Seeing the number of his friars increasing daily, Francis decided to write the Rule of the Order and go to Rome to procure its approval by the pope.
This resolution was not lightly taken. It would be a mistake in fact to take Francis for one of those inspired ones who rush into action upon the strength of unexpected revelations, and, thanks to their faith in their own infallibility, overawe the multitude. On the contrary, he was filled with a real humility, and if he believed that God is revealed in prayer he never for that excused himself from the duty of reflection or even from reconsidering his decisions. St. Bonaventure does him great wrong in picturing many of his important resolutions as taken in consequence of dreams; this is to rob his life of its profound originality. Francis was one of those who struggle, and, to use one of the noblest expressions of the Bible, of those who by their perseverance conquer their souls. Thus we shall see him continually retouching the Rule of his institute, unceasingly revising it down to the last moment.
The first Rule that he submitted to Rome has not come down to us. We only know that it was extremely simple, and was composed especially of passages from the Gospels. It was doubtless only the repetition of the verses that Francis had read to his first companions, with a few precepts about manual labor and the occupations of the new brothers.
Innocent III had now for twelve years occupied the throne of St. Peter. Still young, energetic, resolute, he enjoyed that superfluity of authority given by success. Coming after the feeble Celestine III, he had been able in a few years to reconquer the temporal domain of the Church, and so to improve the papal influence as almost to realize the theocratic dreams of Gregory VII. He had seen King Pedro of Aragon declaring himself his vassal and laying his crown upon the tomb of the apostles. At the other end of Europe, John Lackland had been obliged to receive his crown from a legate after having sworn homage, fealty, and an annual tribute to the Holy See. Preaching union to the cities and republics of Italy, causing the cry “Italia! Italia!” to resound like the shout of a trumpet, he was the natural representative of the national awakening. Finally, by his efforts to purify the Church, by his indomitable firmness in defending morality and law, he was gaining a moral strength that in times so disquieted was all the more powerful for being so rare.
Celestine III (pope from spring 1191 to January 1198) was already 85 years of age when elected. He is most memorable for his loyalty to Abelard, his former teacher in Paris, when Bernard of Clairvaux led the council of Sens against him (1140). Later, Celestine also petitioned for leniency for Thomas Becket. At the time, “Becket judged him one of the only two incorruptible cardinals” (KELLY, p. 185).
Innocent III’s power is perhaps best exemplified in his vow to protect every “citizen” of the Roman Church in the same manner that the ancient emperor Trajan had put fear in the hearts of those who would harm any citizen of Rome. He also excommunicated Emperor Otto IV in 1211.
When Innocent III suppressed ecclesiastical disorders it was less for love of good than for hatred of evil. This priest did not comprehend the great movement of his age—the awakening of love, of poetry, of liberty. He never suspected the unsatisfied longings, the dreams, unreasoning perhaps, but beneficent and divine, that were silently stirring in the depths of people’s hearts. He was a believer, but he drew his religion rather from the Old Testament than from the New, and if he often thought of Moses, the leader of his people, nothing reminded him of Jesus, the shepherd of souls.
His reception of Francis furnished to Giotto, the friend of Dante, one of his most striking frescos. The pope, seated on his throne, turns abruptly toward Francis. He frowns, for he does not understand, and yet he makes a real but futile effort to comprehend.
What Francis asked for was simple enough. He claimed no privilege of any sort, but only that the pope would approve of his undertaking to lead a life of absolute conformity to the precepts of the gospel. There is a delicate point here that it is quite worthwhile to see clearly. The pope was not called upon to approve the Rule, since that came from Jesus himself. At the very worst all that he could do would be to lay an ecclesiastical censure upon Francis and his companions for having acted without authority, and to enjoin them to leave
to the secular and regular clergy the task of reforming the Church.
Cardinal Giovanni of San Paulo presented Francis and his companions to Innocent III. Naturally, the pope was not sparing of expressions of sympathy, but he also repeated to them the remarks and counsels that they had already heard so often. “My dear children,” he said, “your life appears to me too severe. I see indeed that your fervor is too great for any doubt of you to be possible, but I ought to consider those who shall come after you, lest your mode of life should be beyond their strength.” Adding a few kind words, he dismissed them without coming to any definite conclusion, promising to consult the cardinals and advising Francis in particular to address himself to God.
Our image of Francis the saint often obscures Francis the human being. Zofia Kossak’s little-known historical novel about the life of Francis and his early followers offers many intriguing hypothetical everyday scenes. Here is a sample glimpse of the debates the brothers might have had while composing the first Rule while traveling to Rome to present it to the pope:
“Elias continued to read:
‘And the most important commandment given to the brethren is that they shall love each other. By that sign they will know you for the true disciple of Our Lord, that you shall have love for each other. And every man who shall come to the brethren, be he a thief or a robber, must be welcomed gladly even as he were one of them.’
Brother Elias once more put the parchment down:
‘And to this, too, the Holy Father will never agree,’ he remarked. ‘Why, ‘tis pure folly! So if a notorious murderer came to us we should take him in and perhaps even offer him hospitality.’
‘Aye,’ nodded Francis with conviction. ‘Because who knows whether we can’t bring him to repent?’
‘And he, in the meantime, will rob the brothers and . . .’
‘What will he rob them of? What can he do to us? None of us fears death. She is our sister. Only those who possess aught can be robbed. We have naught’” (KOSSAK, pp. 39–40).
Francis’s anxiety must have been great. It seemed to him that he had said all that he had to say. For new arguments he had only one resource—prayer. Francis felt his prayer answered when in his conversation with Jesus the parable of poverty came to him. He returned to lay it before the pope:
“There was in the desert a woman who was very poor, but beautiful. A great king, seeing her beauty, desired to take her for his wife, for he thought that by her he should have beautiful children. When the sons were grown, their mother said to them: ‘My sons, you have no cause to blush, for you are the sons of the king. Go to his court and he will give you everything you need.’
“When they arrived at the court the king admired their beauty, and finding in them his own likeness he asked: ‘Whose sons are you?’ And when they replied that they were the sons of a poor woman who lived in the desert the king clasped them to his heart with joy, saying, ‘Have no fear, for you are my sons.’”
“Very holy father,” added Francis, “I am this poor woman whom God in his love has deigned to make beautiful, and of whom he has been pleased to have lawful sons. The King of Kings has told me that he will provide for all the sons that he may have for me.”
So much simplicity, joined with such pious obstinacy, at last conquered Innocent. When Francis heard the words of the supreme pontiff he prostrated himself at his feet, promising the most perfect obedience with all his heart. The pope blessed them, saying: “Go, my brothers, and may God be with you. Preach penitence to everyone according as the Lord may deign to inspire you. Then when the All-Powerful will have made you to multiply and go forward, you will refer again to us. We will concede what you ask, and we may then with greater security accord to you even more than you ask.”
Francis and his companions were too little familiar with Roman phraseology to perceive that after all the Holy See had simply consented to suspend judgment in view of the uprightness of their intentions and the purity of their faith. The flowers of clerical rhetoric hid from them the shackles that had been laid upon them. The curia, in fact, was not satisfied with Francis’s vow of fidelity; it desired in addition to stamp the Penitents with the seal of the Church. From this time they were all under the spiritual authority of the Roman Church.
The thoroughly lay creation of St. Francis had become in spite of himself an ecclesiastical institution. It would soon degenerate into a clerical institution. All unawares, the Franciscan movement had been unfaithful to its origin. The prophet had abdicated in favor of the priest.
Many scholars argue that Innocent III had two motivations, one noble, the other less so. Innocent had a genuine sympathy with Francis’s mind for reform and evangelical poverty. But, he also used Francis and his brothers. By bringing the preaching of the early Franciscans under the shadow and sanction of the Church, Francis helped Innocent defuse the power, and remove the seditiousness, of the Humiliati’s and Albigensians’ similar ideas.