remained formidable. In 1215 the medieval
papacy had reached its culmination at the Fourth Lateran Council, held in a Roman palace which, before Nero confiscated it,
had been the home of the ancient Laterani family. The council, representing the entire Church, was brilliantly attended. Its
decrees were of supreme importance, covering confession, Easter rites, clerical and lay reform, and the doctrine of transubstantiation,
an affirmation that at holy communion bread and wine are transformed into the body and blood of Christ. The council glorified
Vicars of Christ in language of unprecedented majesty and splendor; pontiffs were explicitly permitted to exert authority
not only in theological matters, but also in all vital political issues which might arise. Later in the thirteenth century
Saint Thomas Aquinas celebrated the accord of reason and revelation, and in 1302
Unam Sanctam
—a bull affirming papal supremacy—was proclaimed. Even during its Avignon exile the Church progressed, centralizing its
government and creating an elaborate administrative structure. Medieval institutions seemed stronger than ever.
And yet, and yet …
Rising gusts of wind, disregarded at the time, signaled the coming storm. The first gales affected the laity. Knighthood,
a pivotal medieval institution, was dying. At a time when its ceremonies had finally reached their fullest development, chivalry
was obsolescent and would soon be obsolete. The knightly way of life was no longer practical. Chain mail had been replaced
by plate, which, though more effective, was also much heavier; horses which were capable of carrying that much weight were
hard to come by, and their expense, added to that of the costly new mail, was almost prohibitive. Worse still, the mounted
knight no longer dominated the battlefield; he could be outmaneuvered and unhorsed by English bowmen, Genoese crossbowmen,
and pikemen led by lightly armed men-at-arms, or sergeants. Europe’s new armies were composed of highly trained, well-armed
professional infantrymen who could remain in the field, ready for battle, through an entire season of campaigning. Since only
great nation-states could afford them, the future would belong to powerful absolute monarchs.
By A.D . 1500 most of these sovereign dynasties were in place, represented by England’s Henry VII, France’s Louis XII, Russia’s Ivan
III, Scandinavia’s John I, Hungary’s Ladislas II, Poland’s John Albert, and Portugal’s Manuel I. Another major player was
on the way: in 1492, when the fall of Granada destroyed the last vestiges of Moorish power on the Iberian peninsula, Spaniards
completed the long reconquest of their territory. The union of their two chief crowns with the marriage of Ferdinand of Aragon
and Isabella of Castile laid the foundations for modern Spain; together they began suppressing their fractious vassals. Germany
and Italy, however, were going to be late in joining the new Europe. On both sides of the Alps prolonged disputes over succession
delayed the coalescence of central authority. As a result, in the immediate future Italians would continue to live in city-states
or papal states and Germans would still be ruled by petty princes. But this fragmentation could not last. A kind of centripetal
force, strengthened by emerging feelings of national identity among the masses, was reshaping Europe. And that was a threat
to monolithic Christendom.
The papacy was vexed otherwise as the fifteenth century drew to a close. European cities were witnessing the emergence of
educated classes inflamed by anticlericalism. Their feelings were understandable, if, in papal eyes, unpardonable. The Lateran
reforms of 1215 had been inadequate; reliable reports of misconduct by priests, nuns, and prelates, much of it squalid, were
rising. And the harmony achieved by theologians over the last century had been shattered. Bernard of Clairvaux, the anti-intellectual