Dana Schwartz (0:00)

This is an I Heart Podcast.

Erin Menke (0:04)

I'm someone who spends a lot of time in front of a computer screen, which means that I get dry eye symptoms. I didn't realize, but people who spend extended periods in front of a computer screen tend to blink less often, which may lead to increased tear evaporation and thus symptoms of dry eyes. So if you're like me and spend all day staring at a computer screen, give your dry burning or irritated eyes a daily refresh with Refresh Digital Lubricant Eye Drops, a preservative free formula that provides fast acting soothing relief. It's safe to use as often as needed. Find Refresh online or in the Eye Drop section at all major retailers. Welcome to Noble Blood, a production of iHeartRadio and Grim and Mild from Erin Menkey. Listener discretion advised. Shall I die before I sing Mass in Jerusalem? That was the key question that Gerbert of Aurillac asked to his unnervingly stoic companion. Gerbert was one of the most accomplished scholars of his age, a teacher of emperors and a master of sciences. Yet he was never quite satisfied. His curiosity, ambition and hubris had pushed him to seek power and wealth through the dark arts, and in honing his sinister skills, he had built a statue head that could speak. This metallic automaton was magically bound to tell the truth and could predict the future, but it only responded when asked questions, and only replied either yes or no. For instance, one of Gerbert's first inquiries was will I be pope? His unholy statue prophet said yes. All of that is, of course, according to legend, or rather a long history of embellished stories that sought to explain and or tarnish the unique life and unprecedented rise of a brilliant French clergyman across the 10th century and start of the second millennium. In some versions of that story, Gerbert consulted a wily demon instead of a mechanical oracle. Some chroniclers insisted it was a female demon named Merdayanna. Others recounted how Gerbert additionally made a pact with the devil and was perhaps even the Antichrist himself. Juicy stuff Amid all of these vivid rumors, though, several evidence backed details have endured. As Gerbert's own letters and numerous contemporary accounts from his time showed, Gerbert was indeed motivated by a passion for knowledge. He continually expanded his scientific expertise and his ambitions did very much push him to seek increasingly high posts. Per his statue head's alleged prediction, Gerbert did eventually become Pope, choosing the name Sylvester ii. Yet in summiting the Catholic Church's hierarchical mountain, he and his scientific Contributions faced mounting disdain and danger. Modern historians disagree with many of their centuries earlier counterparts about whether Gerbert's ultimate undoing was the result of a complex web of ideological and geopolitical factors, or punishment for a life of supposed diabolical dealings. But just about every account seems to agree that one thing of vital importance was, in the words of the classic real estate, location, location, location. As the myth goes, Gerbert asked his mythical statue head that crucial question if he would die before singing mass in Jerusalem. The head replied, no. Easy. Then Gerbert would live as long as he could put off traveling to the ancient city. But in avoiding Jerusalem, Gerbert apparently overlooked a crucial wrinkle. In Rome, there was a church commonly called Jerusalem. And by giving mass there on May 3, 1003, in both legend and reality, he finally sealed his fate. Gotta pay attention to the fine print. I'm Dana Schwartz and this is noble blood. In 967, Gerbert made a journey that would change his life. The transition from a relatively small monastery in the Kingdom of France to the humming metropolis of Barcelona would have been enticing to any curious mind. For Gerbert, then a young opportunistic monk with a voracious appetite for knowledge, Spain was basically an all you can learn buffet. Gerbert was especially interested in the four traditional liberal arts known as the Quadrivium, arithmetic, geometry, music and astronomy. Along the border of the Muslim ruled region of the Iberian peninsula known as Al Andalus, Gerbert found scholarly communities that not only prized learning in those areas, but also reportedly showed tremendous levels of tolerance and collaboration between Muslim, Christian and Jewish intellectuals. Gerbert's exact whereabouts during his three years in Spain have sparked a fair amount of politically fueled controversy among historians of different eras. However, it is no stretch to say that regardless of whether Gerbert mostly stayed in Barcelona and at the Santa Maria de Rapol monastery, or whether he crossed the border into Islamic Spain, he absorbed significant wisdom and expertise, and that initially came from Muslim scholars and Arabic educational centers. For instance, the Royal Library in Cordoba, the then capital of El Andalus, was said to house between 40,000 and 400,000 books, many of which were translated from Persian, Indian, Greek and African languages. And many of those books had purportedly come from an acclaimed public academy in Baghdad known as the House of Wisdom. So naturally, given Gerbert's well documented love of reading and frequent letters sent requesting tomes on topics of interest, Gerbert encountered plenty of relevant texts and well informed scholars whose ideas had originated or flourished in the spirited, incubating environment of Spain's Islamic caliphate, whether or not he physically learned there himself or not. Gerbert left for Rome in 970 and used his Spanish education to distinguish himself as a teacher and scientist. In fact, he impressed the Holy Roman Emperor Otto I so much that that the ruler hired Gerbert to tutor his son, Otto ii. Gerbert went on to run a cathedral school in Rheims, near Paris, and he became an extremely popular educator. Accounts from many of Gerbert's colleagues and proteges were so glowing that it's tempting to picture him as both an esteemed, erudite math professor and a hip loves to sit on his chair backwards youth pastor to inspire students, Gerbert reportedly infused lessons with everything from rousing debates with famed philosophers to explanations of fractions that involved showing how finger placement on a simple instrument affected a string's vibrations. While teaching, Gerbert also continued his own research. It would take too long to cover all of his scientific achievements, so here are some highlights. Gerbert arguably became Christian Europe's most famed mathematician during his lifetime. He did that not so much by coming up with entirely original ideas, but by applying concepts in resourceful ways. For example, Gerbert became widely known for embracing Arabic no numerals and showcasing to Latin Europe how they made arithmetic far easier than Roman numerals. A chief asset in that mission was an upgraded abacus, as anyone who's ever tried to add, subtract, multiply, or divide using the ancient Roman system can attest. Not to mention any of us who have struggled to merely decode super bowl numbers. Long strings of letters make large figures unwieldy. By simplifying the counting pieces on an abacus so they each held a single digit from 1 to 9, Gerbert constructed a device that allowed him to perform calculations with jaw dropping speed. He additionally introduced the concept of zero and would write, reportedly show off by adding and multiplying numbers into the octillions. Some writers and scientists point to that analog calculator as one of the world's first computers in the field of music, Gerbert helped to fine tune an instrument called a water organ. His experimenting led him to skillfully design a long tube that ingeniously created air pressure by harnessing flowing water, which then allowed the organ's pipes to sound without requiring the strenuous labor of operating bellows. Finally, when it came to astronomy, Gerbert obsessively observed the skies and became exceptionally proficient with several devices. One tool was the armillary sphere, an intricate globe with attached rings that charted the paths of planets and stars. In Gerbert's time, the Earth was at the center of this contraption, with other bodies orbiting around it. Despite that inaccurate model, Gerbert was still able to use his customized armillary spheres to closely track the trajectories of stars and engagingly display astronomical concepts to his students. Gerbert's written correspondence also shows that he was hugely interested in using astral observations to calculate time. Rudimentary clocks like sundials had been around for thousands of years, but Gerbert wanted to be able to more accurately track time by day and night and to find a more comprehensive model to explain the fluctuations of daylight hours across the seasons. Although none of Gerbert's favored timekeeping devices seem to have survived, references by a Prince Bishop contemporary point to Gerbert constructing an intricate night clock that likely borrowed features from ancient devices like astrolabes and noctrolabes. Some modern historians have argued that Gerbert's linking of calculable time with heavenly movements helped spawn the medieval field of mathematical astronomy in Christian Europe. At the very least, given accounts that he wowed kings and noble courts by predicting eclipses, Gerbert must have made quite the party guest. Gerbert's rising fame created additional employment opportunities both within the Catholic Church and the highest royal houses. The involved machinations are fairly complicated, but in broad strokes Gerbert kept up strong ties with the Ottoman dynasty to the point that he completed something of a Holy Roman hat trick by eventually mentoring Otto iii, Gerbert's third time educating a royal Otto proved to be quite the charm in terms of his own ecclesiastical career. In 999, Gerbert's close relationship with the young emperor helped him become pope. He chose the name Sylvester ii, signaling his admiration for Pope Sylvester I, who had advised Emperor Constantine in the fourth son of century. Accordingly, Gerbert hoped to help Otto III reunite Constantinople and Rome into one realm and usher in a new golden age built on law, tolerance, and learning. Unfortunately for Gerbert and arguably portions of Europe, fate or universal randomness or God or the devil had other plans. Before delving into Gerbert's fraught time as pope and the ensuing macabre legends, it's worth adding some quick context and clarification regarding a few core elements. First, despite later scholars coining erroneous and reductive terms like the Dark Ages and the Enlightenment, Gerbert did not live in a time of intellectual darkness. Numerous empires and cultures across the globe continually innovated. And while some of the European hubs in which Gerbert lived initially resisted certain concepts, these realms were not wholly overwhelmed by ignorant, superstitious thought. For example, Gerbert's written correspondence with other academics show that they knew the Earth was round, whereas later supposedly enlightened figures, including a few early humanists, continue to spread theories that Earth was flat. In addition, it can sometimes be difficult to avoid viewing the relationship between religion and science through a modern lens, considering all the periods of fraught history there. But in Gerbert's day, religion and science weren't really thought of as separate fields or subjects supported by warring communities. More often, the opposite was the case. Many who served the Church were also researchers who saw scientific inquiry as a means to reveal and revel in God's work. Finally, though some of the traditions and trappings shown in recent papal news coverage and in films like Conclave were still present in the early thousands, the position of pope was different back then. Those doing the job were tremendously hampered by coups, forced exiles, excommunications, and the presence of of the occasional antipopes. Numerous popes also simply died soon into their reigns, which obviously was very inconvenient for any of the long term ambitions they might have had. In short, things were nuanced and complex. And so was Gerbert. He sought to foster ties between kingdoms and kept up a vast scholarly network. But he also had his own ego and academic beliefs, and he could get prickly with authority figures. Eventually he even had to flee Rome when the nobility revolted. Then Emperor Otto III suddenly died, which essentially destroyed Gerbert's hope of uniting east and west to foster a new golden age. Through this time, Gerbert's uncompromising leadership style and political alignments prompted his enemies to occasionally brand him a dark sorcerer or the Antichrist. That said, it's helpful to bear in mind that for centuries, if not millennia, insults in that vein were commonly tossed at those in power. Interestingly, the most salacious and lasting legends about Gerbert surfaced after his death, and their iterations reveal much about the predilections of their storytellers. For example, toward the end of the 11th century, decades after Gerbert's death, a cardinal named Benno wanted to replace the sitting pope who was trying to increase his papal powers. So Cardinal Benno wrote a diatribe alleging that that pope had been schooled by the dark wizard Gerbert and his disciples. In his writing, Benno explained how Gerbert, who had come from humble peasant beginnings, had found success by making a deal with the devil. Similar notes of Alid and possible professional jealousy seem to waft from many other storytellers and detractors, accounts that also claim a diabolical pact as the only possible explanation for the fame and wisdom that humble born Gerbert attained. 12th century English writer Walter Mapp went further. He leaned into the idea that Gerbert reached a sinful agreement with a beautiful all knowing demon named Maridiana. He also asserted that Gerbert successfully repented at the end of his life, thus proffering a parable that tracks with Mapp's background as a bishop and iterant justice. According to some modern historical historians, Mapp's fanciful retelling of Gerbert's life also fits with Mapp's preference for covering stories with fantastical, romantic and even satirical elements. Fun fact Walter Mapp was reportedly one of the first writers in England to record and start to popularize stories of vampires. William of Malmesbury, an English monk and notable historian, possibly added the most vivid detail of all in his 12th century Chronicle of Gerbert's life. As some critics have asserted, the style in which he describes Gerbert cavorting around in Spain with beautiful women and Arab wizards sometimes reads more like the folktales in 1:1001 Nights than that of a well substantiated biography. William also largely promoted the legend about Gerbert, using what he allegedly learned in Muslim Al Andalus to create his oracle statue head in Rome. Once again, the timing and ideological leanings of these records are significant. Following the rising cultural conflicts at the heart of the great schism in 1054 and the First Crusade in 1096, William linking Gerbert's purported sins to knowledge he ostensibly learned from Spain's Islamic caliphate mirrored a move by many influential Christian figures to decry any wisdom gained from sources outside of Latin Europe. There are also many graphic legends about Gerbert's death. Most begin similarly with his sins catching up with him. Once he attended mass in the Church of the Holy Cross of Jerusalem, which again was located in Rome. From there the tall tales begin to branch out out. Some claim he fell ill and tried to repent by asking his cardinals to cut off his limbs, tongue and or hands and then to scatter his pieces across the city. Others claim that the devil showed up in the church to personally beat and mutilate Gerbert. One impish iteration specified that that the devil gouged out Gerbert's eyeballs so that his demons could play with them. Regardless of these rumored antics, Gerbert was duly buried at the St John Lateran Cathedral in Rome. Over the next few centuries, though, additional myths abounded that his marble tomb routinely sweated and that his bones rattled to foretell the death of successive popes. When it comes to more solidly corroborated historical evidence, most accounts do point to Gerbert falling ill after attending mass at the church known as Jerusalem on May 3, 1003, and then dying shortly after, on May 12. Historians are unsure of the exact cause of death, but some maintain that it was probably a disease such as malaria, which had a track record of killing many rulers and popes in Rome. As scientists later learned, those with northern European roots were especially susceptible, since they lacked genetically transferred protection. So once again, location was a critical element of Gerbert's life. But while Gerbert's personal and professional battles were over, the fight over his legacy would continue for centuries. To this day, Gerbert remains the only professional mathematician to become pope. Although coincidentally, the very newly elected pope, literally Leo xiv, did get a math degree. After Gerbert's death, certain partisan historians chose to primarily call him Gerbert rather than Pope Sylvester II as an attempted rebuke. This actually seems fitting, however, since he did not have the longest or most productive reign as pope, and in my mind, calling him Gerbert feels truer to his larger identity and legacy. So if you thought that I was doing it as some larger political statement, not really. In addition to helping to revolutionize the fields of math and astronomy in Christian Europe, much of Gerbert's lasting impact was as a teacher, since he instructed many clergymen who went on to make important scientific discoveries and contributions of of their own. In more recent history, numerous mathematicians and mathematical societies have honored Gerbert and, especially during spikes of widespread Islamophobia, praised his tolerant, collaborative nature and appreciation for the work of Muslim intellectuals. Likewise, modern popes and religious figures have lauded Gerbert's contributions as a scientist and man of God. And in spite of all its supposed sweating and rattling, Gerbert's preserved tombstone still hangs in the Lateran Church. Gerbert's likeness has also lived on since he has been commemorated with everything from statues to frescoes to postage stamps. The renowned scientist Pope also inspired inspired many works of nonfiction and fiction, including serving as a scheming antagonist in Deborah Harkness Discovery of Witches book and TV series. Although Gerbert's life was harshly maligned for long periods. To some degree, the vilifying legends may still have helped to spread his principles and immortalize his Persona. On a basic level, the myths obviously provide an enticing entry point for those unfamiliar with his life and work. In a broader and more ironic way, we may actually have Gerbert's detractors to thank for the fact that historians are able to analyze and credit many of his accomplishments. This is because, in fearing that many rivals might try to discredit him, the forward thinking Gerbert intentionally preserved many of his letters in the hopes of defending himself and his ideas. Fascinatingly, according to modern scholarship, even the heightened myths told about Gerbert showcase a clear progression of scientific understanding and acceptance. For instance, William of Malmesbury's account of Gerbert's life delineates knowledge seen as permissible and as impermissible. He claims that in Muslim Spain Gerbert learned the impermissible skills of necromancy and animal augury, like seeing omens in birds flight patterns. But William asserted that Gerbert was specifically able to make his talking head statue using knowledge gained by studying heavenly bodies. In his view, celestial divination was permissible since astronomy was part of the accepted quadrivium. In other words, William condemned Gerbert for learning dark arts in Spain. But as opposed to earlier detractors, he explained that Gerbert's predictive abilities via magic statue head came from a more acceptable astral science rather than demonic magic. Whether that was intentional on Williams part or not, that's some progress. Accounts like that helped to further validate astronomy in Latin Europe, thus setting the stage for subsequent breakthroughs by the likes of Copernicus and Galileo. Arguably, the lengthy fixation with Gerbert's prophetic head also stands out as an intriguing example of humanity's fascination with artificial intelligence. Although posthumous portrayals of Gerbert clearly got absurd, Perhaps if the renowned scientist had been able to gain knowledge of the future, he would have been amused to know he would become a subject of science fiction hundreds of years before that term was widely used. Ultimately, the Catholic world may never again see a scientist pope quite like Sylvester ii, and the science world may never again see a religious mathematician tradition of Gerbert's ilk. Funnily enough, while many bitterly equated Gerbert's singular success with devilish deal making, a closer look at his life reveals how much of his true power came from his knack for collaborating and for sharing and inspiring from peasant to polymath to Pope, the math obsessed Gerbert of Aurillac never stopped finding strength in numbers. That's the story of Gerbert. But stick around after a brief sponsor break to hear another reason why any assumption that the famed mathematician lived in a total dark age doesn't add up.