 1306, is sometimes credited as well with a commentary In Aristotelem De animalibus (Lohr 1973, p. 146, no. 19; van Oppenraay 2017).

In addition to these texts explicitly dedicated to De animalibus, not long after Michael Scot completed his Latin translation, anthologists excerpted passages from Aristotle’s De animalibus. Among these one may include a work once attributed to Albert the Great, the Compendium philosophie or Compilatio de libris naturalibus Aristotelis (Kuhry 2014a, 2014b); or another previously attributed to Alexander of Hales (d. 1245), the compilatio libri Ar(istotilis) de animalibus a magistro Alexandro de Hales edita, or Auctoritates extracte de libro Aristotilis de naturis animalium (Beullens 1999, p. 73); and a later thirteenth-century florilegium known as the Parvi flores or Auctoritates Aristotelis (Hamesse 1974), perhaps composed by the Franciscan Johannes de Fonte (Hamesse 1994).9

In addition, thirteenth-century Latin encyclopedists also cited Aristotle’s statements on nature and the animal world. Some principal examples are Arnold of Saxony’s De floribus rerum naturalium (ca. 1220–30),10 Thomas of Cantimpré’s De natura rerum (second redaction completed ca. 1256), Bartholomew the Englishman’s De proprietatibus rerum11 (ca. 1245), and Vincent of Beauvais’ encyclopedic Speculum naturale (after 1244, completed in 1259).12

Although thirteenth-century Latin encyclopedists quickly introduced material from Aristotle’s zoological works, they tended to do so anecdotally and less systematically, extracting narrative materials as needed. The Quaestiones genre, by contrast, tended to reproduce the nineteen-book division of Aristotle’s De animalibus, and investigated natural philosophy systematically via the format employed in the scholastic disputation: posing a question, and then seeking a conclusion after having considered and analyzed arguments both pro et contra.13 Albert the Great employed this quaestio format in his Quaestiones super de animalibus (recorded in a reportatio by Conrad of Austria), posing questions like: “Why all animals except the human are very noisy during intercourse” (Albertus Magnus 1955, 1, q. 13, pp. 89–90; Resnick and Kitchell 2008, pp. 36–38) or “Whether brute animals are differentiated according to their habits” (Albertus Magnus 1955, 1, q. 14, p. 90; Resnick and Kitchell 2008, pp. 38–39).

For his paraphrastic, postilla commentary on De animalibus, however, Albert adopts a very different approach to map the contours of zoology qua science. For the first nineteen books he follows Aristotle’s texts, although often with extensive digressions or glosses on the text in which he introduces his own views or the opinions of others. Next, Albert added two books entirely of his own composition. Book 20 treats animal bodies and their powers, and book 21 investigates the distinction between perfect and imperfect animals. These additions are essential since, as he had indicated himself in his commentary on Aristotle’s Physics, it may sometimes be necessary to ‘complete’ Aristotle’s scientific work, filling in omissions or gaps, or providing explanations that perhaps Aristotle had offered elsewhere in his works that had not been transmitted to the Latin West (Albertus Magnus, Physica 1.1.1 (Albertus Magnus 1987, 1, lns. 38–41)).

These 21 books were followed by something very different in books 22–26, namely brief narrative descriptions of various animals arranged alphabetically and relying extensively upon Thomas of Cantimpré’s De natura rerum. The result is a peculiar composite that first articulates the general or common principles of animals—e.g., the manner of their reproduction, their nutrition, growth, shared behaviors, etc.—but then draws attention to the different ways in which diverse animals participate in these common principles, leading the natural scientist to distinguish one animal species from another. As a result, in books 22–26 Albert provides brief, narrative descriptions of different animal species which he derived primarily from Thomas of Cantimpré’s encyclopedia. This structure in Albert’s De animalibus reflects the scientific process followed by the natural philosopher. As Tkacz remarks, “The zoological researcher is concerned first of all with the morphology and behavior common to all species of animals and, then, getting down to detailed cases, studies the morphology and behavior of specific species.” (Tkacz 2007, p. 37). In the following pages I intend to examine Albert’s use in his commentary upon De animalibus of Thomas of Cantimpre’s narrative descriptions in De natura rerum. I will show that although Albert often criticized Thomas’s text, he utilized it nonetheless to satisfy the requirements for a natural science and to make that science accessible to a wider audience.

2. Thomas of Cantimpré, His De Natura Rerum and Its Influence

Although much of the information about Thomas of Cantimpré’s (ca. 1201–ca. 1270) early life is uncertain, Julia Burkhardt (Burkhardt 2020, 1: 14–36) has admirably reconstructed his curriculum vitae. Most important for our study is that Thomas traveled to Cologne ca. 1250, where he studied under Albert the Great alongside other distinguished Dominicans (including Thomas Aquinas) and supported Albert’s natural philosophical investigations. Thomas and Albert apparently remained in regular contact even after Thomas left Cologne.14 Although Thomas composed a handful of saints’ lives,15 and a very popular collection of moral exempla and miracle tales usually published under the title On Bees (Bonum universale de apibus; ca. 1256–63), it is his encyclopedic De natura rerum that will make a significant contribution to Albert’s own De animalibus.

A first redaction of his De natura rerum, on which Thomas labored from about 1228 to ca. 1242–47, consists of nineteen books; a second redaction, completed ca. 1256, added a twentieth book treating solar and lunar eclipses, and introduced some additional passages or chapters to the preceding nineteen books.16 This text in twenty books, usually identified in modern scholarship as Thomas I-II, was edited by Boese (1973),17 and provides the basis for a first English translation of the complete work currently in preparation (Resnick and Kitchell, forthcoming).

Thomas’s De natura rerum was frequently used and copied by students at the University of Paris to study natural history. The text survives in its entirety or in part in 226 manuscripts from the thirteenth through sixteenth centuries,18 diffused from Spain to Sweden and from Ireland to Romania. Its influence was immense, e.g., almost all the entries in books six and seven of De natura rerum were introduced to the massive Speculum maius (Greater Mirror) produced by his Dominican confrère Vincent of Beauvais.19 Similarly, Albert the Great introduced most of Thomas’s entries from books 4–9 of De natura rerum to books 22–26 of Albert’s own massive commentary upon Aristotle’s De animalibus.20 Thomas’s De natura rerum also served as an important source for John of Foxton, Pier Candido Decembrio, Felix Fabri, and for the late medieval compilation of natural history, the Hortus sanitatis.

3. Thomas and His Mentor, Albert the Great

In his treatise On Bees, Thomas of Cantimpré refers to Albert the Great both as “Master Albert the Theologian (Burkhardt 2020, 2:1024)” and “a man beyond men in science (Burkhardt 2020, 2: 1070).” The two shared similar interests in the natural world and Thomas became Albert’s student-collaborator in Cologne in 1250–51. Pauline Aiken (Aiken 1947) demonstrated conclusively that Albert is heavily dependent upon Thomas’s encyclopedic treatise for the last five books of Albert’s own twenty-six book De animalibus. Albert drew 90% of his animal descriptions in books 22–26, which introduce an alphabetical dictionary of animals appended to Albert’s paraphrastic commentary on Aristotle, from Thomas’s text. As a result, many manuscripts of De natura rerum attribute the work incorrectly to Albert the Great and many medieval and early modern witnesses drew the erroneous conclusion that Albert must be its author. Among them is the lavishly illustrated fifteenth-century manuscript and partial text of De natura rerum in Biblioteca Universitaria de Granada, C-67 (García Ballester 1974) which contains 611 illustrated miniatures and identifies Albert the Great as the author of the work, despite the fact that book 4, cap. 60 introduces Albert himself as an authoritative source on dogs and wolves.21 This appears to be the only reference to Albert by name in Thomas’s De natura rerum. Even Jacob of Maerlant (d. ca. 1291), however, a poet and younger contemporary who produced a modified and abbreviated thirteen-book Flemish translation ca. 1270 of Thomas’s encyclopedia with the title Der Naturen Bloeme (The Flowers of Nature; Maerlant 1878), incorrectly attributed the work to Albert of Cologne, i.e., Albert the Great. A beautifully illustrated version of Der Naturen Bloeme with some 460 miniatures exists in a manuscript produced ca. 1350. Conrad of Megenberg (d. 1374) also attributed the work to Albert the Great in the prolog to his German translation, Buch von den natürlichen Dingen or Das Buch der Natur (ca. 1349–50), based on a version of De natura rerum identified as Thomas III, before concluding that Albert could not have been its author because of errors it contained (Gottschall 2013, p. 737).22 Nonetheless, Thomas’s De natura rerum would often be attributed mistakenly to Albert the Great throughout the Middle Ages and early modern era.

Although early manuscripts of De natura rerum, e.g., British Library, Harley MS 3717, fols. 2–159v (mid-13th C.), lack illustrations, illustrated copies appear by the last quarter of the thirteenth century. Bibliothèque municipale de Valenciennes, Ms. 320 (ca. 1290) is an excellent example that contains 670 illustrations (Gatewood 2000). This tradition of illustrating the natural world will be transmitted to Renaissance and early modern works on natural history that relied on Thomas’s text, e.g., Pier Candido Decembrio’s De animantium naturis (ca. 1458–60; esp. books 4 and 9; Pyle 1996). Before the end of the sixteenth century numerous illustrations were added, likely by Teodor Ghisi (d. 1601), to De animantium naturis in Vatican MS Urbinus latinus 276. As a result, Thomas’s De natura rerum provided not only a medieval encyclopedia of nature, then, but often a picture book of the natural world as well, which contributed to its enduring influence for natural philosophy.

Thomas frequently cites by name his authorities such as Aristotle, Pliny, Solinus, Ambrose, Basil the Great, Isidore of Seville, and Thomas’ older contemporary Jacques de Vitry. He also cites Galen (from Latin translations produced by Constantine the African) and the Arab authors Alfraganus [al-Farghānī, d. ca. 870], Albumasar [Abu Ma’shar al-Balkhi, d. 886], and Averroes (Clesse 2013, 2016). The latter were probably known to him through Michael Scot’s translations from Arabic.23 Thomas names forty-three authorities in the prologue alone to De natura rerum, and throughout the entire work he relies on 165 authorities, providing invaluable evidence for the transmission of natural philosophy from antiquity. Although he is more interested than Albert the Great in moralizing Christian interpretations of nature (Friedman 1998), these are in fact secondary to his interest in natural philosophy. As Cipriani (2022, p. 76) remarks, only about 3% of De natura rerum records such moralizations, and these often rely on the bestiary tradition that was transmitted to the medieval world through the Physiologus or “Nature Inquirer” (Cipriani 2019). In addition to the opinions of ancient or medieval authorities, Thomas will on occasion also introduce personal observations (Draelants 2005, p. 63), although these observations are sometimes quite unreliable.

4. Albert, Natural Philosophy, and the Dominican Educational Curriculum ca. 1250

Albert the Great may have been incorrectly identified as the author of De natura rerum in part because of his advocacy for the study of natural philosophy in the Dominican curriculum. In 1248, Albert the Great returned to Cologne from Paris, where he had incepted as a regent master in theology in 1245. In Cologne, Albert was tasked with opening an international school, or studium generale, for members of his Dominican Order at the Cologne priory of the Holy Cross, to be modeled upon the studium generale at the Dominican house of Saint Jacques in Paris. Albert’s better-known pupils from this second sojourn in Cologne include Thomas Aquinas, Ulrich of Strasbourg, and Thomas of Cantimpré.24 Intended for the most advanced students who had already completed basic instruction in the arts, the Cologne studium generale was one of four new studia created to expand educational opportunities for friars in the Dominican provinces of Provence, Lombardy, Germany and England, to train the very best students to become the Order’s lectors or teachers or, in even fewer instances, to groom them to become theology masters.

Even while still regent master in Paris, Albert had been an outspoken advocate of the need for Dominican friars to study not only theology but also philosophy in general and natural philosophy in particular. Indeed, Isabelle Draelants (2019, p. 170) remarks upon a thirteenth-century “craze for texts on natura rerum” resulting from a new interest in natural philosophy. It may have been Albert’s influence that led the Dominican province of Provence to add, by 1262, studia naturarum, or schools for the study of natural philosophy, that rotated among the priories in the province.25 Studia naturarum will be introduced gradually to other Dominican provinces in the last decades of the thirteenth century and then mandated for the whole of the Dominican Order in 1305. Dominicans in the German-speaking provinces would have progressed through three years of study in logic (King 2021, p. 1) and two or three years studying in the schools of natural philosophy (studia naturarum).

At the Cologne studium, Albert introduced a course on the whole of Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, which had only recently been made available in a complete Latin translation from the Greek ca. 1246–47 by Robert Grosseteste. Before Grosseteste’s translation, only the first three of its ten books were available to Latin readers. Although Aristotle’s Ethics was a relatively ‘safe’ text for medieval Christian theologians, since it addresses issues pertaining to the moral life and need not expose them to Aristotle’s more controversial views on the soul and the eternity of the world, the decision to lecture in Cologne on the entire Nicomachean Ethics implied a bold defense of Aristotle’s philosophy. At the same time Albert began a lengthy commentary on Aristotle’s Physics, remarking that he had been pressed over many years by some of his Dominican brothers to compose for them a commentary “in which they would have the whole of natural science and from which they could competently understand the books of Aristotle.” (Albertus Magnus (1987, p. 1)). Albert’s commentary on Aristotle’s Physics stands at the beginning of his twenty-year long “Aristotle Project”—i.e., his effort to comment upon all of Aristotle’s works.

Despite continuing discomfort in some ecclesiastical circles over the introduction of new Aristotelian texts, between 1251 and 1254, Albert completed not only his own original De natura loci (On the Nature of Place) and a commentary on Pseudo-Aristotle’s Liber de causis proprietatum elementorum (On the Causes of the Properties of the Elements) but also commentaries on Aristotle’s De generatione et corruptione (On Generation and Corruption) and De caelo et mundo (On Heaven and the World). After Albert was elected prior provincial for the Dominican province of Germany in 1254 and released from lecturing in Cologne, the pace of his “Aristotle project” accelerated: between 1254 and 1257 he commented on Aristotle’s Meteora (Meteorology), De praedicamentis (On Categories), De anima (On the Soul), the Prior and Posterior Analytics, and on Aristotle’s collection of shorter natural philosophy treatises, the Parva naturalia. In 1258 he lectured on Aristotle’s De animalibus, and his lectures are preserved in the Quaestiones super de animalibus. In the first half of the 1260s he also completed his monumental De animalibus, De natura et origine animae, De principiis motus processivi and, by 1264, his commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysica. After 1264, he also commented on Aristotle’s Politica.26

Although Albert borrowed materials extensively from Thomas’s De natura rerum for his own commentary on Aristotle’s De animalibus, Albert did not borrow from Thomas uncritically. In fact, he frequently views Thomas as too credulous and too unscientific in his reception of ancient and medieval authorities, while encouraging a more “empirical” approach.27 Why, then, did he introduce so many descriptions from Thomas’s text to his De animalibus?

5. Albert the Great’s Use and Evaluation of Thomas of Cantimpré’s De Natura Rerum

Almost eighty years ago, Aiken (1947) demonstrated that in books 22–26 of De animalibus Albert the Great had borrowed extensively—without citing his source—from Thomas’ De natura rerum. One cannot establish this dependency based on parallel phrasing, since Albert typically rewrites or rephrases material sourced from Thomas. For the same reason, one cannot determine which redaction of Thomas’s text Albert used. Nonetheless, Aiken argues that since Albert often reproduces Thomas’s errors (and often condemns them), the evidence is compelling that Albert borrowed from Thomas and not the other way round. In books 22–26 of De animalibus, Albert describes 476 creatures, and Thomas is his principal source for 400. For 374 of them, Aiken claims (Aiken 1947, p. 225), Albert adds little or nothing of his own.

Less noticed in Aiken’s discussion, however, is her mention of three instances in book 22 and fourteen more instances in book 23 where Albert questions or contradicts Thomas, leading her to acknowledge that Albert is not an uncritical reader of Thomas’s work. In fact, Aiken grossly understates the number of occasions when Albert questions or contradicts Thomas: at present, my own cursory investigation has identified thirty-nine instances in books 22–26 of De animalibus where Albert contradicts Thomas’s De natura rerum, and another seven instances in books 1, 6, 7, 8 and 16. In these forty-six instances Albert typically introduces material from Thomas’s encyclopedic work but then declares that it is false or absurd.

6. Examples from Albert’s De Animalibus

It would be tedious to examine all the instances in which Albert repudiates Thomas’s claims, but it will be useful to look at a small number to evaluate the role that authority, experience, observation, and principles of natural philosophy play in Albert’s discussion.28 For example, Thomas seems to approve the opinion of Jacques de Vitry (2008, 90.194, lns. 88–89) that “Some whales are so large that they appear to be islands or mountains.” Without naming Thomas, Albert remarks that “some say” that a whale becomes so fat that “he is equal in size to the islands of the sea”; Albert adds, however, “I do not think this is true, and those with experience do not tell such tales (Stadler 1916–1920, 24.1.16(23), 16: 1523; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1668).” Similarly, in an entry on the wolf [lupus] that cites numerous authorities, including Albert himself, Thomas remarks “Some have said that wolves are wild dogs. It has a shape like a dog’s, its howl is very similar, but it does not bark (Boese 1973, 4.60, p. 143, lns. 2–3).” Again, Albert completely rejects this claim, remarking that “Although it is said that they [wolves] do not bark, this is false (Stadler 1916–1920, 22.2.1.114(68), 16: 1410; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1518).” In his description of the beaver, Thomas notes that the beaver “cannot live long unless it keeps its tail in the water (Boese 1973, 4.14, p. 116, ln. 11).” Thomas then cites the authority of the Experimentator (Deus 1999, 13.12.6, p. 207)29 to establish that

“beavers allow a little beast, the otter, to live in the water with them and this is only for a great service, namely that in wintertime they disturb the water around the beavers’ tails lest the water that has suddenly frozen grip their tails in the ice so that they would be caught. If they do not have the otters to protect their tails, they are themselves very careful regarding them and they dip into the water up to the loins, so that from their moderate natural heat the water will not freeze.”

(Boese 1973, 4.14, p. 117, lns. 34–39)

While Thomas admits “I do not know whether it is true,” Albert responds definitively:

“it is not true that the beaver never takes its tail out of the water since it does so when the water is too cold with ice. It is therefore false that this animal forces the otter to keep the water around its tail moving in the wintertime so that it does not freeze.”

(Stadler 1916–1920, 22.2.1.40(22), 16: 1370; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1468)

It is not unusual, then, for Thomas to cite authority—either by name or anonymously—to introduce information about an animal’s nature or behavior that Albert rejects as utterly false. This is apparent too in Thomas’s description of the bellwether sheep [vervex]. “Isidore [of Seville], says that the bellwether has a worm in his head;30 annoyed by its itch, they hurl themselves against one another and, when fighting, they strike each other with great force (Boese 1973, 4.85, p. 157, lns. 28–30)” Thomas does not cast doubt on the statement, whereas Albert rejects it completely: “The bellwether [vervex], the leader of the flock, strikes most forcefully with its horns and has a very hard forehead. Thus some say, falsely, that the bellwethers do this because they are goaded on by a worm that lives in their head (Stadler 1916–1920, 22.2.1.128(88), 16: 1418; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1528).” In his entry on the panther [panthera], Thomas cites the authority of the Physiologus to establish the claim that “arising from sleep after three days, it [the panther] emits a roar. In fact, when other animals hear his voice they gather and follow the sweetness of his scent, which he emits from his mouth… (Boese 1973, 4.87, p. 159, lns. 6–8).” Albert repudiates this claim: “as we have shown in our investigation On Sense and the Sensed this is false (Albertus Magnus 1890b, 2.2.12, pp. 68–69), for no other animals apart from the human either take joy in or are saddened by smell (Stadler 1916–1920, 22.2.1.131(90), 16: 1419–20; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1531).”

In book 25 of De animalibus, which treats serpents, Albert responds to Thomas’s assertions concerning the viper, which he based on the Physiologus.

Thomas remarks that “Physiologus says that the viper has a human appearance [facies] as far as its navel, but from the navel to the tail it has the appearance of a crocodile.” In addition, Thomas notes that “the [male] viper demands the absent female, calls for the absent female and calls out to her with an affectionate hiss, and when he senses that his mate is coming, he vomits up his venom on account of the reverence he bears for his wife, feeling reverence for and paying homage to the marriage relationship (Boese 1973, 8.45, p. 291, lns. 26–29).”

Albert responds, “Now, some say that the viper is like a human in the front part of his body and tapers off in the rear into a serpent. This is entirely false unless it is to be understood as used fabulously by the poets by way of metaphoric adornment.” Moreover, “Some say that the male, out of reverence for the female, vomits up venom and calls her with a pleasant hiss and that she later cuts off his head. This is an absurd and false theory (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 25.2.46(61), 16: 1577; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1738).”

Having repudiated Thomas’s report as “an absurd and false theory”, Albert turns his attention to some additional comments on the viper.

Citing Physiologus once more, Thomas adds: “Its [the viper’s] digestive tract is said to be like the eye of a needle, and this is why it cannot conceive in the manner of other beasts, but only does so through the mouth. Pliny seems to speak more truthfully and more credibly, since he offers a more profound explanation. He reports on the viper, saying that when the mother is pregnant and the time for giving birth comes, she pushes out individual young on individual days and, because there are many young, in fact they are twenty in number, the others which cannot be pushed out and which remain behind beyond the allotted time, becoming impatient of the delay, burst through her sides, killing their parent (Boese 1973, 8.45, p. 291, lns. 19–24).”

Albert, after complaining that Pliny lies, responds: “Now, concerning this serpent [the viper], Jorach says that the female goes mad with lust and seizes the head of the male while the male is spitting. Seizing it, then, in her mouth she severs it and conceives her brood from his spit. The young eat their way out of the mother’s body and she, with her viscera torn, dies in birth. Jorach assigns as the cause for this that the exit point of her superfluity is only as big as a pinprick and she is therefore unable to conceive or give birth like other animals.31 But this is an impossible thing and as far as nature is concerned is absurd. It has also been disproved by us elsewhere (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 25.2.45(61), 16:1576; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1737).”

In his discussion of birds, Thomas comments on partridges and their habits: Moreover, “The partridge has a dry brain compared to other birds and as a result it is forgetful. Therefore, it forgets its nest, loses its eggs, and their eggs are stolen and raised by another (Boese 1973, 5.101, p. 222, lns. 6–9).”

Albert responds: “It [the partridge] is said to have a dry brain and that on account of this it is forgetful, even forgetting its own nest. But this is false and not said in accordance with natural science [physice] because memory is much strengthened by dryness. Moreover, a partridge which returns to its nest shows that it remembers it (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 23.1.24.134(93), 16: 1507; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1644).” Albert not only rejects as false the claim that the partridge forgets its own nest, but explains that it is unsupported both by experience and by the principles of natural science, seeing that “memory is much strengthened by dryness.”

On the ostrich, Thomas endorses the widespread opinion that “It eats iron (Boese 1973, 5.110, p. 227, ln. 39).” Albert, however, contradicts this view based on results from his own experiment: “It is said that the bird eats and digests iron. But I have not experienced this to be so. I have often spread out iron for several ostriches and they have not wanted to eat it. They did greedily eat rocks and large, dry bones that were broken into smaller pieces (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 23.24.139(102), 16: 1510; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1648).” Albert also contradicts Thomas’s claim that the ostrich incubates the eggs by having “its sight trained on them so that through the heat of the visual spirit, which is powerfully [potentialiter] hot in it since it comes from a very hot animal, it might warm the air that surrounds them (Boese 1973, 5.110, p. 226, lns. 29–31).” Albert insists instead that because the ostrich guards and watches over its eggs, “the false rumor has arisen that they warm the eggs with their eyesight (Stadler 1916–1920, 23.24.139(102), 16: 1510; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1649).” Albert rejects a similar tale concerning the female sea tortoise. Thomas remarks that “some say that she incubates the eggs merely by gazing upon them with her eyes;… (Boese 1973, 6.49, p. 247, lns. 16–17).” But Albert remarks, “Some say that she incubates eggs with her sight, but this is false (Stadler 1916–1920, 24.56(123), 16: 1547; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1703).”

On vultures, Thomas notes: “According to Pliny, no one has ever reached vultures’ nests. Therefore, there are those who falsely have thought that they fly in from the other side of the world, for they nest on the highest cliffs (Boese 1973, 5.120, p. 230, lns. 12–14).” Furthermore, “Some say that vultures do not copulate or engage sordidly in sexual union or any sort of conjugal activity. As a result, they conceive without any seed from the male and generate without coming together (Boese 1973, 5.120, p. 230, lns. 23–25).”

Although Thomas rejects the assertion that “[vultures] fly in from the other side of the world,” Albert provides empirical evidence: “Pliny and others state that no one has seen a vulture’s nest and they are therefore thought to come from the other side of the world into our land. This is false, because vultures build nests every year in the mountains which are between Trier and the Civitas Wangionum [City of the Wangiones] which is now called Wormacia [Worms].” In addition, “It is also said that vultures do not employ copulation. This is entirely false since they are very often seen to copulate there (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 23.1.24.144(113), 16: 1513; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1654).”

Based either on his own observations or those of experti, Albert contradicts Thomas’s credulous reliance on authority.

When discussing the fabled barnacle goose, Thomas remarks

“On the barnacle-geese [barliates]… It is said that when wood from a fir tree falls in sea water, with the passage of time, once it begins to rot, it emits a thick humor from itself and it is from this dense humor that small types of a bird the size of a lark are formed, and at first they are naked. But then as they mature, they grow feathers and, hanging on the wood by their beaks, they float on the sea until maturity, up to the time that, bestirring themselves, they break away, and in this way they grow and gain strength until they are of the requisite shape. We have seen men worthy of trust who swore they have seen these birds still hanging on the wood and in fact I have seen many of them myself…. And this is certain concerning these birds, that in our area around Germany they neither generate through sexual intercourse nor are they generated through sexual intercourse and no person has seen their sexual intercourse in our area (Boese 1973, 5.23, p. 187, lns. 7–27).”

Let us compare Albert’s remarks with Thomas’s certainty that “in our area around Germany they [barnacle geese] neither generate through sexual intercourse nor are they generated through sexual intercourse and no person has seen their sexual intercourse in our area.” Albert writes: “Certain ones lie when they say that the barliates [barnacle geese], which the people call boumgans, that is, ‘tree geese,’ are so called because they are said to be born in trees, hanging from the trunk and branches and nourished on the sap that is in the bark. They also say that these animals are sometimes generated from rotten logs in the sea and especially from the putrescence of fir trees, maintaining that no one has ever seen these birds copulate or lay eggs. Now this is entirely absurd for, just as I have said in preceding books, I and many of my friends have seen them both copulate and lay eggs as well as nourish their young (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 23.1.24.31(19), 16: 1446; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1563).”

Not only does Albert regard the description of barnacle geese as “generated from rotten logs” without copulation as “entirely absurd”, once more he challenges Thomas and provides his own observation and experience as a counterweight: “I and many of my friends have seen them both copulate and lay eggs as well as nourish their young.”

Albert makes a similar appeal to his own experience in a discussion of the northern eagle. Thomas records the fabulous account that

“The northern eagle is a large, great bird, living in the north. According to Pliny, this bird always lays two eggs which are suspended at the very tops of branches. When it has caught a hare or a fox it pulls off its skin piecemeal and wraps its eggs in that fleece and places it under the heat of the sun. It thus leaves its eggs alone and does not sit on them (Boese 1973, 5.3, p. 179, lns. 1–4).” In the discussion of the eagle Thomas also appeals to Aristotle’s authority: “According to Aristotle, the eagle generally has two chicks but sometimes bears three eggs. But after it has produced three eggs it rejects one and thus rears two. It has, however, sometimes been seen that an eagle has three chicks. But, as this same Aristotle says, not from three eggs. The eagle bears three chicks out of two eggs: two from one egg, one from the other (Boese 1973, 5.2, pp. 178–79, lns. 43–46).”

Albert replies, “Pliny says that the northern eagle wraps its eggs in a fox pelt and hangs them in the sun on the limb of a tree until, brought to maturity by the heat of the sun, the young come forth. He also says that the eagle does not incubate them but rather the young emerge from the heat of the pelt and the sun, and then the eagle comes to them for the first time. I have experienced this to be quite false, for in Latvia, where there are quite large and fierce northern eagles, we discovered almost nothing of such behavior (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 23.1.15(1), 16: 1437; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2:1552).” Albert rejects this opinion, which seems to stem from a misinterpretation of Aristotle, and supplies his own explanation: “Certain of the philosophers say that the herodius [eagle] produces two or three young and that two always come from one egg and a single young comes from the other, claiming that the herodius lays only two eggs. I think this is false. Although this eagle has a large body, it has but little power in its semen and it therefore produces only one or two eggs, or conceivably three if it is young (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 23.1.9(1), 16: 1434; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1548).”

In his comments on the lion, Albert once more contradicts Thomas by appealing to principles of natural philosophy. Thomas writes

“As Pliny and Solinus say, there is a great desire for intercourse among the females and there is anger among the males on account of this. A lion senses intercourse from the scent of a pard [pardus] on an adulteress, [and] so that he does not rise to punish her, the lioness washes in running water or follows at a distance (Boese 1973, 4.54, pp. 141, lns. 88–90).” In addition to these comments on the sexual infidelity of the lioness, Thomas remarks that “A lion is almost always feverish, and this is a quartan fever; at that time, it especially desires monkey flesh to be cured (Boese 1973, 4.54, pp. 141, lns. 107–108).”

Albert responds that, “Pliny and Solinus…also say that when the lioness desires intercourse but the male is not capable of copulation because it is very hot, the lioness commits adultery with a pard [pardus] and the lion detects this by the odor. But she, before she returns to the lion, washes herself in running water and thus disposes of the odor of adultery. But I think this is false (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 22.2.1.107(58), 16: 1406; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1513).” Albert also comments on the claim that the lion suffers from quartan fever: “It [the lion] is also said to suffer almost continuously with quartan fever. But this is certainly false because nature produces no animal unless it has the balanced complexion which belongs to its species and in which it is healthy. Now, it is occasionally sick, but when it is it hunts the monkey, eats it, and is cured (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 22.2.1.108(58), 16: 1406; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1513).”

The lion may occasionally suffer from quartan fever, that is, a fever that recurs or peaks at four-day intervals. Elsewhere, Albert attributes this to the lion’s choleric complexion and its natural melancholy (Albertus Magnus 1955, 4, q. 3, p. 149; Resnick and Kitchell 2008, p. 174), but he rejects the notion that nature has produced an animal with a consistently distempered natural complexion for nature, as an opus intelligentiae (Weisheipl 1980), introduces no error or defect.

In the same way, Albert insists that nature reveals a consistent commitment to the principle of symmetry. This becomes clear in his response to Thomas’s description of the fabulous Sciapod or one-legged race.

Thomas notes, “There are other people who have only one foot which they use to run exceedingly fast. Their feet are so broad, moreover, that their soles create a spacious shade for them against the sun’s heat and they rest under the soles of their feet as if they were in a house (Boese 1973, 3.5(14), p. 99, lns. 20–23).”

Albert judges the myth of the one-legged race to be false because it is contrary to nature and reason: “nature sees to it that she established the feet in each animal in pairs, one opposite the other on each side, so that the weight of the body can be borne evenly. However, no animal can move continuously with one foot, for it cannot walk without raising and lifting its foot and when it lifted its foot, nothing would be supporting its body and it would therefore fall. Therefore, what is said about the monopeds is proven to be false…Thus, through this line of reasoning it is clear that what is said about the large-footed people is an absurd falsehood (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 1.1.7.87–88, 15: 32–33; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 1: 78).”

In one last example, Albert again rejects Thomas’s account. This is evident in the case of a fabulous worm-like creature, the shamir or thamur, also known as Solomon’s worm. Thomas describes it in De natura rerum 9.44. This worm is also found in rabbinic literature,32 and Solomon’s search for the s[h]amir appears in the Latin translation of almost 2000 passages from the Talmud that was produced in Paris in 1245 for a Parisian commission of 41 scholars and ecclesiastics under Odo of Châteauroux investigating the Talmud as a source of blasphemy. Albert himself was one of eleven Parisian theology masters appointed to the commission. In the Extractiones de Talmud (Cecini and Palma 2018, p. 481, §1796; Cecini et al. 2021, pp. 361–64, §131 and 133), likely translated at the Dominican priory of Saint Jacques in Paris, Solomon inquires how he can construct the Temple in Jerusalem when he cannot employ a hammer, ax, or iron tool to dress its stone. Thirty demons reveal to Solomon the secret of the s[h]amir, with which Moses had previously cut and engraved the stones of the priestly ephod. A rabbinic gloss adds that the s[h]amir is a creature that has existed from the creation of the world and no hard material can withstand it. Solomon then seeks to discover the location of the fabulous s[h]amir from the “king of the demons,” Asmodai (Extractiones de Talmud Cecini and Palma (2018), p. 483, §1798). Alexander Fidora (2020, p. 43) has suggested not only that Albert carried a copy of the Extractiones de Talmud (or portions of it) from Paris to Cologne, where both he and Thomas of Cantimpré could have accessed it, but also that a contemporary Dominican whom Thomas mentioned in relation to the Parisian Talmud controversy, Henry of Cologne (Burkhardt 2020, 2: 36–38), may have served as one of the translators of the Extractiones.33

Thomas notes

“On the thamur, which is called Solomon’s worm [vermis]. According to some the thamur or samier is a worm that also is called the worm of Solomon, and it takes its name from fact. For since in the Law, Moses had forbade that the stones from which the altar of the Lord was to be made be cut with iron; and when Solomon, who was aware of the prohibition, ordered that the most precious, hardest, and whitest marble, which was called a kind of Parian marble, be brought from the most distant parts of the world for the construction of the altar and of the temple, and when the very hard stones could not be cut to the requisite shape, Solomon himself sought a remedy [experimentum] in the worms, because this was an art unknown to men. Therefore, taking an ostrich chick, a bird that he possessed, he enclosed it in a glass vessel. When the ostrich saw the chick but was unable to hold him, she naturally attempted a known art. Therefore, the ostrich hurried to the desert, and when she returned she brought a worm whose blood she smeared on the glass, and right away it broke, and in this way she rescued her offspring. When Solomon observed this, he considered the type of worm which the bird used to split the glass, and he used that experience [experimentum] and obtained the same outcome for splitting the hardest marble (Boese 1973, 9.44, p. 309, lns. 2–14; Vollmann 2017, p. 374, 6.33).”

Albert remarks more tersely, “The thamur or samyr is, they say, the vermin by which glass and rocks are split and which ostriches use to split the glass in which their chicks have been enclosed and thus extract them and the one Solomon used to split marble at will. But this is a fable and I think it is one of the errors of the Jews (bold is mine; Stadler 1916–1920, 26.34(40), 2: 1596; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1761–62).”

Although Thomas and his fellow Dominican Vincent of Beauvais transmit the tale of the wondrous power of “Solomon’s worm” without reservation, Albert rejects it as a fable or myth that can be counted among the “errors of the Jews.”

7. A Rationale for Including Thomas’s Descriptions

As Pauline Aiken demonstrated, Albert the Great incorporated into his De animalibus hundreds of animal descriptions sourced from Thomas of Cantimpré’s De natura rerum. My survey reveals, however, that in approximately 12% of these cases Albert rejects Thomas’s descriptions as false or absurd. Not only is Thomas too credulous of authority but Albert also indicates that his own observations and experience often contradict Thomas. Furthermore, he contends that Thomas fails to understand fundamental principles of natural philosophy, which account for some of his erroneous conclusions. Why, then, did Albert include this material in his own commentary?

I propose that Albert had two compelling reasons. First, because its narrative content is necessary to complete a scientia de animalibus by disclosing a teleologically ordered natural world. For Albert, the unified structure of a scientia de animalibus is disclosed by universal principles that are common to all living beings. Yet specific but diverse characteristics of living beings emerge from these common principles. For this reason, Albert must also examine the diversity of living beings in detail, differentiated by species and genus, and he must then demonstrate why diversity arises in the unfolding of nature (Möhle 2011, pp. 229–32).

Second, Albert included this material for a more effective pedagogy. The “unlearned” are more easily taught from descriptive narratives of animals in these last five books, allowing for the wider diffusion of natural philosophy, which was also a goal shared by the Dominican studia naturarum. Moreover, it is precisely because Albert had identified unscientific errors in Thomas’s descriptions of animals that they had greater pedagogical value: from the errors that Albert corrects in Thomas’s text even the “learned” will be better instructed in the true principles of a scientia de animalibus. In this way, the two purposes indicated are best realized by the inclusion of animal descriptions differentiated by species and by the addition of materials whose errors can be used to illuminate the true principles of a science of nature. For these reasons, although Thomas’s De natura rerum was copied much more often than Albert’s De animalibus—226 manuscript copies of De natura rerum34 compared to about 55 manuscript copies of De animalibus—Albert’s text will have the more lasting impact on late medieval and early modern natural science.

We can confidently assert, then, that these last five books of De animalibus represent more than a concession to the popularity of Thomas’s encyclopedic work. Admittedly, the descriptions of individual animal species inject a measure of redundancy, precisely because there are so many attributes and qualities that all animals share; consequently, as we will see below, Albert views this methodology as “not appropriate for philosophy (since it is necessary when using it always to repeat the same thing)…” (Stadler 1916–1920, 22.1.1.1, 16: 1349; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1440) Nonetheless, Albert remarks, “in these matters it is necessary to say the same things over again” since “we have nevertheless judged it useful for our readers to pay careful attention to these things. Thus, the natures of the animals can be better understood when the nature of each animal will be described both by species and under its name (Stadler 1916–1920, 1.1.1.9, 15: 4; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 1: 48).” Albert seems to view, then, the narrative descriptions in the last five books as necessary to complete the natural science of the Peripatetics. As Katja Krause notes (Krause 2022, p. 192), without Books 22–26 Albert’s scientia de animalibus would remain incomplete and incomprehensive. The decision to include these books is necessarily a conscious one, since Albert had first planned to include his Liber de natura et origine animae and his Liber de principiis motus processivi as books twenty and twenty-two of De animalibus, before deciding to publish them separately and replacing them with those found there now.35 Clearly, Albert’s choice of material for De animalibus was deliberate.

8. The Pedagogical Imperative

Why did Albert include material from Thomas’s De natura rerum even when he rejected some of his descriptions as false and absurd? It may be noteworthy that Albert did not include this material in his Quaestiones super de animalibus, whose quaestio format is, admittedly, quite unlike the postilla commentary of De animalibus.36 In fact, Albert himself provides an answer to our question at the beginning of book 22 of De animalibus, the first book to include extensive material from Thomas’s De natura rerum:

“At the beginning of another book [namely, the 2nd tractate of book 22], we shall set down certain other natures, putting each under their appropriate names specifically and following the order of our alphabet. For although we have said above that this method is not appropriate for philosophy (since it is necessary when using it always to repeat the same thing), we will append just such a tract at the end of our book since we feel we are under obligation to both the learned and the unlearned alike [sapientibus et insipientibus], and since we feel that when things are related individually and with attention to detail, they better instruct the rustic masses [rusticam…contionem].”37

(italics added; Stadler 1916–1920, 22.1.1.1, 16: 1349; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1440)

Book 22 begins with a re-examination of the common and specific attributes of perfect animals, among which the human is identified as most perfect of all, followed by consideration of quadrupedal species. In a systematic fashion, Albert then proceeds in subsequent books to discuss animals that are less and less perfect: in book 23 Albert discusses birds or flying animals before the aquatic creatures presented in book 24, because the former “are more perfect than swimming creatures (Stadler 1916–1920, 24.1.1, 16: 1515; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1655).” Whenever he can, Albert provides the name for each animal in Latin, Greek, or Arabic, followed by a summary of the “facts” pertaining to it that were scattered throughout the preceding books. Albert explains, “Although we may have indicated the causes of these traits in previous books, we will gather them here again with no need for study in depth (Stadler 1916–1920, 22.1.1.1, 16: 1349; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1440).”

These remarks suggest at first a more concise and abbreviated treatment; second, they point to three different audiences for the treatment of animals according to the order of the Latin alphabet in books 22–26: “the learned” [sapientes], “the unlearned” [insipientes], and “the rustic masses [rusticam…contionem].” His reference to the learned and the unlearned, sapientes et insipientes, implies a pedagogical imperative, since Albert embraced Paul’s acknowledgement at Rom. 1.14 that he was a “debtor,” or under obligation, “to both the wise and unlearned.”38 The presentation of animals arranged alphabetically in these books is not only more concise, it also added a format with practical utility analogous to a subject index in a modern text, providing the reader with a convenient tool with which to locate specific material more easily.39 An alphabetically sorted presentation, as would be found commonly in medieval glossaries, biblical lexicons, and pharmacopeia, will appeal to a reader more interested in practical information on individual animals rather than abstract principles (Vollmann 2002, p. 175). The form or structure of these last books, then, was better suited to a popular audience.

This same juxtaposition of the learned to the unlearned is present in Albert’s Summa theologiae, a rather late work dated 1268–74, where Albert insists that theology—sacra Scriptura—is a practical scientia necessary to both the learned and the unlearned alike for salvation. Theology articulates truths in different ways, however: in one way for the educated, and in another for the uneducated, since not everyone can arrive at a scientific understanding (cf. 1 Cor. 8.7). Citing Jerome and Gregory the Great, Albert (Albertus Magnus 1894, p. 22A–B) remarks that the unlearned or uneducated may progress in virtue from instruction delivered by example and through sensible particulars, whereas the learned can achieve a scientific understanding via a more abstract exposition apart from sensible particulars or examples.

The “unlearned” may include individuals who had not yet explored the earlier books of Albert’s De animalibus, as well as some individuals who were quite knowledgeable and even literate but were perhaps unable to read the Latin of Albert’s commentary. For these individuals, a vernacular translation will become essential.

The rustic masses probably signified ordinary people who were illiterate and unable to read at all. Indeed, in his Summa theologiae (Albertus Magnus 1894, p. 22A) Albert employs the same expression—”better [to] instruct the rustic masses” (ut rusticam concionem facilius instruerent)—having first encountered it in Jerome’s Letter 53 to Paulinus of Nola. Albert explains that theology often appeals to specific examples or individuals to instruct the rustic masses (ut quasi exemplariter rusticam instrueret concionem), seeing that a rustic audience is more easily taught by examples than by abstractions (Albertus Magnus 1894, p. 31B). In this way too theology emerges as a scientific discipline, albeit treating individuals or particulars (Olszewski 2013, p. 81). Moreover, universal philosophical theses are concealed in particulars—in particularibus latent theoriae universales—for the sake of the learned. Thus, again citing Jerome, “in the same science [of theology] a learned individual perceives in one way, and the unlearned in another,…” The former achieves a more philosophical understanding through the construction of syllogisms, whereas the latter is better instructed by specific examples of right behavior. In this way, theology qua science is suited to both the learned and the simple believer.

Albert’s Latin, scientific text and its descriptions could be transmitted to the unlearned or the rustic masses especially by Dominican preachers trained in the Order’s studia, whose vernacular sermons instructed an audience with examples excerpted from a scientia de animalibus.40 Vernacular translations of thirteenth-century encyclopedias also expanded the philosophical audience through the popularization or “vulgarization” of philosophical knowledge. This seems to be the case for independent vernacular translations of the later books of Albert’s De animalibus, as in the Old Italian translation that circulated under the title Cura degli asturi as well as in middle-French translations of book 23 for its treatment of falcons and falconry,41 or the Buchelin von den suchten der fogel, hunde vnd pferde (Little Book on the Illnesses of Birds, Dogs and Horses) for its discussion of veterinary medicine.42 Vernacular translations of these later books of De animalibus especially satisfied a desire for practical knowledge among the “unlearned”. Conrad of Megenberg’s Buch von den natürlichen Dingen, whose prologue incorrectly assigned authorship to Albert the Great, likewise sought to produce “a compendium of more ‘popular’ science” with which to “communicate the entirety of the Aristotelian natural world…to a public that only reads Latin books poorly or unwillingly (Gottschall 2013, p. 736).” The “learned,” then, might be members of the Order who received instruction in philosophy and, in particular, natural philosophy and could investigate the whole of Albert’s scientia de animalibus; the “unlearned” likely signified a broader audience who either read only the last five books of Albert’s De animalibus, or who were unable to read even these, since they read Latin ‘poorly or unwillingly.’ These might be lay persons or lower clergy who had not been introduced to the philosophical training of the Dominicans themselves. And, last, the ‘rustic masses’ likely could not read at all, but they could receive instruction from what they heard in sermons by Dominican preachers.

Still, Albert acknowledged one of the chief shortcomings of a treatment of animals presented according to the alphabet: this method is “not appropriate for philosophy (since it is necessary when using it always to repeat the same thing)…” When particular animal species have univocal properties or characteristics that differ only in degree—where one dog, for example, is merely larger or smaller or differently colored from another—these should be treated under a single name (Stadler 1916–1920, 11.2.2.73, 1: 789; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 885). In the same way, in book 17, tractate 1, Albert treats the general characteristics of oviparous birds; only in book 23 does he examine avian species, arranged alphabetically, with a rather extensive discussion of raptors and falconry.

When discussing particular species there arises a problem, then, analogous to one that Albert had identified in book eleven of De animalibus, namely that “if we should speak of every animal singly, such a discussion would cause us to return to the same discussion many times, because things commonly occurring in many are the same in many individuals (Stadler 1916–1920, 11.2.3.90, 15: 795; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 890).” This can produce a flawed scientific methodology:

“If, however, someone should contradict this, saying that when treating the natures of animals we ought to speak of some individual first, then it will follow that we will be describing the same accident and individual trait of some animal many times over. For the same accident which commonly occurs on account of nature belongs to all of those whose common nature it is, and it will then be necessary that this be repeated in the treatment of each and every animal whatsoever. This is a foolish error, and it not only is an error but also prolongs the discussion if we speak of each and every particular animal in its own right.”

(Stadler 1916–1920, 11.2.2.78, 15: 791; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 887)

A proper, scientific procedure works in the opposite direction, that is, moving downward from the genus to the species, and from the universal to the particular. Thus, “we ought to discuss first the activities common to all the genuses of animals, and then, working our way down, we will speak of the activities attributed to a given form or species of animal (Stadler 1916–1920, 11.2.3.91, 15: 795; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 891).” But once that treatment of the more general genuses has been completed, then it is appropriate to consider species and their differences. So, in Book 22 of De animalibus Albert remarks,

“Since, though, many things have been said and must be said about quadrupeds in general, let us move on to them one by one, repeating nothing that has been said in preceding books. We will follow the order of the Latin alphabet as we have done in our treatment of rocks and plants.”

(Stadler 1916–1920, 22.2.1.14, 16: 1356; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1448)

This mention of rocks and plants is a reminder that Albert has proceeded in just this way in both his De mineralibus and De vegetabilibus. In De mineralibus, for example, after having examined the causes and properties of stones in general (e.g., hardness, color, etc.), Albert begins in book two, tractate two to examine stones in alphabetical order, beginning with Abeston and concluding with Zirgites. Although he expresses some discomfort with this descriptive procedure, since natural science must investigate the causes of things, nonetheless he acknowledges that it will be convenient to discuss individual stones and their powers following the order of the Latin alphabet, “as medical practitioners are accustomed to do in describing medical simples (Albertus Magnus 1890a, 2.2.1, p. 30A).” Hence, Albert explicitly acknowledges that a presentation according to the alphabet replicates the presentation found in pharmacopeia and therefore will have special utility for medical practitioners. Similarly, after discussing in De vegetabilibus the division into plant genuses and species, their morphology and material, Albert (Albertus Magnus 1867, 6.1.1 and 6.2.1, pp. 340, 472) advances in book six, tractate one, to the examination of individual trees arranged alphabetically by name beginning, as he says, with the more perfect plants (trees) and then proceeding in tractate two to the more imperfect (herbs).

He proceeds in precisely the same manner in books 22–26 of De animalibus, with a focus upon individual species—e.g., dogs, wolves, camels, horses, etc.—rather than whole genuses, often even subdividing species into their subalternates, like “wild” and “domestic.” Although redundancy renders this method somewhat defective, this narrative treatment of animal species “individually and with attention to detail” is necessary to “complete” a science of animals, and it is better for instructing the unlearned.

At the beginning of books 23, Albert repeats his justification that this examination is a [more] effective procedure for teaching:

“In this book the nature of birds will be treated specifically, and since every scientific [physica] investigation moves from the general to the particular, we will first speak in general about the nature of birds. Afterward, moving according to the order of the Latin alphabet, the birds will be set forth by name in accordance with their species and types. Though it is granted that this procedure is not entirely philosophical insofar as in it the same thing is repeated many times because one and the same thing may pertain to many birds, it nevertheless is an effective procedure for easy teaching [italics added] and many of the philosophers have held to this procedure.”

(Stadler 1916–1920, 23.1.1, 16: 1430; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1543)

Thus, at the beginning of the twenty-third book, Albert attempts to mitigate the chief scientific defect that arises from a treatment of individual animal species and subspecies according to the order of the alphabet by first speaking “in general about the nature of birds,” introducing there a very condensed discussion of the most common shared attributes and differences [differentiae] found among birds. Only then, after informing the reader that “many things have already been said on these matters in previous books” pertaining to birds throughout all their genuses (Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 23.1.6, 2: 1547), will he proceed to a discussion of individual species and subspecies. Again, even though “this procedure is not entirely philosophical,” it is nevertheless an effective teaching device.

At the beginning of book 24, on aquatic animals, Albert offers the same explanation. First, as he did in book 23, Albert briefly recapitulates the principal common properties and principal differences found among aquatic animals, which he had treated at greater length in earlier books. After apologizing to the reader that the procedure to be followed in the remainder of the book fails to achieve philosophical precision and tends to be redundant, nonetheless “Although, as we have said in previous books, this might not be philosophical, and even though the same fact is often repeated, in such matters it nonetheless instructs the uneducated all the more (italics added; Stadler 1916–1920, 24.1.1, 16: 1515; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1655).” Albert expresses here once more the importance of reaching a larger, uneducated audience, by way of a popularization of natural philosophy.

The manner in which a medieval philosophical elite sought the “popularization” of philosophical learning, the various meanings of that term—”popularization”— and the diverse justifications medieval authors adduced, deserve fuller attention. Nonetheless, one can find in Albert’s remarks support for Steven Harvey’s conclusion pertaining to medieval encyclopedists that “compilers of such encyclopedias and compendia—Arabic, Hebrew, and Latin—sought to make certain philosophical and scientific teachings of their source texts accessible and known to a new or broader readership (Harvey 2022, p. 105),” which included an audience of “students of philosophy, educated readers, doctors, theologians, clergy, and/or learned laymen (Harvey 2022, p. 104).” This process might entail ‘simplifying’ philosophical texts by restating their arguments in Latin, by including them in encyclopedias, abridgements, or anthologies, or by translating them into the vernacular.43

This same concern for an appropriate pedagogy also appeared in Albert’s Quaestiones super de animalibus, where he remarked that a more scientific approach to nature entails an investigation into causes and not merely a narrative or descriptive approach to natural phenomena. The investigation into causes “is more necessary for an advanced audience,” whereas “the descriptive process is more necessary to those who are less advanced (Albertus Magnus 1955, 11, q. 2, pp. 218–19; Resnick and Kitchell 2008, p. 339).” A narrative process is effective for teaching (docens), but the assignment of causes produces real learning (discens) (Albertus Magnus 1955, 11, q. 1, p. 218; Resnick and Kitchell 2008, p. 338). Moreover, “knowledge can be introduced through description [per narrationem] without knowledge of the cause; but knowledge of the cause cannot exist without some description,… (Albertus Magnus 1955, 11, q. 2, pp. 218–19; Resnick and Kitchell 2008, p. 339).” Causal explanations are, therefore, the more necessary, although both are important to scientific investigation (Tkacz 2013, p. 520). Indeed, without narratives that describe nature, we would lack the details or information that reveal that for which a causal explanation is required. As Tkacz remarks, “before one can begin to solve the problem, one must know what the problem is and possess a clear articulation of it as a problem calling for solution. Scientific reports provide such an articulation through their description of the subject under study (Tkacz 2004, p. 532).”

Narrative, then, constitutes a “predemonstrative phase of scientific research (Tkacz 2004, p. 532)” to urge the intellect on to the discovery of causes (Tkacz 2007, p. 42). For Albert this process, dependent upon teleology, also confers an element of necessity ex suppositione finis (Wallace 1980, pp. 394–97). Although this type of reasoning in natural science does not achieve the absolute necessity found in mathematical demonstration, nonetheless “Very often we observe the effects of natural processes without having been witness to their causes. Yet operating under the assumption that nature is intelligent and works toward an end or goal (telos) one can argue from the effect to the cause (providing a demonstration quia) and then postulate as a hypothesis the cause of the regularly observed effect (Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 1: 28).” For Albert, this is how natural science progresses. From observations of individual natures too, like those introduced by Thomas of Cantimpré, one can also perceive a reflection of the First Cause, the Creator of Nature: “Therefore, from the knowledge of these vile animals we can ascend to the knowledge of the first cause just as we ascend from effect to cause. But this is the knowledge ‘that it is’ [quia est] and not a knowledge of ‘what it is’ [quid est], which is more knowable and is prior absolutely… (Albertus Magnus 1955, 11, q. 9, 3, p. 223; Resnick and Kitchell 2008, pp. 351–52).”

9. Conclusions

Albert appears to have included materials from Thomas’s De natura rerum, then, because it provided a convenient alphabetized list of animals. Even though Thomas’s descriptions failed to achieve the scientific accuracy that Albert himself pursued earlier in De animalibus, and despite (or because of) Albert’s criticism of its contents, it remained a good pedagogical tool with which to introduce both the learned and the unlearned to the world of natural philosophy. It seems too, however, that Albert imagined that the specific animals briefly discussed in accord with the order of the alphabet in books 22–26, despite the flaws in this procedure from the standpoint of a science of animals, could yet provide a foundation for further scientific investigation and discovery, for which his audience could return to the earlier books of De animalibus. He concludes book 22 with the words, “Let these things, then, suffice concerning the nature of quadrupeds since, if there are others [i.e., things to be learned], they can easily be discovered in the things discussed above (Stadler 1916–1920, 22.2.1.149(113), 16: 1429; Kitchell and Resnick 2018, 2: 1543).”