According to Augustine Thompson O.P., Professor of History at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, there is no uninterpreted Francis (155), and that includes the disconcertingly hesitant Francis of this pleasantly revisionist biography. The poor man of Assisi, whose exclusive concern was absolute dependence on God and the humiliation and crucifixion of his son, is a conflicting and confused character. Groping for solutions to situations that he does not expect to encounter (170), his life develops in unexpected ways and with many troubles. Francis reacts to a series of events and when not in agony or annoyed, he is dubious or frustrated. Having neither leadership qualities (35) nor the conceptual clarity and legalistic concern of a theologian or lawyer (210), he founds a movement despite himself and success is forced upon him.

Thompson's Francis is a complex figure with great personal magnetism and a strong spiritual drive, but from the outset lacks clear vision. As a consequence, his spirituality is slowly developing. Thus a fascinating blend of courage and hesitancy characterizes this great personality. But is it coincidence that a corresponding mixture of resolution and reserve characterizes Thompson's attractive and engaging biography? On the one hand the biographer paints an original portrait that convinces with clear traits and rich shades. Thus, in the concise biography in part 1, Francis is presented as a charismatic human being with strong emotions and many insecurities. In fact, the only really consistent choices seem to be those of his biographer, as we can also see in the “sources and debates” section in part 2. According to Thompson, Francis's words and presence gave profound inner peace to many who heard and experienced them (37, 210), but he was insecure and had difficulty adapting to his new role as a leader and a public figure (45, 216). The theme of the eucharist and the cross is much more important to him than that of poverty (20, 190), and the locus of Francis's “mysticism” was the mass, not nature or even service to the poor (61, 228). He found relief in solitude and prayer, but refuge also fed his doubts and temptations (82, 245). Fortunately, Thompson does not hesitate to underscore the importance of personal spiritual insight and contemplation in Francis's life, but other statements are perhaps less convincing, for example that he was changed inwardly by his ministry to the lepers (20), or that he was a deacon (108).

On the other hand, this Dominican historian, who “came to Francis as something of an outsider” (viii), often adopts a cautious line (for example, Francis may have received the baptismal name of Giovanni [7]) or opts for a minimal interpretation (such as there is no evidence of any visits to Clare after 1212 [48]). Furthermore, he is highly suspicious of all retrojection and theological elaboration. To know what concerned Francis one has to start with his own writings (246), and that is what Thompson is determined to do. Taking Francis at his word (231), he begins with what he says in his own writings (257) and focuses on these (267). A good example is the command in the Letter to the Entire Order to celebrate only one mass a day in a community. Nothing in the letter confirms modern interpretations that daily celebration of mass by every priest would create a clerical class and clericalize the Order; instead Francis's limitation of the number of masses comes in the middle of a long discourse on reverence for the mass, which should be celebrated with the greatest of care (121). Thompson thus strips the writings of later speculation. One consequence of this minimalist methodology is that some historical background remains unclear, for example where no external evidence confirms the legislation underlying the Regula non Bullata or how it was redacted. The text nevertheless reflects Francis's vision, concerns, needs, and worries very directly (91–93).

The other early sources (the earliest of which are generally the better ones (vii)) may be as silent on crucial historical matters as Francis's own writings. The main problem in even “good” sources like Celano's Life of St. Francis and the Anonymous of Perugia, however, is their anachronistic retrojection of later practices and their idealizing, romanticizing, or mysticizing theology. Not all of the later hagiographers' anachronisms are as “painfully obvious” as Celano's story (in the Remembrance of the Desire of a Soul) that Dominic tried to merge his southern French movement with the penitents from Assisi (220). But all pious elaboration, and the poverty stories in particular, should deter us from using these sources to determine “what was on his mind” (274). The historical criterion should rather be what is closest to Francis's own expression of his reasons (245).

Thompson has a point when he says that “even academic writers on Francis seem to rely on the same set of stories mostly put together in the same way” (vii). He too uses these stories, mainly for illustrative purposes, but I find his “consistent, sometimes ruthless critique” (vii) of the sources and his reluctance to derive facts from them refreshing. Equally welcome is his keen eye for the depth of Francis's spiritual experiences. Ironically, Thompson's portrait of this complex and conflicting founder-without-a-plan-or-program seems to run counter to the coherent spiritual vision expressed in the writings themselves. I would not suggest that Thompson sees in Francis's description of his radical transformation “from bitter to sweet” (Testament 3) the kind of theological elaboration that we encounter in the hagiographic sources. But I do think that he probably underestimates the importance of prayer in the early phase of his life, as it gave the confused young man a strong spiritual direction from the beginning and a clear compass for the rest of his life “in the footsteps of Jesus Christ.” This confident and fairly contented Francis, however, is not uninterpreted either.