“Many have marveled at Aquinas’ staggering output (his collected works fill nearly fifty folio volumes) in the course of a relatively short career. Obviously, he was a great genius, but he was also a man who lived an intensely disciplined life. His day began with two Masses, one that he celebrated and a second at which he assisted, and continued, almost without interruption, as a cycle of reading, teaching, and writing. It is said that he dictated different works to as many as three secretaries at once, turning methodically from one to the other and rarely losing his train of thought. He would take a brief nap in the middle of the day, frequently dictating arguments in his sleep. He was, I think it would be fair to say, a workaholic, rarely resting or turning away from the tasks at hand; absolutely on fire with the desire to know God, Thomas pushed himself relentlessly and probably dangerously.

“There are many anecdotes centering around the theme of Aquinas’ fits of abstraction. Many of his contemporaries reported that Thomas was utterly unaware of what was placed before him at table, some even claiming that one of his brothers had to watch over the saint lest he put something inedible in his mouth. Another story has it that he was able to endure a dreadfully painful medicinal bleeding without complaint because he was so lost in contemplation. The best known vignette in this genre has to do with Thomas’ somewhat comical dinner engagement with Louis IX, the saintly king of France. Against his will and at the urging of his superiors, Aquinas had accepted an invitation to dine with the king. In the midst of the lively and witty conversation, the philosopher sat in abstracted silence, as usual lost in thought. Then suddenly, much to the surprise and embarrassment of the other diners, Thomas brought down his fist upon the table, scattering plates and upsetting glasses. Thinking no doubt that he was still in his cell at the priory, Thomas said, ‘And that should settle the Manichees.’ During the state dinner with the king of France, Aquinas had retreated into the recesses of his mind and had come up with an argument that could refute the dualistic heresy of the Manichees. One of Thomas’ Dominican brothers reminded him rather sternly that his outburst constituted an insult to the king, but Louis himself, more concerned for truth than decorum, ordered that a scribe be sent to write down the friar’s argument lest he forget it.

“Thomas Aquinas was a mystic, someone whose life was literally ecstatic, caught up with God. Many of his brothers reported that, while saying Mass, Thomas would weep copiously, almost in a literal sense living through the Passion of Christ that he was celebrating and remembering. His socius and good friend Reginald of Piperno said that Thomas solved his intellectual problems not so much with thought as with prayer. Wrestling with particularly thorny theological problems, Aquinas would rest his head against the tabernacle and, with tears, beg for inspiration. A careful and attentive reading of the texts reveals that this mystical passion, this ecstatic response to God, paradoxically suffuses all that Thomas wrote in his admittedly dry and laconic style.”

— from Robert Barron, Thomas Aquinas: Spiritual Master (Word on Fire Academic, 2022)

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