In recent years medieval historians have shown significant and continuous interest in demonology.Footnote 1 The early thirteenth century distinguishes itself as a particularly fertile period in this regard, a veritable treasure trove of stories about possession by, and encounters with, demons. These stories appear across literary genres, including exempla tales, sermons and hagiographies, which aim to impart moral lessons and demonstrate the power of saints. They have been shown to reflect deep and far-reaching changes in early thirteenth-century religious culture and society, marked by Lateran IV, the establishment of the mendicant orders and an escalation in the violent suppression of heresies.
Demonic concerns, however, drew the attention not only of exorcists and hagiographers, but also of those educated in Europe's rapidly evolving centres of learning, who engaged with the issue not only with the conceptual tools provided by local traditions or the Scriptures, but with new analytical tools and theoretical models. Learned physicians and theologians added their voices to the choir of those engaging with phenomena with demonic associations, providing original and conflicting points of view.Footnote 2 This article considers one such remarkable voice that reflects in a nutshell the fascinating complexity that demonological discourse posed for theologians who embraced both religious-popular interpretations of these phenomena and the rules of academic scientific discourse: Roland of Cremona (d. 1259).
Roland's account of cursus, a popular belief in the nightly orgiastic flight of men and women accomplished with the aid of a mysterious flying ointment that bears strong similarities to the later myth of the witches’ Sabbath, has been analysed elsewhere.Footnote 3 His quaestio on that subject revealed a subtle interaction between a theologically informed demonological framework, knowledge of literature on magical experiments and a fresh approach to popular beliefs. All of these related to Roland's specific position in the field as a master of theology, a physician and a Dominican friar. This present article, however, seeks to deepen understanding of early thirteenth-century demonological discourse by examining Roland's discussion of the extent to which demons challenge human subjectivity by vexing the body and manipulating the mind. His original theories result from experimental theologising using contemporary physiological and neurological theories, as well as information gathered from conversations and personal experience, and they are accompanied by the strong sense of honest doubt and reflection that characterises his writing. This is the story of a theologian and of a generation that defined their own discipline while traversing the entire intellectual field as it was constituted in the period, challenging disciplinary borders while being aware of the objective difficulties involved, including that of one's personal limits. Finally, although Roland's work was largely forgotten, his approach to theology sheds light on the little studied intellectual environment that characterised the first days of the Dominican Parisian school, the one which would go on to nourish Albert the Great and Thomas Aquinas in the next decades.
Roland and the early Dominican Parisian school
From the first years of his order, Dominic Guzman set his mind to providing his friars-preachers with the best theological education that Europe had to offer at the time. Paris, the fountain of knowledge, was a natural choice. The first Dominicans were warmly welcomed by the community of masters, and supported by the papacy. Pope Honorius iii asked John of St Albans to teach in St Jacques around 1221 and the incorporation of the studium into the university is usually traced to that year.Footnote 4 Around this time, Roland entered the newly settled Bolognese Dominican community which, according to Gerard of Frachet's Lives of the friars (1255–60), was under threat of closure. All that Friar Reginald, the community's head and a former master of arts and of civil and canon law, could do was pray and encourage his fellow friars. He had just finished a sermon when in rushed master Roland and asked to be accepted without further delay into the order. Reginald and the friars could not hide their joy, and the event attracted a crowd of men, women and students.Footnote 5 Some propose that the word philosophicis, by which Gerard characterises Roland's education prior to taking the habit, should be read physicis, for his writings abound with examples, arguments and citations of various medical sources, as well as personal accounts of practising medicine.Footnote 6
Roland was sent to study theology in Paris, where he found another physician turned theologian in the English master John of St Giles,Footnote 7 under whom he was incepted. During the tense years of 1229 and 1230, Roland was made the first Dominican regent master of theology.Footnote 8 In 1231 John followed his student and took the Dominican habit and the two physicians thus made up the first generation of Dominican masters of theology in Paris.Footnote 9 Roland departed soon after for Toulouse, before ultimately returning to Italy.Footnote 10 Hugh of St Cher and Guerric of St Quentin succeeded to their chairs in the Parisian school. In a sermon that John delivered in Paris, he harshly rebuked ‘those who could hardly separate from their knowledge, as happens in some people who cannot separate from Aristotle while in theology’.Footnote 11 Some of the most prominent masters of the time fit this description well: Philip the Chancellor (d. 1236), Alexander of Hales (ofm, d. 1245) and William of Auvergne (d. 1249) all applied bits of philosophy to their theology. But it also fits John and Roland. John's theological works do not survive. There is only a short medical-experimental text. But Roland's commentary on Job and his Summa are extant, although both are unedited and little studied.Footnote 12
Roland's Summa, probably completed between 1232 and 1234, after his Paris regency, is rich with references to both philosophical and medical authorities in relation to almost every subject. Demonic influence on human beings is exemplary and representative in this regard. Peter Lombard devoted a cluster of quaestiones in the second book of the Sentences to angels and demons (dist. 2–8). His discussion, however, addresses the issue of demonic influence on human beings only briefly, and so it was with his early followers too. Interest in other aspects of demonology increased only in the generation of Roland, William of Auvergne and Alexander of Hales, who engaged it equipped with new bodies of knowledge, mainly in natural philosophy.Footnote 13
In the second book of his Summa Roland agreed with Peter Lombard and William of Auxerre that demons cannot penetrate the soul and elaborated on the impossibility of such a penetration from a philosophical point of view.Footnote 14 Furthermore, he took this as a point of departure for a series of original quaestiones examining the precise mechanisms by which demons vex bodies, and implant images and scientific knowledge in human minds.
Controlling the body: physicians mocking the Gospel and the psycho-motor system
Of all the beliefs about demons, their ability to possess humans was the most commonly held in Roland's environment. Dominican friars were well versed in these phenomena. In his Lives of the brethren, Gerard of Frachet relates several occasions on which Dominic and his friars encountered people possessed by demons. On one such, a friar was seized by a demon and began shouting horribly. Dominic spoke with the demon, who claimed that the possession was a punishment incurred by the friar who had stolen food meant for the sick. Dominic absolved the friar of his sin and ordered the demon to stop vexing him and leave his body.Footnote 15
Yet saints and their hagiographers were not the only possible interpreters of such phenomena in medieval Europe, nor indeed in Dominican communities. Learned medieval physicians could diagnose some of these occurrences as epileptic seizures or manic-melancholic behaviour. Epilepsy in particular, since antiquity, had become a classical locus for opposing divine and demonic interpretations to naturalist-somatic ones, or rather suggesting their coexistence and addressing misleading similarity. These two approaches were voiced in antiquity, in the medieval Muslim world, and in the intellectual culture of Roland's times. At times, these theories were strongly opposed to the alternative, demonic ones. Furthermore, already in the opening lines of The sacred disease the somatic approach was equated with learning and the divine/demonic approach with ignorance. This dichotomy has repeatedly been used to construct the superiority of elite groups, whether the subculture of the educated or entire cultures, throughout Western history.Footnote 16 But at the same time the array of sources available to early thirteenth-century physicians in the Latin West also expressed an approach that did not entirely dismiss the alternative, demonic explanation. Catherine Rider points out that Al-Zahrawi's (Albucasim) discussion of epilepsy distinguished five types of epilepsy. While four of these are caused by internal humoral imbalance, the fifth is caused by an external cause, called by some demons. While he attributes here the name ‘demons’ to others, he does relate later cases of epilepsy with remarkable knowledge and suggests an address to God if remedies do not improve the patients’ condition. Constantine the African was more explicit. His chapter on epilepsy is found in the part of the Pantegni that was not adapted from Al-Majoussi, and there he argues for the difficulties involved in distinguishing an epileptic from a lunatic or a demoniac, as well as suggesting several tests to do so. He offered for all phenomena the remedy of religious practice; these passages were widely quoted in later Latin compendia.Footnote 17
Gilbert the Englishman, Roland's contemporary and the author of an influential compendium medicinae, provides a good example of the strand of thought that politely ignored this aspect of the subject during Roland's times and surroundings altogether. He presents the etymology for ‘mania’ by explaining that it may seem as if demons speak in manic people and reveal secrets.Footnote 18 Following Galen, he later associates the possessed with hallucinating subjects who believe that they have no head, or that they have snakes in their stomach, or, ‘that they have seen demons, get mad and hit themselves and others’.Footnote 19 Along with many others, he was quite familiar with different somatic theories of epilepsy, as well as with conspicuous desires for solitude, eating disorders and melancholia.Footnote 20 Gilbert restricted himself strategically to that which was consonant with his professional identity as a naturalist physician, remaining silent about demonic interpretations of melancholy without dismissing them, and thus remaining within the boundaries of the discipline. But his readers could accordingly conclude that the naturalist approach might explain all supposedly demonic possessions.
Roland's contemporary, William of Auvergne, the Paris bishop and master of theology, was concerned precisely with the potential conflict between medical theories of mental maladies and scripturally informed demonology. In the discussion of demons in his De universo, he therefore provides extensive medical information about diseases of the brain, ecstasy and many other phenomena, and advises his readers to acquaint themselves with the art of medicine.Footnote 21 Nevertheless, he insists, physicians should not conclude that demons do not exist at all. The theologian's role and the one that he takes here as an author is to explain beliefs regarding demons in relation to the body, how they enter through the digestive system and speak with a voice considerably different from that of their subject. This theological mission is aided by William's natural knowledge, specifically of the occult. He alludes, for instance, to the manner by which magnets operate, in order to explain demonic operation. Physiological theories or explicit references to medical authorities are absent from his text.
Roland also addresses the conflicted nature of a professional field that comprises medical and theological authorities and the challenge that medical somatic theory poses to the dignity of both popular and theological positions. His main goal is to refute ‘certain damned and false men who mock the holiest words of the Evangelist, saying that he speaks falsely when describing falling and spinning men as demon possessed’.Footnote 22 In all likelihood, the scriptural reference to which he alludes is the account found in all three synoptic Gospels of Jesus healing an afflicted subject (Mark ix.14–29; Matthew xvii.14–20; Luke ix.37–43). The story lends itself easily to an interpretation of epilepsy, and had already been a target for such criticism in late antiquity. Against the naturalist-somatic interpretation of the pagan elite, Origen and later Greek and Latin Church Fathers followed the Gospel, taking the side of fishermen and exorcists. They demanded that believers of the Gospels affirm that the boy in this story was possessed by an unclean spirit, as the Gospel claims.Footnote 23
Centuries later, Roland determined to fight the battle with a completely different strategy, delineating anew the boundaries of demonological and somatic discourses. His interest in this boundary is evident from his decision not to centre on cases involving demons speaking, ‘humanly’, but on the fuzzier ground of the purely somatic symptom. Mockers wrongly assume that the devil cannot cause epileptic symptoms, but Roland claims that in fact demons can imitate nature extremely accurately.Footnote 24 He therefore opens his discussion with a lengthy note asserting the diagnostic difficulty of differentiating demoniacs from melancholic or epileptic patients. Although he cites Constantine in several places in the Summa, he does not refer to (or show any sign of knowing) the discussion on epileptics and demoniacs in the Pantegni. Rather, to demonstrate how easily one can be mistaken for another, he relates a story from his personal experience:
I had a certain youth under my treatment, who fell and spun, and seemed to me to exhibit all the symptoms of epilepsy. Having no doubt therefore that he was epileptic, I applied the usual treatment, according to the method transmitted by the great masters: I purged him well and kept him on a suitable diet. After he received medicinal treatment and underwent multiple rounds of purging, those who stayed with him in the infirmary told me that he was now falling ten times a day, which is unusual for this disease, while before he was treated with any medicine, he hardly fell once in a month. I have sent him to his homeland, wherefore I have heard from a friar who stayed at the same house that a demon manifested himself. I have seen a similar case with my own eyes somewhere else.Footnote 25
As medical treatment led the patient's condition to worsen, Roland withdrew his diagnosis, changed strategy and sent the youth back to his homeland, but still did not suspect a demonic intervention, for he tells only of his doubts, but not of any attempt to apply a test like those suggested by Constantine. Only later did he find the demon to be the cause.Footnote 26 In addition to confessing his own mistake, Roland invokes his insider status to reveal doubts regarding epilepsy, ranging throughout the naturalistic camp. Aristotle and Galen, he discloses, differed greatly in their opinions on epilepsy. Galen's opinion that it is caused by a humour filling the ventricles of the brain was accepted by most medieval writers. Yet if such a great authority as Aristotle could be confused about the true cause of epilepsy, Roland maintains, why should the evangelists, as well as simple folk, be mocked for the same confusion?Footnote 27 Furthermore, the human ability to formulate a confident diagnosis is impeded by the operation of the devil himself. The devil could indeed cause symptoms extremely similar to those of epilepsy in order to cause such people to doubt his own existence and by extension the authority of Scripture.
Roland constructs the field, somewhat artificially, as a conflict between two epistemic and social communities: past and contemporary simple and clerical believers, who interpret ‘falling men’ as demoniacs, and those cognisant of natural medicine, who interpret them as epileptics and haughtily mock the former group. This construction provides a place for the well-informed theologian to intervene in defence of the former with the tools of the latter. While there is certainly a strand in the medical tradition that does recognise the possibility of demonic influence in some cases, its voice is not heard here. Yet even if it were, it is clear that the authors whom he cited as well as others do not step into this territory but at most note its presence. Avicenna, to whom Roland does not refer here, expresses it clearly, writing that while some physicians may attribute epilepsy and other phenomena to demons, we as physicians should not care much whether it was a demon that changed the humours’ complexions or some other cause.Footnote 28
But Roland does. How precisely might the devil do what he does? Roland's education provides him with a basic theory of voluntary motion, the material embodiment of the will transferred from mind to limbs.Footnote 29 According to most medieval neurological perspectives, when we wish to raise a hand, our will's orders are carried by the motive powers through the spiritus animalis to the nerves, extending from the brain through the spinal cord and up to the ligaments, moving the requisite muscles to raise the hand. Where on this continuum should one locate demonic intervention? Roland considers both ends. On the one hand, he rejects on empirical grounds the possibility that demons act upon reason. A monk with whom he had personally spoken, who had been vexed by demons but returned occasionally to his senses, testified that he felt no control over his body when afflicted, but apparently still experienced reason.Footnote 30 There are also theological, moral grounds for arguing that the will must remain intact. In the absence of absolute free will, there would be no responsibility for sin. Demons can and do all they can to tempt people, but in the end, Roland affirms, choice must remain free, even if neutralised.
Roland also rejects the possibility of a demon acting completely externally upon the limbs, like a puppeteer pulling strings. In such a case, the soul would retain its ability to control the motive powers and speak freely, but clearly the devil moves one against one's will. In order to do so, he must enter the body and manipulate it from within, controlling the nerves and muscles. Roland admits that he cannot provide an adequate explanation for the problem of acting upon the motive powers. Only one's proper soul seems to have the right ‘key’ to operate the motor system. But for the time being, he suggests an internal-external mechanism: the devil creates obstructions (oppilationes) in the brain that keep the soul's orders from reaching the spirits and the nerves. Only then can he agitate the limbs from outside.Footnote 31
Medieval medical theorists explained a wide range of bodily disorders by way of obstructions, created by lack of breath, or by surplus or excessively thick humours. Such obstructions were also seen as the cause of epilepsy. Gilbert the Englishman, Roland's contemporary, attributed epilepsy to the obstruction of the principal ventricles of the brain and of the origin of the nerves by a humid humour.Footnote 32 Roland proposed, therefore, a striking diabolical mimicry of a somatic process, which at the same time keeps the diabolical will in the picture. According to his theory, the main function of the obstructions is to disconnect the soul's orders from the nerves and muscles. These being paralysed, the demon could then freely move the limbs externally according to his will. The devil can even mimic the dynamics of disease. Since epilepsy was believed to be caused by a cold humour, and humid bodies to be influenced by the moon, many theorists, including Gilbert, believed epileptic patients to be under the influence of the moon's phases.Footnote 33 The devil, Roland argued, can mimic lunar influence by vexing his subjects more violently during these times.Footnote 34
Controlling the imagination: seductive dreams and the neurology of sense perception
Whereas Roland explained how demons vex human bodies through the psycho-motor system, the belief that the devil and his demons could impress images into human minds directed him to cognitive mechanisms.Footnote 35 Roland assumed that his reader was familiar with the contemporary ventricular theory, according to which different mental operations take place in the ventricles of the brain. Sensible forms received by sense organs were believed to be processed by the common sense, usually located at the anterior ventricle in the forefront of the head, then by the imaginative power in the rear part of the same cell where they were reorganised or divided into new combinations. Usually, the next ventricles hosted estimation, cogitation and memory.Footnote 36 The spiritus animalis, a refined substance, filled the ventricles. In its function as the ‘spirit of imagination’, it was believed to accept the received bodily form, then present it to the power of imagination as to a mirror.
Focusing on sexual dreams, Roland attempted to explain how the devil could take the sensible forms of women and induce them directly into the brain. The principal difficulty with this idea, he explains, is that bodily forms cannot exist independently, but must reside in a certain subject. Demons could not simply carry them without becoming this subject themselves. Yet if they did so, they would not be able to penetrate the brain.
One might suggest here that the devil could connect somehow to the spirit of imagination and inform it during our sleep. This suggestion leads Roland to the question of why these dreams feel so vivid, upon which he later elaborates, quoting Aristotle's On sleep regarding activities of imagination while external sense perceptions cease to stimulate the mind.Footnote 37 But the question of how demons connect to the imaginative faculty, whether during sleep or not, remains challenging. Before presenting his solution to the problem of implanting images and forms, Roland suggests a more powerful diabolic mechanism which does not operate directly on the mind, and which explains the acute temptations felt by Paul and the desert Fathers. Demons know certain natural aphrodisiac materials, which they disperse inside the members and humours of the human body. An extremely harsh attack such as this, Roland continues, will not be repelled by any fasts or vigils, but by God alone.Footnote 38 Yet given this material and corporal focus, a physician may be of assistance, for Roland recommends various modes of alleviation and physical exercise in line with contemporary medical practice.Footnote 39
Roland's principal explanation of diabolic dreams also restricts the devil's activity to the material realm. As in the case of epilepsy, he must sideline the natural explanation for dreams found in Aristotle. Any dream involves the resurfacing of forms impressed earlier, which present themselves again to the imaginative faculty. The diabolically induced dream, however, involves creativity. Roland suggests that the devil fashions, like a human sculptor, a tiny corpuscle in the form of the woman that the subject desires, rather than use the already existing form impressed in the subject's mind. He paints this nano-doll and places it in the ventricle of the imagination, so that its form and colour will inform the spiritus. The spiritus would then present it to the ‘mirror’ of the imaginative faculty. Like normal dreams, this operation works better during the night, for during the day the animal powers interrupt, just as sensory stimuli prevent dreaming during the day. How would this corpuscle enter the brain? Roland conjectures that the devil may fashion it from already existing materials: vapours, nutritional surpluses or parts of the spiritus.Footnote 40 Illusion is thus affected through a manipulation of the brain's materiality, turning bodily fluids into actual artificial sensual objects.
Roland compounds this question with the further problem of dreams that involve multiple women and men, as one devil cannot wear diverse forms simultaneously. The ventricle of the brain is also too small to host several demons wearing their separate bodily forms. How might the induction of a plurality of forms then be explained? Here Roland discloses a lively discourse, unknown in other sources. Certain masters assert that after the devil impresses in the spirit the one form that he wears, the spiritus is divided so that each of its parts mirrors the complete female image. Yet Roland sees this solution as insufficient, for if the informed spirit is divided, the form must be as well, and thus the mirror of imagination would reflect a mutilated form rather than several intact ones. He considers whether a certain vapour might divide the mirror, so that each part of the spirit would show the same image, just as each part of a broken mirror reflects a whole image. Inviting his disciples to examine the mirror ‘in front of us’, he displays a deep awareness of the proper use of metaphors as he excludes this hypothesis. In the mirror analogy for cognitive processes, the mirror is equivalent to the imagination, while the spirit is equivalent to a body presenting a bodily form to the mirror. If one could prove that the imaginative faculty itself could be divided, then the broken mirror metaphor would be valid, but without this, it would remain invalid.Footnote 41 Ultimately, Roland accounts for the plurality of persons in such a dream by describing a peculiar form of recollection. Perceived forms of people known to the dreamer leave vestiges of potential forms in the spiritus. These vestiges are actualised by the presence of the single actualised form of the little doll and thus a multi-person dream is executed.
This curious scenario raises numerous questions, but the one that Roland anticipates of his readers is how one form can actualise other potential feminine and masculine forms. He likens the process to fish reproduction, probably relying on Aristotle's De generatione animalium. According to Aristotle, the male's semen, ‘in virtue of the power it contains, causes the material and nourishment in the female to take on a particular character’, that is, to actualise its potential. Fish provide the best demonstration of this theory, as the process takes place after the eggs are already laid in water: ‘when the female fish has laid her eggs, the male sprinkles his milt over them; the eggs which it touches become fertile’.Footnote 42 In the same manner, the single bodily form in act ‘touches’ the vestiges and actualises them, thus creating a diabolic multi-person dream.Footnote 43 This theory serves also to explain a story of uncertain source that Roland relates, about a child who had never seen women, but saw them in his dreams. Roland suggests that the one corpuscle with its womanly form actualised vestiges of manly forms the child did indeed see, but converted them to female forms. Yet here he openly discloses his uncertainty, representing this solution as plausible, but not necessarily true, granting that there may well be another, more hidden one. Once again, Roland shows his readers that the task of juxtaposing beliefs from different sources and case histories with physiological and cognitive theories requires imagination, creativity, logical thinking and discernment of false analogies, and nevertheless may produce limited results in the end.
Controlling the intellect: bodily effects on learning
Not only were demons reported to harass unlearned and learned men alike, they were also believed to be capable of inducing them to transform from one to the other with uncommon rapidity. Supposedly, demons could instantly implant arts and sciences in a person's mind, provided the person subjects himself to them, challenging the autonomy of the human soul yet again.Footnote 44 He refers to rumours about authorities as famous as Boethius, Simon Magus – the notorious precursor of Faust – and Aristotle,Footnote 45 but may also have had in mind the Ars notoria, a late twelfth-century text that depicts a technique promising to effect instant knowledge in various sciences through a set of magical rites and figures.Footnote 46
Roland takes up the aspect of immediacy, arguing that demons cannot directly implant knowledge in one's intellect and therefore must employ the medium of their voices. This cannot be done instantly. Learning must involve the procession from first principles to conclusions to achieve a proper, demonstrative scientia, as it was understood in Aristotle's Posterior analytics and medieval theories of knowledge. Immediacy was therefore inconceivable.Footnote 47 Yet demons might speed up the process of learning. This is not because they are more efficient teachers, the speed of learning being dependent upon students’ capacities for comprehension as well, but by indirect manipulation of the intellectual faculties.Footnote 48 First, just as they know how to incite desire in bodily members, they know the best foods to strengthen memory and imagination, or make the spirit subtle enough to improve ingenuity. Second, they can also induce useful images, similar to non-magical medieval mnemonic aids.Footnote 49 As this magic targets aspiring scholars, Roland distinguishes the disciplines accordingly: imagination and memory are highly involved in quadrivial and legal studies, while theology and logic require a more acute intellect, so a demon, or a wise physician for that matter, can prescribe each student a special diet.Footnote 50
Roland of Cremona, the physician who became the first Dominican master of theology in Paris, authored a unique demonological tract. He attempted to adjust unarticulated religious beliefs about demonic possession and illusions so as to be compatible with physiological mechanisms as understood by physicians of his day. Emphasising the medical account of the somatic aspect of mental behaviour, he restricted demonic influence to manipulation of matter and body alone. Like the rest of Roland's work, his demonology was largely forgotten and ignored in the decades to follow. Few have copied his texts and there is no no evidence that anyone embraced these theories or even responded to them. But sometimes forgotten, marginal figures delineate the intellectual field and its boundaries better than anyone else. Freely moving between anecdotal case studies and biological perspectives on fish reproduction, from medical theories to Pseudo-Clementine literature, and to conversations with possessed youths and monks, Roland combined imagination, originality and an open-minded sense of doubt with a remarkable awareness of his and his contemporaries’ limits and of the difficulties of reaching clear-cut solutions. He did not set the religious approach aside as a distinguished discipline and point of view, but constructed a niche for theology out of its supposed clash with other theoretical modes of interpreting the world. While the option to ignore popular approaches or dismiss them as due to ignorance exists in his repertoire, he refrained from using it. His discussions of demonic influence, joined to his rare account of the popular cult or belief in the cursus, situate the field of demonology at the crossroads of theology and medicine, religion and science, the learned and the popular, Christianity, paganism, Judaism and Islam. Alexander of Hales and his collaborators in composing the Summa Halensis, Roland's Dominican successors, and especially Albert the Great in his commentary on the Sentences, would all continue this spirit of trying to explore the mechanisms lying behind demonic operations and magic with new eyes with the aid of natural philosophy.