BY PHILLIP MANNING
The year 999 AD was the darkest time of the Dark Ages. A biblical passage predicted that Satan would be loosed on the world in the year 1000. Fear and superstition were rampant. “Greed is on the rise and the end of the world is imminent,” wrote one scribe.
In the midst of those black days, Gerbert of Aurillac — the man who would soon become pope — wrote a letter to a friend. He did not bemoan the times nor worry about the end of the world. No, Gerbert was worried about something he considered more important, namely how to calculate the area of a triangle.
In her exhaustively researched book, Ann Marie Brown pieces together a biography of Gerbert, “The Scientist Pope.” Her goal is an ambitious one. “To tell the story of his life,“ she says, “is to rewrite the history of the Middle Ages.” The Middle Ages is popularly thought of as a period in which superstition trampled science and reason. But Brown’s picture of Gerbert and his circle of friends shows them to be liberal, tolerant, and well educated in science and mathematics.
Gerbert was a polymath of humble origins. His keen intelligence was recognized early on, and he was sent to Spain to study mathematics and science. This led to his appointment as schoolmaster of the great cathedral at Reims.
While teaching there, Gerbert began to make scientific instruments. He constructed an astrolabe and an ingenious armillary sphere, which showed the movements of sun, moon, and planets. However, his most important innovation was an abacus.
Gerbert did not invent the abacus. They had been around long before him. His contribution lay in the design. A recently discovered copy of his abacus board, Brown writes, had “counters marked with ‘nine signs.’” The signs are familiar to us today. They are the numerals 1 through 9. Gerbert’s abacus introduced Arabic numbers to France, a country that had previously known only Roman numerals. This breakthrough — which allowed faster, easier calculations — and other accomplishments propelled Gerbert to star status, “the most influential mathematician in the West.”
His fame led him into politics where, Brown says, “He was lost in a world of intrigue.” At first, Gerbert was the big loser. He was excommunicated and twice had to flee for his life when he was accused of treason. Then, power shifted to his supporters. In 999, Gerbert of Aurillac was appointed pope, choosing the name Sylvester II.
His tenure lasted less than four years. He died in 1003 after a brief illness. His reign had been temperate and evenhanded. And while it is unlikely that Gerbert’s story will rewrite the history of the Middle Ages, it does show how for a few shining years, science and reason ruled.
Unfortunately, Gerbert’s legacy was ephemeral. After his death, Brown tells us, religious zealots began burning heretics at the stake and the universities had to fight the Church to teach “the astronomy and mathematics that Pope Sylvester II had known.” One scribe summed up the changes. After the Scientist Pope died, he wrote, “the world was darkened and peace disappeared.”