Book Review: "Francis of Assisi: The Life and Afterlife of a Medieval Saint" by André Vauchez
By Iris McLister // Jul 2014
French historian André Vauchez’s Francis of Assisi: The Life and Afterlife of a Medieval Saint is probably the most comprehensive account we have of one of Christianity’s best-known figures. Though the book is densely packed with information, drawing as it does from sources that span the past 800 years or so, it’s also full of nuance and engaging detail, providing insight into the enduring legacy of the so-called Poor Man of Assisi. Throughout the book, Vauchez asks us to consider Francis as “an emblematic figure of the harmony which ought to reign between human beings and religions” — a figure who was passionately, radically devoted to God but who was also firmly planted in the real world. Ultimately, Vauchez accomplishes something rather impressive: He humanizes his subject while simultaneously explaining why he is so beloved and revered.
The book is arranged into four sections, only the first of which is strictly biographical. Though most of what we know of Francis’ life comes from a handful of authors writing in the 13th century, the reliability of these earliest accounts is not something all scholars agree upon; Vauchez deftly weaves them together to create a cohesive, if not entirely seamless, portrait of the saint’s life. The book’s second and third sections explore Francis’ legacy in the decades and centuries following his death, from medieval times to today. The fourth section is broken up into seven essays, each focusing on aspects of Francis’ practice and beliefs; it’s arguably the most readable, and the most provocative, part of the book.
Francesco di Bernardone was born in 1181 or 1182 in the central Italian town of Assisi. The son of a textile merchant, Francis didn’t exactly enter the world with a silver spoon in his mouth, but by all accounts his family was comfortable. He was originally named Giovanni, but Francis’ father, Pietro, changed the baby’s name to Francesco, or “Frenchman.” Vauchez points out that this name, which was unusual at the time, suggests Pietro’s emulation of France, whose culture was very much in vogue at the time of Francis’ birth; it’s a subtle way of implying that Francis was born into a class-conscious family that valued the finer things in life, as well as the opinions of others. Vauchez describes the Italy of Francis’ youth as politically rocky, with contentious rivalries between neighboring townships and within cities themselves. In his early twenties, Francis fought in a battle against Perugia, where he ended up a prisoner of war, sickly, depressed, and bereft of hope. Many have pinpointed this trying period as the definitive shift in Francis, whereby a patriotic, fun-loving youth transformed into a rigorous ascetic. Vauchez is more cautious in this respect, and he describes Francis’ conversion (around 1204 or 1205) as one that “occurred in a climate of torpor and melancholy,” with Francis finding his voice “only in long and painful fits and starts.” In emphasizing that Francis was not what he calls a “spiritual meteorite,” Vauchez keeps Francis firmly rooted in the real world. Describing Francis’ dramatic renunciation of his father’s inheritance, Vauchez demonstrates sensitivity and insight; he concedes that while Francis’ eschewal of his family’s wealth had pious motives, it was also an act of youthful rebellion — one that young people of any period can relate to.
Vauchez is at his most captivating when he describes his subject’s intense love for God, writing that “[Francis’] prayer was interlaced with tears, groans, and supplications,” a fervor that “led him into a state of spiritual inebriation. ... His relationship with God did not follow a regular progression.” In the years following his conversion, Francis gained a slow but steady following. Ultimately, peace — stemming from brotherly love, penitence, and renunciation of the material world — was his simple message, one that held huge appeal for those living in uncertain feudal times. In the early 13th century, monks’ communities were stationary, self-sufficient operations, run according to hierarchical structure; interaction with outsiders was often limited. Francis’ insistence on equality, extreme poverty (which negated the possibility of land ownership and income), and community engagement was indeed regarded as radical. He and other friars minor, as they were known, often slept outdoors or in simple shelters, and they spent their days repairing churches, praying, and offering aid to those more destitute than even themselves. Throughout the book, Vauchez succinctly elucidates Francis’ beliefs. Explaining Francis’ stance on morality, for example, Vauchez writes, “ ‘Sin’ is not a matter of moral judgment, but a real-life condition in which the individual attributes to himself the merit of good things that God has given him and then directs his action toward the exaltation of the self. This makes a person lapse into indifference, if not hostility, toward his neighbor.”
It’s ironic that after reading André Vauchez’s book, so focused as it is on Francis’ humanity, we come away feeling assured that Francis was deserved of his reputation as an exceptionally holy figure — one whose legacy can be attributed in equal parts to his humanity and his spirituality.