For around 1,000 years, the story of philosophy in Europe had been that of the Greek thinkers, beginning with the Presocratics on through those in Hellenistic and Roman times. However, as Christianity swept through the Roman Empire, by around 400 CE the face of philosophy dramatically changed, along with every other cultural institution of the time. This new phase of philosophy also lasted for about 1,000 years, and is called medieval philosophy, named after the medieval period of European history.

From Classical to Medieval

The transition from Greek to medieval philosophy was a rough one, and it exhibits a love-hate relationship that Christian culture had with Greek civilization right from the start. On the hate side, Christianity brought with it a cultural and intellectual tradition from the land of Israel that was very much at odds with Greek ways of thinking. At the heart of the difference was the Bible and its central themes of a monotheistic God, life after death, and, perhaps most importantly, the idea of furthering the kingdom of God. As later Christian emperors took the throne, they took decisive measures to curb the influence of cultural institutions that conflicted with the Christian message. Orders were given to destroy all pagan temples and shut down schools of philosophy that had been in operation since the days of Plato and Aristotle. However, on the love side, a new breed of Christian philosophers were heavily influenced by Greek thought, especially the views of Aristotle and Plotinus, and defended its relevance to Christian theology. While Plato remained a towering figure in medieval times, it was largely in name only since for many centuries copies of his writings virtually vanished. In the absence of actual books by Plato, medieval philosophers looked to Plotinus for a summary of Plato’s views, unaware of how original Plotinus’s views were. Thus, many of the most important views that they attributed to Plato were those of Plotinus. What we find within medieval philosophy, then, is an interesting blend of Greek and Christian views to the degree that thinkers of this period were able to make them compatible.

Historians mark off medieval civilization as starting with the downfall of the Roman Empire and ending with the founding of the Renaissance, roughly from the years 400-1500. This range of time itself falls into three distinct periods, each of which impacted developments within medieval philosophy. The first period is the early middle ages, from around 400-1000. Often called the “Dark Ages”, it is characterized by difficult times in the aftermath of the Western Roman Empire’s collapse, including localized rule, decreased trade, mass migration, and feudalism. While this timeframe witnessed the Christianization of Europe, Islam was also rapidly enveloping the surrounding regions, and, as with Christianity, Muslims developed their own philosophical tradition that mixed Greek philosophy with their own faith. The next period is the high middle ages, from 1,000 to 1300, which experienced much better times. Population increased, countries and regions regained political cohesion, and intellectual thought was revitalized. Most important for philosophy, though, was the emergence of medieval universities which became centers of learning and gave birth to a distinct philosophical method called scholasticism, which systematically blended Aristotelian philosophy and Christian theology. The final period is the late middle ages, lasting from 1300–1500. Times were again challenging with economic stagnation, wars, and the Black Death that killed around half of Europe’s population. The unity of the Catholic Church also came under fire, which helped bring the middle ages as a whole to a close.

Four Issues for Medieval Philosophers

Throughout the middle ages, four specific issues attracted the attention of its greatest philosophers from the Christian, Muslim and Jewish faith traditions. First is the relation between faith and reason, which involves whether important philosophical and religious beliefs are grounded in the authority of faith, or in reason, or in some combination of the two. An early example of the pro-reason side is the early Christian theologian Clement of Alexandria (150-215 CE), who stated “before the coming of the Lord, philosophy was necessary to the Greeks for attaining righteousness. Now it is beneficial for piety, being a kind of preparatory training for those who achieve faith through demonstration” (Stromata, 1.5). At the other end of the spectrum is the early Christian theologian Tertullian (155–230 CE), one of the most extreme proponents of the faith-only position. His views are encapsulated in two vivid statements that he makes. First, he asks the rhetorical question “What does Athens have to do with Jerusalem?” (Prescription against Heretics 7). Athens here symbolizes reason and the tradition of Greek thinking; Jerusalem represents faith, and the doctrines of Christianity that are held by faith. So, what, then does reason have to do with faith? His implied answer is “nothing at all!” His second famous statement is “I believe because it is absurd”, which he wrote when discussing a Christian doctrine about the nature of Christ that went contrary to logic (On the Flesh of Christ, 5). His point is that reason obstructs our discovery of truth so much that we should expect truths of faith to run contrary to it. Thus, reason is not merely a dead end in the pursuit of truth, but it is dangerously misleading. Clement and Tertullian were both writing a couple centuries before the official start of the medieval period, but most medieval philosophers after 400 CE fell somewhere between the two extremes of their views.

A second issue of interest for medieval philosophers was proving the existence of God. Many argued that, while we can certainly believe in God on the grounds of faith alone, there are rational proofs that we can also give to show God’s existence. Chief among these is a causal argument: motion and change on earth trace back to a first cause, which is God. Several versions of this argument were put forward, some with a high level of sophistication. Other proofs for God’s existence where also offered, which used entirely different strategies.

Third was the problem of religious language. Even if we know that God exists, can we say anything meaningful about him with human words? We commonly describe God using terms like “powerful” and “good”, but all of these seem tainted by our limited human experience. Should we give up describing God altogether? Should we reinterpret our descriptions of God in special ways? The solutions that philosophers offered to this problem were both varied and original.

The fourth issue is the problem of universals, namely whether concepts such as “greenness” and “largeness” exist independently of human thought. The particular tree in front of me is green and large. But there are lots of other particular things that are also green or large, and thus in some sense share the more universal attribute of greenness or largeness. The question, then, is whether universals such as greenness and largeness exist independently of human thought in some external reality, or whether they are just products of the human mind. Medieval philosophers held every possible view on the subject, and in many ways the problem of universals represents medieval philosophy at its best.

B. AUGUSTINE

The first major medieval philosopher was Augustine (354–430), who emphasized attaining knowledge through divine illumination and achieving moral goodness by loving God. The details of his life are openly laid out in his autobiography, titled Confessions, which even today is considered a classic of world literature. He was born in the North African region of Tagaste to a devout Christian mother and pagan father. Many scholars believe that Augustine and his family were Romanized indigenous Africans, and thus may have had dark skin. As with Plotinus, skin color back then wasn't a social issue like it is now, so it would not have been noteworthy if Augustine was a person of color. For much of his youth, his middle-class parents' greatest concern was affording a university education for him. Once having attained this difficult goal, learning rhetoric at Carthage, Augustine's zeal for studying theology became his driving force. But first came a period of trying out life's alternatives. To his mother’s great displeasure, he became entrenched in a new Persian religion called Manichaeism and then joined a group of Neoplatonists. In both cases he sought to understand how evil could exist in a world that was created by a good God. The Manichaean explanation was that the material world is inherently evil, but through special knowledge from God we can rise above it. Neoplatonists argued that evil results from the physical world being so far removed from God, and thus absent from his goodness.

For fifteen years he lived with a woman and fathered a son; but when his mother eventually convinced him to marry properly, he left his mistress. While awaiting his bride-to-be's coming of age, he took up with yet another woman and prayed his famous prayer, "Grant me chastity and continence, but not yet." But his marriage to either woman never transpired. While teaching rhetoric in the city of Milan, he attended sermons of the Bishop of that region, which gradually led to his Christian conversion. Returning to North Africa, he was drafted into the priesthood by the locals for his popular preaching, and later became their bishop, devoting the rest of his life to writing and preaching in that region. Augustine died at 75, as invading barbarian armies were tearing down the city walls of Hippo. Augustine’s literary output was enormous, and he may be the most prolific writer of the ancient world. His most famous writings are his Confessions and The City of God. While only a couple of his shorter works are devoted exclusively to philosophy, most notably Against the Academics and On Free Choice, many of his compositions are interspersed with philosophical content, and from these a complex system emerges.

Faith, Certainty, Divine Illumination

The starting point for Augustine’s philosophy is his stance on the relation between faith and reason. We’ve seen that there are two ways of approaching this: first, Tertullian’s faith-only position, and, second, Clement's view that reason by itself can go a long way in establishing religious truths independently of faith. Augustine struck a middle ground between the two, advocating a position that he called “faith seeking understanding.” His inspiration for this was a passage from the Old Testament book of Isaiah “Unless you believe, you will not understand.” On this view, reason by itself is not good enough to give us proper religious knowledge; instead, we have to begin with faith to set us in the right direction and, once we believe in God through faith, we can seek to understand the foundations of our belief through reason.

A running theme throughout Augustine’s writings is that knowledge is indeed attainable, and we should reject the efforts of philosophical skeptics. By the time Augustine came on the scene, different Greek schools of skepticism were well established, and for centuries had been producing arguments to show that we can no nothing at all for certain. Every belief I have can be brought into question; even my belief that the tree in front of me exists is uncertain since I might just be having a hallucination. In opposition to the skeptics, Augustine argues that there are four main areas in which we have genuine knowledge that even the skeptics cannot question. Right off, each of us has indisputable knowledge of our own existence. He writes,

On none of these points do I fear the arguments of the skeptics of the Academy who say: what if you are deceived? For if I am deceived, I am. For he who does not exist cannot be deceived. And if I am deceived, by this same token I am. [City of God, 11:26]

His point here is simple: no matter how deceived I am, such as through hallucinations or flawed sensory perception, I still have to exist in order to be deceived. This knowledge is so obvious and self-evident that it enables me to go one step further and say that I know that I know. Knowledge is thus an indisputable fact.

In addition to knowledge of one’s own existence, we also have certainty in three key areas: math, logic and immediate sense experience. Mathematical truths, such as “three times three is nine,” are so compelling that it is impossible to doubt them. So too with logical truths:

I have learned through dialectic [logic] that many other things are true. Count, if you can, how many there are: If there are four elements in the world, there are not five; if there is one sun, there are not two; one and the same soul cannot die and still be immortal; man cannot at the same time be happy and unhappy; if the sun is shining here, it cannot be night; we are now either awake or asleep; either there is a body which I seem to see or there is not a body. [Against the Academics, 3:13]

While Augustine recognizes that sense perceptions themselves are not always trustworthy, he nonetheless maintains that reports of immediate experiences are indisputable, such as “the snow appears white to me.” Even if in reality the snow happens to be a different color, what remains true is that I perceive it as white. He writes:

I do not know how the [skeptical] Academician can refute him who says “I know that this appears white to me, I know that my hearing is delighted with this, I know that this has an agreeable odor, I know that this tastes sweet to me, I know that this feels cold to me.” [Ibid 3:11]

These areas of knowledge, then, seem to be completely indisputable because of the self-evident nature of their specific truths. There are other areas of knowledge, though, that lack this self-evidence and may indeed be fallible, such as the truths themselves of what our senses report, and also the knowledge that we gain through the testimony of other people. Nevertheless, he argues, in view of how much important information they provide us, we can have reasonable confidence in them as reliable sources of knowledge. Regarding our senses, he argues, “Far be it from us to doubt the truth of what we have learned by the bodily senses, since by them we have learned to know the heaven and the earth, and those things in them which are known to us.” So too with the knowledge that we gain through the testimony of other people. While the reports of some people cannot be trusted, testimony is nonetheless an indispensable source of knowledge. He writes, “Far be it from us too to deny that we know what we have learned by the testimony of others: otherwise we would not know that there is an ocean, or that the lands and cities exist which numerous report mention to us” (On the Trinity, 15).

Granted, then, according to Augustine we can know many things indisputably and other things with at least a high degree of certainty. But there is still a problem: with our minds being finite, how can we grasp eternal truths which are far beyond our limited natural capacity? His answer is that grasping such truths requires special help from God: God illuminates our minds to enable us to see these truths. Augustine succinctly describes this theory of divine illumination here: “The mind needs to be enlightened by light from outside itself, so that it can participate in truth, because it is not itself the nature of truth. You will light my lamp, Lord” (Confessions, 4:15:25). Truths regarding virtuous living and religious faithfulness are cases in point: “Among the objects of the intellect, there are some that are seen in the soul itself, for example, virtues which will endure, such as piety, or virtues that are useful for this life and not destined to remain in the next, as faith” (Commentary on Genesis, 31:59). For us to grasp these truths, God illuminates our souls, which triggers a special intellectual vision by which we can see them. While Augustine is quite clear that humans stand in need of divine illumination, he is less clear about how this process takes place. Does divine intuition unleash a flood of specific innate ideas in our minds? Is it more like a capacity that allows us to detect and zoom in on the truth? One recent interpretation is that we first develop beliefs on our own, and then God illuminates our minds so that we can see if they are true or false; thus, God provides the justification for beliefs that we first acquire on our own. Regardless of the details, Augustine's theory of divine illumination is one of his most important and permanent contributions to philosophy.

Time

Augustine is one of the first philosophers to have speculated about the nature of time. Time, he says, is something that everyone experiences and is intimately familiar with. We feel the passage of time throughout the day, we note the lengths of time that it takes for things to happen, we can distinguish between short and long amounts of time. However, once we try to explain exactly what time is, we are at a loss. “What then is time? If no one asks me, I know. If I wish to explain it to someone that asks, I do not know” (Confessions 11:14). There are two main ways that we can view the nature of time. First, we might think that it is objective, and part of the external nature of the world itself. Past, present and future are realities. Second, we might think of time as merely subjective, existing only as a product of our minds. While it is tempting to go with the first interpretation, Augustine goes with the second: time has no meaning apart from our minds. The reason is that the past no longer exists, and the future is not yet here. He writes,

These two times then, past and future, how can they exist since the past is gone and the future is not yet here? But if the present stayed present, and never passed into time past, then, truly, it would not be time, but eternity. Suppose that time present (if it is to be time) only comes into existence because it passes into time-past. How, then, can we say that it exists, since its existence is caused by the fact that it will not exist? We can’t truly say that time is, then, except because it tends towards non-being. [Ibid]

It is as though everything that occurs will instantly evaporate with the passing of the present moment.

The extent to which the past and future are real at all, they must be embedded in the present moment, since the present is all that really exists:

It is now plain and evident that neither future nor past things exist. Nor can we properly say, “there are three times: past, present, and future”. Instead, it we might properly say “there are three times: a present-of-things-past, a present-of-things-present, and a present-of-things-future.” [Ibid 11:20]

When we speak about the past, present and future, we need to connect them all to the present moment. The past involves only memories that we have in the present, and, thus, we should call this the present-of-things-past. The future involves only mental anticipations of what might come, and we should call this the present-of-things-future.

Evil, Free Will, Foreknowledge

Medieval philosophers developed precise notions of God and the attributes that he has, many of which are even now well-known among believers. For example, God is all-powerful (i.e., omnipotent), all-knowing (i.e., omniscient), and all-good (i.e., omni-benevolent). Other commonly discussed attributes of God are that he is eternal, that he is present everywhere (i.e., omnipresent) and that he has foreknowledge of future events. While these traditional attributes of God offer a clear picture of the kind of being that he is, many of them present special conceptual problems, particularly when we try to make them compatible with potentially conflicting facts about the world.

One of these is the famous problem of evil: how are we to understand God’s goodness in the face of all the suffering that we experience? It’s clear that suffering is abundant throughout the world, and such suffering is a type of evil. It’s also clear for religious philosophers that God is in control of things, which seems to imply that God is the source of that suffering and evil. But if God is good, then it seems that he cannot be the source of evil. Thus, there is a conflict between God’s power and goodness on the one hand, and the presence of suffering on the other. How can we resolve this conflict? The first step, for Augustine, is to recognize that God has only an indirect role in the cause of some suffering, as he explains here:

[You ask whether God is the cause of evil. In response,] if you know or believe that God is good (and it is not right to believe otherwise) then he does no evil. Further, if we recognize that God is just (and it is impious to deny it) then he rewards the good and punishes the wicked. Such punishments are indeed evils for those who suffer them. Therefore, if no one is punished unjustly (this we must believe since we believe that this universe is governed by divine providence) it follows that God is a cause of the suffering of some evil, but in no way causes the doing of evil. [On Free Choice: 1:1]

For Augustine, God’s goodness means that he does no evil. Yet, God’s justness means that he rewards good and punishes evil. Thus, God indeed causes some suffering through punishment, but he is not the cause of evil actions themselves.

The cause of evil itself, according to Augustine, is the human will, and thus all blame for it rests on our shoulders, not on Gods. We willfully turn our souls away from God when we perform evil deeds: “look for the source of this movement and be sure that it does not come from God” (On Free Choice, 2:20). Even the punishment that God imposes on us for our evil is something that we brought on ourselves, since “punishment is used in such a way that it places natures in their right order” (On Free Choice, 3:9). Thus, a first solution that Augustine offers to the problem of evil is that human will is the cause of evil and reason for divine punishment. A second and related solution is that the evil we willfully create within our souls is only a deprivation of goodness. Think of God’s goodness like a bright white light; the evil that we humans create is like an act of dimming that light, or shielding ourselves from it to create an area of darkness. It is not like we have created a competing light source of our own, such as a bright red light that we shine around to combat God’s bright white light. Accordingly, the evil that we create through our wills is the absence of good, and not a substantive evil in itself. Augustine writes, “That movement of the soul’s turning away, which we admitted was sinful, is a defective movement, and every defect arises from non-being” (On Free Choice, 2:20). Drawing from Plotinus, “non-being” is Augustine’s term for the complete absence of God.

Yet a third solution to the problem of evil is Augustine’s suggestion that the apparent imperfection of any part of creation disappears in light of the perfection of the whole. To explain, Augustine considers a common objection that God seems to be the source of suffering when our young children die with no clear purpose. His response is this:

In view of the encompassing network of the universe and the whole creation (a network that is perfectly ordered in time and place, where not even one leaf of a tree is superfluous) it is not possible to create a superfluous person. . . . Moreover, who knows what faith is practiced or what pity is tested when these children’s sufferings break down the hardness of parents? We do not know what reward God reserves in the secret places of his judgment for these children . . . . [On Free Choice, 3.27]

Augustine is saying here that troubling events such as the suffering of children are part of a larger system of things in the world, and even these events have a place in contributing to the good of the whole. If we were capable of grasping the entirety of the creation, we would then see the role that each thing plays in the greater scheme of things, contributing to its total perfection.

The tension between God and evil is just one of the problems surrounding God’s attributes. Another that Augustine considers is the possible conflict between God’s foreknowledge and human free will. If God knows ahead of time what I will do at midnight tonight, then when the time comes I must do that, and thus have no free choice. The problem can be laid out more precisely as follows:

1. If God foreknows all events, then all events happen according to a fixed, causal order.

2. If all events happen according to a fixed, causal order, then nothing depends on us and there is no such thing as free will.

3. God foreknows all events, hence there is no such thing as free will.

Augustine’s solution is to distinguish between two distinct things about my future decisions that God might focus on. On the one hand, God might focus on and foresee my actions, in which case it looks as though my actions are already causally fixed on the timeline. On the other hand, however, God might focus on and foresee what my choice will be, what mental decision I make that motivates me to act in a certain way. By foreseeing my choice, God is focusing on a free will decision that will be left to me in the future. Thus, God's foreknowledge of my actions is dependent upon what my choice will be, and not on my action itself. He explains this here:

Since God foreknows our will, the very will that he foreknows will be what comes about. Therefore, it will be a will, since it is a will that he foreknows. And it could not be a will unless it were in our power. Therefore, he also foreknows this power. It follows, then, that his foreknowledge does not take away my power; in fact, it is all the more certain that I will have that power, since he whose foreknowledge never errs foreknows that I will have it. [On Free Choice, 3:3]

For Augustine, the issue comes down to this. Suppose that I was a wizard and, by looking into a crystal ball, I foreknew what choice you would make tomorrow at noontime. Would that necessitate you doing it? Clearly not. Thus, God’s foreknowledge of your choice does not interfere with your freedom any more than my foreknowledge of your choice would.

Morality, Proper Desire, Two Cities

Augustine’s moral philosophy rests on a single theme: desiring all things in their appropriate manner, and reserving our most supreme desire for God. Humans have the capacity to desire things with a wide range of intensity, from very low to very high. According to Augustine, our human psyches are designed in such a way that the highest intensity of desire should be our ultimate love for God. The intensity of our desires for other things should be far less, such as for wealth, fame, material goods. Our principal moral task is to make sure that all of our desires are properly ordered, that we desire things in the right way. When we fail to do this, our desires become disordered; that is, we desire a lowly thing such as a coat with the intensity that we should otherwise devote to something much higher, even God himself. It is this disordered desire that motivates us to do evil: He writes,

When the miser prefers his gold to justice, it is through no fault of the gold, but of the man; and so with every created thing. For though it is good, it may be loved with an evil as well as with a good love: it is loved rightly when it is loved with proper order; evilly, when disordered. [City of God, 15:22]

Not only is properly ordered desire central to morality and virtuous conduct, but it is also the cornerstone to a good and just society. Augustine’s political views are laid out in his book The City of God, which he initially wrote against Roman pagans who blamed the 410 fall of Rome on the domination of Christianity within society and their abolition of polytheistic worship. According to Augustine, we need to see society as consisting of two “cities” or cultures: an earthly one and a heavenly one. The defining difference between the two is that citizens of the earthly city are motivated by disordered desire, while those of the heavenly city have properly ordered desires. He writes,

Two cities have been formed by two loves: the earthly by the love of self, even to the contempt of God; the heavenly by the love of God, even to the contempt of self. The former, in a word, glories in itself, the latter in the Lord. For the one seeks glory from men; but the greatest glory of the other is God, the witness of conscience. The one lifts up its head in its own glory; the other says to its God, “You are my glory, and you lift up my head.” In the one, the princes and the nations it subdues are ruled by the love of ruling; in the other, the princes and the subjects serve one another in love, the latter obeying, while the former take thought for all. The one delights in its own strength, represented in the persons of its rulers; the other says to its God, “I will love you, Lord, my strength.” [City of God, 14:28]

The Roman Empire itself, he argues, is a perfect example of an earthly city that overindulged in disordered desires. This led to immorality, vice, crime, and its ultimate downfall. Citizens of the heavenly city, who have properly ordered desires, realize that the only eternal good is found in God. They live by faith and “look for those eternal blessings which are promised” (City of God, 19:17)

People of the heavenly city are obviously forced to live here on earth among rival members of the earthly city. However, these believers consider themselves as resident aliens and follow the laws and customs of the society in which they dwell, but do not settle down to enjoy them. He writes, “So long as the heavenly city lives like a captive and a stranger in the earthly city . . . it does not hesitate to obey the laws of the earthly city, whereby the things necessary for the maintenance of this mortal life are governed” (ibid). The earthly city at its best seeks peace in this life, a necessary condition for happiness. Accordingly, “the earthly city, which does not live by faith, seeks an earthly peace, and the end it proposes. . . is the combination of men’s wills to attain the things which are helpful to this life” (ibid). The heavenly city makes use of this peace only because it must.

C. PSEUDO-DIONYSIUS AND BOETHIUS

While Augustine was the dominant philosopher of the early middle ages, two others were influential on some specific philosophical issues, namely, Pseudo-Dionysius and Boethius.

Pseudo-Dionysius: Positive and Negative Religious Language

We do not know the real name of the philosopher that today we call “Pseudo-Dionysius.” He was a Christian mystical philosopher living in the fifth-century who was influenced by Plotinus view that we should describe God through negative attributes. In his writings he goes by the name “Dionysius the Areopagite,” the Christian convert mentioned in the New Testament book of Acts, who was a member of the Athenian high court. Medieval writers assumed that this was his true identity, scholars now know that this was just a pseudonym, and thus we refer to him as Pseudo-Dionysius. The foundation of his religious mysticism is his view that a direct experience of God is so blinding and overpowering that it leaves us in what he calls both an “unapproachable light” and a “dazzling darkness.” The experience is “darkness” insofar as we are incapable of describing anything concrete about it; it is ineffable, meaning that it is unspeakable. Similar to Plotinus, Dionysius maintains that we must describe God by way of negation.

In his short work titled Mystical Theology, he discusses the limits of religious language and presents a two-step process that we must take when describing God. First, we begin with positive descriptions by which we attempt to say what God is, such as by stating that God is powerful. Second, we realize the inadequacy of these positive descriptions, then negatively denying each of them. For example, we assert positively that God is powerful, but proceed negatively by denying that God is powerful in the way that humans understand the term “power.” Thus, the more we deny our positive descriptions of God, the closer we get to an understanding of God.

Regarding our positive descriptions of God, Pseudo-Dionysius says that there are three types of these that we can make. First, there are what we can call theological attributes of God, where, as scriptures indicate, we can refer to God as father, son, and holy spirit. These descriptions are profound and seem to point at the very essence of God. However, they are also obscure notions that offer us little detail about God’s nature. Next, there are what we can call philosophical attributes, such as that God is powerful, wise, and good. These are slightly less profound descriptions of God, but at least they give us a bit more detail about God’s nature. Finally, there are blatant human metaphors that we use to describe God, such as with scriptural passages that refer to God as sleeping, angry, grieved, or vengeful. These are the least profound descriptions, they’re trivial and often superfluous. On the other hand, they offer us the greatest amount of detail that we can grasp with our normal human mental capacity.

So much for our positive descriptions of God. The next step is to recognize that all three groups of these descriptions are flawed and offer distorted views of the divine being. As Plotinus suggested, God himself is incapable of direct description because of his pure and simple perfection, and the best we can do is describe God negatively, by saying what he is not. Pseudo-Dionysius agrees, and suggests that we begin by denying the blatant human metaphors that we use to describe God: he has no emotions as humans understand them. Thus, we must recognize that he is not “a body, nor has he form or shape, or quality or quantity or mass; he is not localized or visible or tangible; he is neither sensitive nor sensible; he is subject to no disorder or disturbance arising from material passion” (Mystical Theology, 4). By denying these particular features of God, a more accurate image of him emerges. It is much like how a sculptor begins by chipping away at a block of stone, removing the parts that aren’t quite right, eventually producing a clear image of a statue. Next we deny the philosophical attributes: he is not power, knowledge, or goodness as humans understand the terms. Finally, we deny theological attributes: he is not father, son, or holy spirit as humans understand the terms.

Through these successive steps of first affirming then denying God’s attributes, Pseudo-Dionysius argues that we climb ever higher towards an understanding of God that rests on a mystical experience of the divine as we approach him. God himself, though, can never be adequately described: “for the perfect and sole cause of all is above all affirmation, and that which transcends all is above all subtraction, absolutely separate, and beyond all that is” (Mystical Theology, 5).

Boethius: Universals and Divine Foreknowledge

Boethius (480-524) is best remembered for his view that God is eternal in the sense that he exists outside of time. He was born in Rome to a wealthy Christian family, but soon after orphaned, he was raised by his adopting family with a great appreciation for Greek and Roman culture, at a time when Rome was ruled by barbarian kings. He was well acquainted with classical philosophy, particularly Plato, Aristotle and Neoplatonism, and his extensive knowledge made him a valuable asset to the royal government. Quickly moving up the ranks in administrative posts, his career came to an abrupt end when he was accused of treason and executed. While in prison he wrote his most influential work, The Consolation of Philosophy.

Boetheus has the honor of being the first medieval philosopher to systematically explore the problem of universals, that is, the question of whether abstract notions such as “greenness” exist somewhere in reality or only in our minds. He got his inspiration from a brief comment about universals made by the Neoplatonist philosopher Porphyry:

I shall avoid investigating (a) whether genera and species [i.e., universals] are real or are exist merely in thoughts, (b) if real, whether they are material or immaterial, and (c) whether they exist separately from sensible things or have their reality in connection with them. Such business is profound, and requires another, greater investigation. [Introduction to Aristotle’s Categories]

In the above passage Porphyry questions different ways in which universals might exist, and Boethius responds by suggesting three possible positions on the subject. The first position is that universals such as “greenness” exist outside of our minds and even separately from physical bodies such as a green tree. This is the classic position taken by Plato, who held that abstract notions such as “greenness” exist in the non-physical realm of the Forms. The term for this option is “universals ante rem”, Latin for “before the thing.” Position two is that universals are intrinsic—or built into—physical things. For example, the universal “greenness” is found in all green individual objects, such as trees and grass. This is the view taken by Aristotle, and the term for this position is “universals in re", Latin for “in the thing.” The third position is that universals exist only as concepts in the human mind, and not in any real way in the external world. We abstract them from particular things, such as when after viewing several green trees I form the mental abstraction of “greenness”. The official term for this is “universals post rem”, Latin for “following the thing.” These three positions on universals, as laid out by Boethius, became the definitive options of further discussion on the subject by later medieval philosophers as they defended one of these positions against the others. So, which of these three views did Boethius think is right? It’s not clear. He criticizes them all on various grounds, and seems to endorse aspects of each. In one of his writings he endorses a combination of Aristotle’s view and the mental abstraction view: universals exist within individual objects, but also exist in our minds as abstractions when we think of those individual things. In another work, though, he holds Plato’s view that universals exist in a non-physical world, apart from individual objects and our minds.

Boethius was influential on one other major philosophical issue, that of the conflict between divine foreknowledge and free will. Again, the problem here is that if God knows what I will do before hand, then that event must happen, and I have no free will to do otherwise. Boethius has an ingenious solution to this problem: God stands outside of time and thus knows what I will do by viewing the whole timeline at once; this does not constrain our free choices. This solution rests on a unique conception of God’s attribute of eternality. Consider these two conceptions of what it means to be eternal: (1) endless existence on the timeline, and (2) existence completely outside of time. To say that God is eternal in the first sense means simply that at any point that you pick in the timeline, God existed or will exist. God moves through time along with me and everything else in the world. The second notion of eternality places God completely outside of the timeline and suggests that the phenomenon of time does not even apply to God. Boethius goes with this second notion of God’s eternality: “eternity is the possession of endless life, whole and perfect at a single moment” (Consolation of Philosophy, 5:6).

Once we adopt this second view of God’s eternality, according to Boethius, the conflict between foreknowledge and free will disappears. God does not foresee my future actions by peeking down the timeline with a special telescope. Rather, he inspects the entire timeline at once, which includes my free will choices at the moments that I make them.

Since God stands forever in an eternal present, his knowledge, also transcending all movement of time, dwells in the simplicity of its own changeless present. It embraces the whole infinite sweep of the past and of the future, contemplates all that falls within its simple cognition as if it were now taking place. And therefore, if you will carefully consider that immediate presentment whereby it discriminates all things, you will more rightly conclude that it is not foreknowledge as of something future, but knowledge of a moment that never passes. . . . Thus, the divine anticipation does not change the natures and properties of things, and it beholds things present before it, just as they will hereafter come to pass in time. [Ibid]

For Boethius, then, it is misleading to even call this divine “foreknowledge” since this wrongly implies that God is looking into the future. Instead, it is an “outlook” that “embraces all things as from some lofty height” (ibid).

D. ANSELM

Anselm (1033–1109) made his mark in the history of philosophy for developing what is now called the ontological argument for God’s existence. He was born to a noble family that owned considerable property in the city of Aosta in the Italian Alps. His virtuous mother faithfully provided young Anselm with religious training and inspired in him a love of learning. In contrast, his father was a harsh man with a violent temper. At 14 years of age Anselm sought admission to a monastery, but the abbot, fearing trouble from his father, refused him without paternal permission. The boy was so desperate, he prayed for an illness, hoping the monks would pity him and change their minds. He got half his wish. He became ill, but was still not accepted. This, and the death of his mother, resulted in Anselm leaving his studies for a more carefree life. By age 23, he could take his father’s abuse no longer and left, wandering for three years through the region. He then entered the Benedictine abbey at Bec, Normandy, as a novice, and in a few short years became its Prior. He was later enthroned as archbishop of Canterbury. However, when the King refused to free the church from royal control, Anselm went into exile in protest. When the King died, the subsequent ruler called Anselm back, but the terms were no different, and so Anselm remained in exile. Throughout this time he wrote many short works. At the time these did not receive their deserved appreciation, but are now considered great achievements. Anselm’s writings are in the form of dialogues and meditations, the most important of which are his Monologium and Proslogium.

Anselm followed Augustine’s view of the relation between faith and reason: faith seeking understanding. Thus, Anselm writes “I hold it to be a failure in duty if after we have become steadfast in our faith we do not strive to understand what we believe." In his effort to understand his faith, he was consumed with the idea of proving God’s existence, and, in his first effort to do so, he offers a proof from absolute goodness. He presents the basic intuition behind this argument here:

Since there are goods so innumerable, whose great diversity we experience by the bodily senses, and discern by our mental faculties, must we not believe that there is some one thing, through which all goods whatever are good? [Monologium 1]

More formally, his argument is this:

1. Goodness exists in a variety of ways and degrees.

2. This would be impossible without an absolute standard of good, in which all goods participate.

3. Therefore, an absolute standard of good exists, which is God.

The argument takes its inspiration from Plato’s view of the Form of the Good. According to Plato, all good things that we see around us—a good person, a good photograph, a good meal—obtain their goodness by participating in the perfect form of Goodness that exists in a non-physical realm. Anselm agrees, and he draws attention to the fact that the same kind of things often differ in their degree of goodness. Some people are very good, others not so much. Some meals are good, others not so much. The standard of goodness, then, must come from some outside source which is always perfectly good, and that perfectly good source is God.

Ontological Argument

Although Anselm believed that this argument successfully proved God’s existence, he also felt that it was a little too cluttered. It first requires us to experience various good things in the world, then assess their differing levels of goodness, then finally draw the conclusion. Perhaps, Anselm thought, he could do better and construct a more self-contained argument: “I began to ask myself whether there might be found a single argument which would require no other for its proof than itself alone” (Proslogium, Preface). This indeed is what he accomplished in his Ontological Argument for God’s existence, which even today stands as one of the greatest arguments in the history of philosophy. It doesn’t require us to experience anything through our senses. Rather, it simply begins with a definition of God, and draws its conclusion directly from that definition. Although the argument is self-contained, it is a bit challenging to grasp its central point as he presents it here:

Even the fool [who says in his heart there is no God] is convinced that something exists in the understanding, at least, that than which nothing greater can be conceived. For, when he hears of this, he understands it. And whatever is understood, exists in the understanding. And assuredly that than which nothing greater can be conceived, cannot exist in the understanding alone. For, suppose it exists in the understanding alone: then it can be conceived to exist in reality; which is greater.

Therefore, if that than which nothing greater can be conceived, exists in the understanding alone, the very being, than which nothing greater can be conceived, is one, than which a greater can be conceived. But obviously this is impossible. Hence, there is no doubt that there exists a being, than which nothing greater can be conceived, and it exists both in the understanding and in reality. [Proslogium, 2]

Worded more simply, his argument is this:

1. God is defined as “The Greatest Possible Being.”

2. The Greatest Possible Being must have every quality that would make it greater (or more superior) than it would be otherwise.

3. Having the quality of real existence is greater than having the quality of imaginary existence

4. Therefore, the Greatest Possible Being must have the quality of real existence.

Premise one gives a definition of God. Anselm’s actual wording is that God is “that than which nothing greater can be conceived,” which more concisely means simply that God is the greatest possible being. Premise two rests on the notion of a quality that makes something great: to possess it makes you greater than to lack it. Having the quality of strength makes a bridge greater than it would be if it lacked it. Having the quality of healthiness makes me greater than I would be if I lacked it. By definition, the “Greatest Possible Being” must have every quality that would make it great. Premise three states that “existence” is a quality that makes something great. Having a real gold coin in my pocket is greater than just imagining to have one. By existing in reality, I am greater than I would otherwise be if I only existed in someone’s imagination. The conclusion that follows is that the Greatest Possible Being must have the quality of real existence: if it lacked it, it could have been greater. That is, it would be the “Greatest Possible Being that could have been greater,” which is a contradiction.

Anselm recognizes that “existence” is just one quality that makes something greater than it would be otherwise. Another such quality is ultimate power, and, thus, we can reword premise 3 with this quality:

3.1. Having the quality of ultimate power is greater than having limited power.

Thus, the Greatest Possible Being must also have the quality of ultimate power. So too with ultimate wisdom, and ultimate goodness. Anselm writes that the Greatest Possible Being is “just, truthful, blessed, and whatever it is better to be than not to be. For it is better to be just than not just; better to be blessed than not blessed” (ibid, 3). Anselm uses this strategy to show that, not only does the Greatest Possible Being exist, but it exists necessarily; that is, it would be impossible for him to not exist, or, as he words it, “it cannot be conceived not to exist” (ibid). Thus, again, we can reword premise 3 with this quality:

3.2. Having the quality of necessary existence is greater than having contingent existence.

The term “contingent existence,” as used above, refers to things that just happen to exist, but don’t need to exist, such as me, the chair I’m sitting on, and every other physical thing in the world. That is, we can conceive of a universe where none of these things existed. By contrast, necessary existence has to do with things whose non-existence is impossible. Mathematical concepts such as 2+2=4 might be examples of these, since it is impossible for these notions to be false. Anselm’s point above is that necessary existence is superior to mere contingent existence, and thus the Greatest Possible Being must have the quality of necessary existence.

Guanilo’s Criticism

As Anselm’s writings circulated, a monk named Guanilo had trouble accepting Anselm’s argument. While Guanilo certainly believed that God existed, he felt that Anselm’s argument was flawed, and thus tried to expose the problem. Guanilo suggests that we should imagine a mythological “lost island” that we might define as “The Greatest Possible Island”. By plugging this definition into Anselm’s ontological argument, we could then prove the existence of that island. Guanilo writes,

You can no longer doubt that this island which is more excellent than all lands exists somewhere, since you have no doubt that it is in your understanding. And since it is more excellent not to be in the understanding alone, but to exist both in the understanding and in reality, for this reason it must exist. For if it does not exist, any land which really exists will be more excellent than it; and so the island already understood by you to be more excellent will not be more excellent. [Ibid, Guanilo]

Following the argument structure above, the parallel argument that Guanilo offers is this:

1. The Lost Island is defined as “The Greatest Possible Island.”

2. The Greatest Possible Island must have every quality that would make it greater (or more superior) than it would be otherwise.

3. Having the quality of real existence is greater than having the quality of imaginary existence.

4. Therefore, the Greatest Possible Island must have the quality of real existence.

The larger point of Guanilo’s criticism is that Anselm’s type of argument is so flawed that it would show the existence of the greatest possible anything, such as the Greatest Possible Shoe, the Greatest Possible Unicorn, the Greatest Possible Eyebrow.

Anselm gave an extensive reply to Guanilo, attempting to show that the argument format only works with “The Greatest Possible Being” and not with things like islands.

That being alone, on the other hand, cannot be conceived not to exist, in which any conception discovers neither beginning nor end nor composition of parts, and which any conception finds always and everywhere as a whole. . . . So, then, of God alone it can be said that it is impossible to conceive of his nonexistence; and yet many objects, so long as they exist, in one sense cannot be conceived not to exist. But in what sense God is to be conceived not to exist, I think has been shown clearly enough in my book. [Ibid, Reply]

Anselm’s reply seems to be this. The argument structure only works with “the Greatest Possible Being,” since only “being” is capable of having ultimately great qualities, such as necessary existence. An island, by contrast, is a finite and limited thing that is composed of parts, and is thus incapable of having ultimately great qualities. The very notion of “The Greatest Possible Island” is self-contradictory since it attempts to impose the greatest possible qualities on a finite thing. Again, only the notion of “being” is capable of having ultimately great qualities piled onto it. Thus, only one version of the argument works, the one that focuses on the greatest possible being, and this is an argument that specifically proves the existence of God.

E. MUSLIM AND JEWISH PHILOSOPHY

As Christianity spread throughout Europe, pagan religions diminished and all but disappeared. However, two other religious traditions persisted in the region, namely Judaism and Islam, in spite of continual efforts of Christian rulers to suppress them through war, relocation, or forced conversion. While the political relations between the three religious traditions were hostile, there was more compatibility between them philosophically. One reason is that all three of those religions share a common monotheistic view of an all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good God who created the world and watches after us. Because of this doctrinal commonality, philosophers within the three traditions focused on many of the same issues: the relation between faith and reason, proofs for God’s existence, and the meaningfulness of religious language. While Judaism and Islam each have a complex and philosophically rich history, we will only look at the views of two figures: the Muslim philosopher Averroes, and the Jewish philosopher Maimonides.

Averroes: Resolving Conflicts between Philosophy and Scripture

Averroes is the Latin name of the Spanish-Muslim philosopher Ibn Rushd (1126-1198), who is remembered for his view that Aristotelean philosophers are best suited to interpret scripture. He was born into a prominent family of judges in Cordova Spain, which was then under Arab control. Schooled in philosophy, Islamic Law and medicine, he made a name for himself in all three of these areas throughout his life. In philosophy he was commissioned to write commentaries on Aristotle’s works. Following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather, he was Cordova’s chief judge for several years. Later on he became the personal physician to the ruler of Spain and Morocco. In spite of his distinguished career, near the end of his life he was forced into exile on grounds of heresy, and his books were burned. He was permitted to return two years later, but died the following year.

One of his most influential works is A Decisive Treatise, which addresses the question: what should we do when scripture conflicts with demonstrative truths of philosophy and science? For example, scripture might hold that God created the world at a particular moment in time; philosophy, on the other hand, might hold that the world has existed from eternity past and was not created at any moment in time. Which view should we follow? His answer is that we should accept the demonstrative truth established by philosophy and seek for a metaphorical interpretation of scripture that will make the apparent conflict disappear. He writes,

If the [scriptural] Law speaks of it, either it will agree with that which has been proved by [philosophical] inference, or else it will disagree with it. If it is in agreement it needs no comment, and if it is opposed to the Law, an interpretation is to be sought. Interpretation means to carry the meaning of a word from its original sense to a metaphorical one. But this should be done in such a manner as will not conflict with the custom of the Arabian tongue. It is to avoid the naming of an object, by simply mentioning its like, its cause, its attribute, or associate, etc. which are commonly quoted in the definition of the different kinds of metaphorical utterances. [Decisive Treatise]

According to Averroes, the problem arises since not all people have the same intellectual capacity to understand scripture: some people can understand logic, while the vast majority cannot. To address the wide range of readers, God crafted scriptures with two levels of meaning. First, there is the common or “exoteric” meaning of scripture that relies on catchphrases, buzzwords, stories and parables. Ordinary readers tend to understand these literally. Second, there is the true meaning of scripture which is hidden or “esoteric”, and requires interpretation. Between these two main levels of meaning there is a blurry middle ground:

There is a third part of the Law which occupies an intermediate position, on account of some doubt about it. Some say that it should be taken exoterically, and that no interpretation should be allowed in it; while there are others who say that they have some of esoteric meaning, and should not be taken exoterically by the learned. This is on account of the obscurity of their meaning. A learned man may be excused if he makes a mistake about them. [Ibid]

Thus, with some scriptural passages it’s not clear whether they are only exoteric and must be understood literally, or whether they are esoteric and need further interpretation.

According to Averroes, there are three groups of people who seek to understand scripture. First there are the masses of people, who are guided only by catchphrases and buzzwords, and thus take scripture literally. Second, there are dogmatic theologians who attempt some interpretation, but don’t have the skill to arrive at the true meaning. Finally, there are the Aristotelean philosophers who, through their studies of logic, have the ability to draw the proper inferences. In fact, their skill is so specialized that they should not even discuss their interpretations with the masses or the dogmatic theologians:

This kind of interpretation should not be discussed with the dogmatic theologians, not to speak of the common people. If any of these interpretations are disclosed to those not fit to receive them--especially philosophical interpretations--these being far higher than common knowledge, they may be led to infidelity. [Ibid]

Ultimately, it is the philosopher who has the logical ability to properly interpret scripture.

In short, Averroes maintains that apparent conflicts between philosophy and scripture can be resolved by adopting metaphorical interpretations of scripture that skilled philosophers are capable of drawing. Although his position might be a little elitist, and might give too much credit to philosophers’ logical abilities, it offers a consistent way of resolving potential conflicts between philosophy and scripture. While Muslim followers of Averroes’ philosophy embraced his solution to this problem, it also had a great influence on Christian philosophers of the time called “Latin Averroists”, and some were interpreted as holding to a position called the doctrine of double truth. According to this position, there are two levels of truth, one in philosophy and one in religion, and what is true in philosophy could be false in religion, and vice versa. Again, suppose that scripture states that God created the world at a particular moment in time, while philosophy holds that it is eternal. The double truth doctrine maintains that each of these positions is true in its own realm, even though they contradict each other. Averroes himself never went this far, and suggests instead that there is really only one truth, which can be accessed differently by the masses, dogmatic theologians and philosophers. It is unclear whether any Latin Averroists actually held to the doctrine of double truth either. Nevertheless, in 1277, the doctrine was condemned by a local Church council in Paris which claimed such philosophers “pretend that there are things true according to philosophy, yet not true according to faith, as if there were two opposite truths.”

Maimonides: Interpreting Scripture Non-Literally

Moses Maimonides (1135-1204) was a Spanish-Jewish philosopher who rejected literal interpretations of scripture in favor of allegorical ones. Maimonides was born in Cordova Spain, which under Muslim rule was at the height of that country’s cultural achievement. He was schooled in Greek and Arabic philosophy, Jewish law, and later in medicine. An anti-Jewish political shift in Cordova forced Maimonides into exile, which prompted him to live for a time in Morocco, Palestine, and then permanently in Egypt. After the death of his father and wealthy brother, financial problems pushed him into the field of medicine and he became physician to the court of an influential military general. Maimonides’ most famous philosophical work is the Guide for the Perplexed, which is written as a three-volume letter to a student. The work addresses sensitive subjects, such as religious language and God’s creation of the word, which led some Jewish officials of the time to ban or condemn it. Originally written in Arabic, the Guide was shortly after translated into Hebrew and Latin where it had a great influence on Christian philosophers.

The main goal of Maimonides Guide for the Perplexed is to liberate religious believers from interpreting the Bible literally. Throughout the Bible, some words are indeed meant to be taken literally, and others should be understood figuratively. The difficulty is determining which words should be viewed in which way. He writes:

My primary object in this work is to explain certain words occurring in the prophetic books. Of these some are homonyms, and of their several meanings the ignorant choose the wrong ones; other terms which are employed in a figurative sense are erroneously taken by such persons in their primary [literal] signification. There are also hybrid terms, denoting things which are of the same class from one point of view and of a different class from another. [Guide for the Perplexed, Introduction]

According to Maimonides, religious tradition often wrongly imposes literal interpretations on scriptures, such as with passages that depict God as having human-like emotions. While such literal interpretations seem odd to intelligent believers, they nevertheless feel trapped into accepting the literal interpretation out of religious duty. This places believers in a state of anxiety:

It is not here intended to explain all these expressions to the uneducated. . . . The object of this treatise is to enlighten a religious man who has been trained to believe in the truth of our holy Law, who conscientiously fulfils his moral and religious duties, and at the same time has been successful in his philosophical studies. Human reason has attracted him to abide within its sphere; and he finds it difficult to accept as correct the teaching based on the literal interpretation of the Law, and especially that which he himself or others derived from those homonymous, metaphorical, or hybrid expressions. Hence he is lost in perplexity and anxiety. [Ibid]

His book is thus titled A Guide for the Perplexed, and aims to help put an end to over-literalizing scriptural interpretations, thus freeing the believer from anxiety.

To accomplish his task, Maimonides painstakingly analyzes scores of Hebrew words in the Bible which, when taken in the wrong way, could mislead readers into interpreting the Bible too literally. His very first example concerns the passage in the book of Genesis where, when creating Adam, God says “Let us make man in our image”. The Hebrew word for “image” in this verse is zelem, and an overly-literal understanding of the word has led many believers into holding that God has a physical body, shaped like a human one with a face, hands and legs:

Some have held the opinion that by the Hebrew word zelem [i.e., image] means the shape and figure of a thing, and this explanation has led some to believe in the corporeality of God [i.e., that God has a physical body]. For they thought that the words “Let us make man in our zelem [i.e., image]” implied that God had the form of a human being, that is, that He had figure and shape, and that, consequently, He was corporeal. They adhered faithfully to this view, and thought that if they were to reject it they would by doing so reject the truth of the Bible. And further, if they did not conceive God as having a body possessed of face and limbs, similar to their own in appearance, they would have to deny even the existence of God. [Ibid 1.1]

The solution, for Maimonides, is to realize that the term there “image” (zelem) in this passage doesn’t mean physical form, but only the essence of a thing. There is in fact another Hebrew word that does mean “physical image”, the word toar, but the passage from Genesis doesn’t use it, preferring instead zelem:

I hold that the Hebrew equivalent of [physical] “form” in the ordinary use of the word, that is, the figure and shape of a thing, is toar. Thus we find “[And Joseph was] beautiful in toar [i.e., physical form], and beautiful in appearance” (Gen. 39:6). . . This term is not at all applicable to God. The term zelem, on the other hand, signifies the specific form, that is, that which constitutes the essence of a thing, whereby the thing is what it is; the reality of a thing in so far as it is that particular being. [Guide for the Perplexed, 1.1]

With other scriptural passages Maimonides takes a different approach when stripping them of their overly-literal meanings. There are, for example, verses that describe God as “merciful” or “angry”, both of which are human-like emotions. His solution here is to interpret these statements as expressing qualities that we see in God’s creation of the natural world, but not as psychological qualities of God himself. For example, the statement that “God is merciful” really means that the natural world as created by God displays merciful characteristics. It gives us nourishment and works in ways that make our lives pleasant. Similarly, the statement “God is angry” really means that the natural world as created by God is severe towards people when they act improperly.

F. AQUINAS

Perhaps the leading philosopher of the middle ages was Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274), who maintained that reason, unaided by faith, can give us knowledge of God’s existence and an understanding of morality as it is grounded in natural law. At his family’s castle in Naples, Italy, Thomas Aquinas was born to nobility on both sides, being a son of Count and a relative of a dynasty of Holy Roman emperors. His education began at age five at a monastery where his uncle was abbot, and expectations were high that Aquinas would one day fill that position. He was later transferred to the University of Naples, where he became acquainted with the Dominicans and, to his family’s horror, resolved to join them. At 18, he set off for Rome, but was seized by his brothers, returned to the family castle, and held captive while the family prayed, threatened, and even tempted him with a prostitute, hoping to change his mind. They could not. A year later the family yielded under pressure from the Pope, and Aquinas was sent to Cologne to study under some of the great philosophers of the time.

While Aquinas was described as refined, affable and lovable, he was physically big, solemn and slow to speak, earning him the nickname of the Dumb Ox. A story relates that Aquinas's colleagues teased him saying that there was a flying cow outside, and when he looked out the window they laughed. Aquinas responded that he would rather believe that a cow could fly than that his brothers would deceive him. During his subsequent education, apprenticeship, and public business in the church, he became famous for religious devotion and excellent memory, having memorized much of the Bible. The church offered to make him an archbishop and an abbot, but he refused both, preferring his studies. He composed book after book until he had a mystical experience that compelled him to cease writing altogether. Traveling to attend a Church Council, he became ill and died. Fifty years later he was canonized as a saint despite the lack of traditional saintly manifestations—stigmata, miracles, mortifications—which were waived in lieu of his outstanding contribution to the Church. His philosophical writings include commentaries Aristotle and three multi-volume efforts to philosophically explain the full range of Christian doctrine, the most famous of which is his Summa Theologica (Latin for “theological synopsis”).

Aquinas wrote in a formal and technical style that was common during this period of medieval philosophy. From the time of Augustine, medieval philosophy had a mystical and intuitional component to it. We’ve seen this specifically with Augustine’s motto “faith seeking understanding” and Pseudo-Dionysius’ view that through denying our notions of God we ascend higher in our experience towards him. The larger message of this earlier period was one of warning: reason is all well and good in its proper context, but it should not replace the more religiously intimate element of faith. Around 1100, though, this gave way to a more rationalistic approach that emerged within medieval universities called scholasticism, meaning the method of the “schools”. The goal of scholasticism was to systematically bring philosophy into dialogue with theology through a very specific methodology. Philosophical texts would no longer be written as prayers to God or meditations, but rather in a much more scientific-like manner. Precise questions would be posed, followed by a critical analysis of previous philosophers’ views of the subject. Subtle distinctions would be made to help clarify problems. Through this critical analysis, rationally-informed answers to the questions would emerge. Some medieval philosophers, such as Anselm, were transitional figures with their feet in both genres. Aquinas’s writings, though, fully embody the scholastic approach. What stands out most in Aquinas's scholasticism is its heavy reliance on Aristotle. From its earliest days, Medieval philosophers appreciated Aristotle, but his writings were scarce and only a few were accessible to them, mainly on logic in Latin translation. Through later contact with Arabic scholars, though, Christian philosophers slowly gained access to Aristotle's other works. By Aquinas's time they were all finally available, and Aquinas took advantage of that.

Twofold Truth and Proofs for God

Like other medieval philosophers, Aquinas’ philosophy starts with a view of the relation between faith and reason. For a religious believer, faith in God and scripture is of course fundamental. However, he argues, many basic religious truths such as God’s existence can be proven without faith and through reason alone. Accordingly, he proposes a view of faith and reason which he calls the twofold truth: while reason can give us some truth, other truths can only be attained through faith. He writes,

The truths that we confess concerning God fall into two categories. Some things that are true of God are beyond all the competence of human reason, such as that God is three and one. There are other things to which even human reason can attain, such as the existence and unity of God, which philosophers have proved to a demonstration under the guidance of the light of natural reason. [Summa Contra Gentiles, 1.3]

The first class of truths, called presuppositions of faith, are those that can be accessed through reason alone, and these include the truths that God exists and God is one. The second class of truths, called mysteries of faith, are accessible only through faith and involve doctrines like the Trinity, which we learn about in scripture and are central to the Christian faith in particular. Human reason alone cannot access these truths, he argues, since, in our present life “knowledge and understanding begins with the senses” (ibid). While this prevents us from knowing God’s inner nature, our senses can still give us information about creation which allows us to infer that there is a single powerful and designing creator to all that we see.

Again, one of the things that we can know through reason alone is that God exists, and to that end Aquinas offers five ways of proving God. Briefly, they are these:

1. There must be a first mover of things that are in the process of change and motion.

2. There must be a first efficient cause of the events that we see around us.

3. There must be a necessary being to explain the contingent beings in the world around us.

4. There must be an ultimately good thing to explain the good that we see in lesser things.

5. There must be an intelligent being who guides natural objects to their ends or purposes.

The first three of his proofs share a similar strategy, which was inspired by Aristotle’s notion of the unmoved mover: there is a first cause of all the motion that takes place throughout the cosmos. In more recent times this argument strategy has been dubbed the cosmological argument. We’ll look specifically at Aquinas’s second argument from efficient cause as he presents it here:

The second way is from the nature of the efficient cause. In the world of sense we find there is an order of efficient causes. There is no case known (neither is it, indeed, possible) in which a thing is found to be the efficient cause of itself; for so it would be prior to itself, which is impossible. Now in efficient causes it is not possible to go on to infinity, because in all efficient causes following in order, the first is the cause of the intermediate cause, and the intermediate is the cause of the ultimate cause, whether the intermediate cause be several, or only one. Now to take away the cause is to take away the effect. Therefore, if there be no first cause among efficient causes, there will be no ultimate, nor any intermediate cause. But if in efficient causes it is possible to go on to infinity, there will be no first efficient cause, neither will there be an ultimate effect, nor any intermediate efficient causes; all of which is plainly false. Therefore it is necessary to admit a first efficient cause, to which everyone gives the name of God. [ST 1, Q. 2, Art. 3]

According to Aquinas, we experience various kinds of effects in the world around us, and in every case we assign an efficient cause to each effect. The efficient cause of the statue is the work of the sculptor. If we took away the activity of the sculptor, we would not have the effect, namely, the statue. But there is an order of efficient causes: the hammer strikes the chisel which in turn strikes the marble. But it is impossible to have an infinitely long sequence of efficient causes, and so we arrive at a first efficient cause.

Aquinas’s argument from efficient cause is deceptively brief, and he appears to be offering the same argument that early Muslim philosophers did in the so-called Kalam argument for God’s existence. That is, it seems as though he is saying that it is impossible to trace such causal connections back through time and, ultimately, we must arrive at a first cause, namely, God. However, other writings by Aquinas make it clear that he is doing something different. Why, at least in theory, couldn’t this causal sequence trace back through time, to infinity past, and never have a starting point? Although this may be a strange contention, there is nothing logically contradictory about it. He writes that “It is by faith alone that we hold, and by no demonstration can it be proved, that the world did not always exist” (ST 1, Q. 46, Art. 2). Aquinas suggests that we view the causal sequence somewhat differently. Some causal sequences do indeed take place over time, such as when Abraham produces his son Isaac, who later produces his own son Jacob. But in addition to these time-based sequences, there are also simultaneous causal sequences, which do not trace back through time. Imagine, for example, if I hold a stick in my hand and use it to move a stone. According to Aquinas, my hand, the stick, and the stone all move at the same time. He makes this point here using the terminology of “essential” causes that are simultaneous and “accidental” causes that are time-based:

In efficient causes it is impossible to proceed to infinity essentially [i.e., simultaneously]. Thus, there cannot be an infinite number of [simultaneous] causes that are essentially required for a certain effect—for instance, that a stone be moved by a stick, the stick by the hand, and so on to infinity. But it is not impossible to proceed to infinity accidentally [i.e., over time] as regards efficient causes. [Ibid]

Aquinas’s causal proof, then, proceeds like this:

1. Some things exist and their existence is caused.

2. Whatever is caused to exist is caused to exist by something else.

3. An infinite series of simultaneous causes resulting in the existence of a particular thing is impossible.

4. Therefore, there is a first cause of whatever exists.

Aquinas did not give us an example of the sort of simultaneous cause in the natural world that traces immediately back to God, but here is a likely instance of what he is talking about. Consider the motion of the winds. At the very moment that the winds are moving, there are larger physical forces at work that create this motion. In medieval science, the motion of the moon is responsible for the motion of the winds. But the moon itself moves because it too is being simultaneously moved by other celestial motions, such as the planets, the sun, and the stars. According to Aquinas, simultaneous causal sequences of motion cannot go on forever, and we must eventually find a first cause of this motion, which “everyone understands to be God.”

So much for Aquinas’s second way to prove God’s existence. As noted, the first and third ways follow similar strategies, insofar as they claim that causal sequences of change and contingency cannot go on forever. The fourth way is like Anselm’s argument from absolute goodness: there must be an absolute standard of goodness which is the cause of the good that we see in lesser things. His fifth way, though, is unique and is a version of what in later times is called the design argument. He writes,

The fifth way is taken from the governance of the world. We see that things which lack intelligence, such as natural bodies, act for an end, and this is evident from their acting always, or nearly always, in the same way, so as to obtain the best result. Hence it is plain that not fortuitously, but designedly, do they achieve their end. Now whatever lacks intelligence cannot move towards an end, unless it be directed by some being endowed with knowledge and intelligence; as the arrow is shot to its mark by the archer. Therefore some intelligent being exists by whom all natural things are directed to their end; and this being we call God. [ST 1, Q. 2, Art. 3]

More formally, his argument is this:

1. Objects without intelligence act towards some end (for example, a tree grows and reproduces its own kind).

2. Moving towards an end exhibits a natural design that requires intelligence.

3. If a thing is unintelligent, yet acts for some end, then it must be guided to this end by something which is intelligent.

4. Therefore, an intelligent being exists that moves natural things toward their ends, which is God.

The central notion behind this argument is that natural objects such as plants and animals have built-in purposes. Here Aquinas draws directly on Aristotle’s concept of a “natural object” which has an innate impulse towards change in specific ways. According to Aquinas, when natural objects move towards their end, this reveals a natural design that could not have come about through chance, but requires intelligence. Since plants and animals lack intelligence to do this, some other intelligence is responsible for this, namely God.

Divine Simplicity and Religious Language

According to Aquinas, not only can we prove the existence of God through reason unaided by faith, but there are some features of God’s existence that reason by itself can also reveal to us. Religious philosophers often describe God as having a cluster of attributes, such as being all-powerful, all-knowing, all-good; Aquinas certainly agrees that God is these things. However, he maintains that God in fact has a single attribute: divine simplicity. Several philosophers prior to Aquinas, including Parmenides and Plotinus, held that God is best described as “the One”, namely, a simple, indivisible entity. Aquinas agrees as we see here:

There is neither composition of quantitative parts in God, since He is not a body; nor composition of matter and form; nor does His nature differ from His person; nor His essence from His existence; neither is there in Him composition of genus and difference, nor of subject and accident. Therefore, it is clear that God is in no way composite, but is altogether simple. [ST 1, Q 3, Art. 7]

According to Aquinas, God has no parts whatsoever, no physical parts, and, more importantly, no conceptual parts, such as specific properties or predicates. His basic proof for God’s simplicity is this:

1. If something is composed of parts then it must be potentially divisible (e.g., an actual book is potentially a pile of torn out sheets of paper).

2. God is not potentially divisible.

3. Therefore God is not composed of parts (i.e., God is simple).

While God in is true nature is simple, Aquinas concedes that to finite human minds he appears to have distinct parts. The reason is that our minds are designed to understand things in the world around us, virtually all of which have parts, such as parts of trees, parts of chairs, parts of languages. When we then attempt to understand God in his simplicity, we then very naturally view him as a thing that is composed of parts, and attempt to understand him one element at a time. He writes,

We can speak of simple things only as though they were like the composite things from which we derive our knowledge. Therefore in speaking of God, we use concrete nouns to signify His subsistence, because with us only those things subsist which are composite; and we use abstract nouns to signify His simplicity. In saying therefore that Godhead, or life, or the like are in God, we indicate the composite way in which our intellect understands, but not that there is any composition in God. [ST 1, Q 3, Art. 3]

To satisfy our tendency to view God as a composite thing, we can deduce some sub-attributes of God from his main attribute of simplicity. For example, we can say that God is eternal since if a thing is simple, then it has no “before” or “after” and thus is eternal. Similarly, we can say that God is perfect since if a thing is simple then it is completely actualized, with no remaining potentiality, and complete actualization is perfection.

The whole issue of God’s attributes raises an even more fundamental question of the adequacy of religious language: can any of our descriptions of God satisfactorily represent him? For example, if we say that “God loves us,” what sort of “love” are we talking about, and is the notion of divine love something that can even be put into words? We’ve already seen a variety of answers to this question of religious language: Pseudo-Dionysius said we can only describe God negatively; Maimonides said that we can only describe God allegorically. Aquinas approaches the issue by noting three ways that our words might, at least in theory, apply to God. The first is univocal: the religious and non-religious uses of a word like “love” are completely the same, whether we’re talking about human love or divine love. Aquinas rejects this approach:

Univocal predication is impossible between God and creatures… [The] term “wise” is not applied in the same way to God and to man. The same rule applies to other terms. Hence no name is predicated univocally of God and of creatures. [ST 1, Q. 13, Art. 5]

The problem with the univocal approach is that the gulf between God’s nature and human nature is so vast that the term “love” cannot possibly mean the exact same thing when we’re talking about divine love vs. human love. The next way is equivocal: the religious and non-religious uses of a word like “love” are completely different. Aquinas rejects this approach as well:

Neither, on the other hand, are names applied to God and creatures in a purely equivocal sense, as some have said. Because if that were so, it follows that from creatures nothing could be known or demonstrated about God at all. [Ibid]

The problem here is that if religious language and human language have nothing in common, then we can say nothing at all about God. Rejecting both the univocal and equivocal approaches, Aquinas recommends a middle ground between the two: an analogical approach whereby the religious use of a word has some analogy to the non-religious use. For example, we can say that divine love is to God just as parental love is to a parent. He writes,

In analogies the idea is not, as it is in univocals, one and the same, yet it is not totally diverse as in equivocals. Rather a term which is thus used in a multiple sense signifies various proportions to some one thing. Thus “healthy” applied to urine signifies the sign of animal health, and applied to medicine signifies the cause of the same health. [Ibid]

The point is that there is something in common to both religious language and human language, but it can only be understood as a comparison of two relations. For example, to grasp the notion of divine love, we must first examine the relation between human parents and parental love: we have a special attachment to our offspring that overrides every other human interest. In some parallel way, this is what God’s love towards humans involves.

Morality and Natural Law

In the arena of moral philosophy, Aquinas developed a view called natural law theory, which for centuries was one of the dominant views regarding the source of moral principles. In a nutshell, natural law theory holds that God endorses specific moral standards and fixes them in human nature, which we discover through rational intuition. According to Aquinas, there are four kinds of law: eternal law, natural law, human law and divine law. Eternal law, the broadest type of law, is the unchanging divine governance over the universe. This includes both the general moral rules of conduct, such as “stealing is wrong,” and particular rules such as “people should not intentionally write bad checks.” Natural law is a subset of eternal law, which God implants in human nature and we discover through reflection. However, it includes only general rules of conduct, such as “stealing is wrong,” not specific cases. Next, human law is a derivation of natural law that extends to particular cases, such as “people should not write bad checks.” Finally, divine law, as contained in the Bible, is a specially revealed subset of the eternal law that is meant to safeguard against possible errors in our attempts to both obtain natural law through reflection, and derive more particular human laws. In this way we see that the Bible condemns stealing in general, as well as various forms of theft through fraud. All moral laws— including general ones discovered through reflection, specific ones derived by legislators, and ones found in the scriptures— are ultimately grounded in an objective, universal, and unchanging eternal law.

What, specifically, are the principles of natural law that God has embedded into human nature? First, there is one highest principle: “Good is to be done and evil is to be avoided.” Aquinas writes,

This is the first precept of law, that “good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided.” All other precepts of the natural law are based upon this: so that whatever the practical reason naturally apprehends as man’s good (or evil) belongs to the precepts of the natural law as something to be done or avoided. [ST la-2ae, Q. 94, Art. 2]

From this, we determine what is “good” for us by looking at our human inclinations. He notes six inclinations in particular that are connected with our human good: self-preservation, heterosexual activity, educating our offspring, rationality, gaining knowledge of God, and living in society. He writes,

Because in man there is first of all an inclination to good in accordance with the nature which he has in common with all substances: inasmuch as every substance seeks the preservation of its own being, according to its nature: and by reason of this inclination, whatever is a means of preserving human life, and of warding off its obstacles, belongs to the natural law. Secondly, there is in man an inclination to things that pertain to him more specially, according to that nature which he has in common with other animals: and in virtue of this inclination, those things are said to belong to the natural law, “which nature has taught to all animals,” such as sexual intercourse, education of offspring and so forth. Thirdly, there is in man an inclination to good, according to the nature of his reason, which nature is proper to him: thus man has a natural inclination to know the truth about God, and to live in society: and in this respect, whatever pertains to this inclination belongs to the natural law; for instance, to shun ignorance, to avoid harming or offending those among whom one has to live, and other such things regarding the above inclination. [Ibid]

For Aquinas, these six inclinations comprise what is most proper for humans, and provide the basis for the primary precepts of morality. This gives us six primary principles of natural law: (1) preserve human life, (2) have heterosexual intercourse, (3) educate your children, (4) shun ignorance, (5) worship God, and (6) avoid harming others.

Each of these primary principles encompasses more specific or secondaryprinciples. For example, the primary principle “avoid harming others” implies the secondary principles “don’t steal” and “don’t assault.” These, in turn, imply even more specific or tertiary principles, such as “don’t write bad checks.” As the principles become more specific, they leave the domain of natural law and enter that of human law. When considering whether natural law is the same in all people, he argues that the primary principles are common to everyone, such as “do not harm others.” However, more particular tertiary derivations of human law are not necessarily common to all societies. Still, he argues, human law will carry the force of natural law if the tertiary principles are derived correctly. But, “if in any point it deflects from the law of nature, it is no longer a law but a perversion of law” (ibid, 95).

G. SCOTUS AND OCKHAM

Since around 1100, scholasticism dominated medieval philosophy with its technical style and efforts to defend theology with philosophy. As Aquinas put it, philosophy is the handmaid of theology. Some philosophers made outright assaults against scholasticism on the grounds that it produced useless quarrels and elevated rationalistic philosophy above true faith. But such outright attacks did little to slow down the momentum that scholasticism had built up over the centuries. Other philosophers, though, writing within the scholastic tradition itself, helped drive a wedge between philosophy and theology, thus helping to bring an end to scholasticism’s dominance. Two of these are John Duns Scotus and William of Ockham.

Scotus: Divine Illumination, Form-Matter, Divine Command Ethics

John Duns Scotus (1266-1308) criticized the longstanding theory of divine illumination, and held that God has the power to change moral principles. Born in Scotland, he joined the Franciscan monastic order at an early age and moved on to study theology at Oxford University. When subsequently teaching at the University of Paris, he was caught in a feud between the Pope and France’s king and temporarily exiled from the country. He died in Cologne, Germany, when, according to rumor, he was buried alive after falling into a coma. In modern editions, Scotus’s writings occupy 25 volumes, most of which he composed during a ten-year period of his life. His reputation for scholarship earned him the nickname “the subtle doctor.” Nevertheless, some years after his death when his views fell into disfavor, his very name “Duns” became synonymous with foolishness, and is thus the origin of our word “dunce.”

While Scotus wrote on a wide range of philosophical subjects, we will look at his contributions in three areas. First is Scotus’s rejection of divine illumination. We’ve seen that Augustine proposed the idea that God illuminates our minds to enable us to see special truths: “The mind needs to be enlightened by light from outside itself, so that it can participate in truth, because it is not itself the nature of truth. You will light my lamp, Lord” (Augustine, Confessions, 4.15.25). Divine illumination was a popular view of knowledge throughout the middle ages, and by the time of Scotus several philosophers developed it into an elaborate theory. Scotus, on the contrary, argued that human reason can attain certainty on its own, with no assistance from God through divine illumination. The problem with divine illumination is this: if our natural capacity for knowledge is limited, as Augustine and others maintained, then divine illumination cannot help, since it too will be subject to uncertainty. Scotus writes,

When one of those [elements of knowledge] that come together is incompatible with certainty, then certainty cannot be achieved. For just as from one premise that is necessary and one that is contingent nothing follows but a contingent conclusion, so too from something certain and something uncertain, coming together in some cognition, no cognition that is certain follows. [Ordinatio 1.3.1.4 n.221]

According to the analogy in the above quotation, an argument is only as strong as its weakest premise: if you have five premises that are certain, yet only one that is uncertain, the entire argument becomes uncertain. For Scotus, the types of certainty that we can attain in our current human condition, without the help of divine illumination, are certainty about logical inference, causal inference, acts we perform, present sense experience.

A second area of importance in Scotus’s philosophy is his view regarding matter and form. Recall the debate between Plato and Aristotle on the relation between matter and form. Plato held that form can exist independently of material things, such as the forms of justice, 1+1=2, and chairness, all of which exist in the non-physical realm of the forms. Aristotle, on the other hand, held that form cannot exist separately from matter, but, instead, forms must be imbedded into material things, such as the form and shape that an existing wooden chair has. Most medieval philosophers followed Aristotle’s view, which is called hylomorphism (Greek for “material form”). Scotus for the most part accepts Aristotle’s view: the things that we see around us are a mixture of matter and form. However, Scotus makes two important concessions to Platonism. First, he argues that some matter exists without form, which is a formless substance called “prime matter”. Second, he argues that pure forms can exist that contain no matter, which is an immaterial form called “substantial form”. Spirits, he argued, are just such substantial forms.

The third of Scotus’s major contributions to philosophy is his view that God creates morality, a position now called divine command theory. The larger question here is what is the ultimate source of morality? Plato and his followers argued that moral standards like justice, charity, and goodness are eternal and unchanging principles that exist in a non-physical realm. They were not created by God, and, on the contrary, they are so permanently fixed in the cosmic nature of things that God himself cannot even alter them. In this way, moral standards are much like mathematical principles, which are also eternal and unchanging. Scotus denies that moral standards are like this. He writes, “The divine will is the cause of good, and so a thing is good precisely in virtue of the fact that he wills it” (Additiones Magnae 1.48). Similarly he states “Everything other than God is good because it is willed by God, and not vice versa” (Ordinatio, 3.19).

While this might at first seem to be a good position for a religious believer to hold, it has an unpleasant side effect, which Scotus himself recognized: God can create any moral values he wants, and he can change them any time he wants. In fact, he argues, the Bible itself contains a record of God revoking previously established moral principles for special purposes. Specifically, God commanded Abraham to kill his son as a sacrifice; he commanded the Israelites to steal household goods from their Egyptian neighbors; he commanded the prophet Hosea to have children with a prostitute. As unsettling as this might be, according to Scotus we must simply recognize that God has this kind of authority over the creation and suspension of moral principles. Scotus adds, though, that some moral standards even God cannot change, specifically the first few of the Ten Commandments which tell us to avoid making idols and using God’s name in vain. The reason that these are unchangeable, according to Scotus, is that part of God’s nature is that he should be loved: “It follows necessarily that if he is God, he should be loved as God, and that nothing else is to be honored as God, nor is irreverence to be committed toward God” (Oxford Commentary, 3:37).

Ockham: The Razor and Nominalism

William of Ockham (1285-1347) formulated the principle of simplicity known as “Ockham’s Razor” and is also remembered for his view that universals are only concepts in people’s minds. Born near London, Ockham joined the Franciscan monastic order at an early age. As he produced one philosophical work after another, some of his more controversial views attracted the attention of the Pope, and he was investigated for heresy. He further irritated the Pope by holding that Jesus and his apostles owned no property—a view that was especially inflammatory at a time when Popes lived like wealthy kings. He was excommunicated from the Church and, fleeing for his life, he went into exile where he continued writing until he died.

Like Scotus, Ockham challenged many assumptions held by previous philosophers in the scholastic tradition. For starters, in the important issue of faith and reason, he held that belief in God is a matter of faith rather than knowledge. Theology is not a science since we have no direct knowledge of God. He writes,

In order to demonstrate the statement of faith that we formulate about God, what we would need for the central concept is a simple cognition of the divine nature in itself—what someone who sees God has. Nevertheless, we cannot have this kind of cognition in our present state. [Quodlibetal Questions, pp. 103-4]

Further, he argues, proofs for God’s existence fail, and the notion of the Christian trinity is logically contradictory. Knowledge of God is based only on faith, and the truths God has chosen to reveal to us. In this way, Ockham holds a faith-only approach to religious knowledge, similar to that of Tertullian.

Ockham is most famous for his principle of simplicity, popularly called “Ockham’s Razor,” which states that entities should not be multiplied needlessly and that the simplest of two competing theories is to be preferred. Suppose, for example, that I see leaves moving around outside. One explanation for this is that invisible demons are grabbing hold of them and stirring them around. An alternative explanation is that the wind is blowing them. According to Ockham’s Razor, I should reject the first theory since it unnecessarily postulates the existence of a supernatural entity (invisible demons) when I can explain the phenomenon perfectly well with ordinary natural events (the wind). Philosophers prior to Ockham routinely used this notion in the course of proving one thing or another. Ockham, though, relied on it regularly, thus making it something like a trademark for him.

One important application of his Razor is with the medieval problem of universals. Recall what the three options are for universals as developed by Boethius. First, there’s Plato’s view that universals exist in the realm of the forms, separate from physical bodies. Second, there is Aristotle’s view that universals are built into physical things. Third, there is the view that universals are merely mental abstractions that do not exist in the external world. Applying Ockham’s Razor to this issue, we need only ask which of these three views is the simplest and multiplies the fewest number of entities? Plato’s view clearly has lots of excess baggage; indeed, Plato postulates an entire nonphysical realm of the Forms to house universals. Aristotle’s theory also has excess baggage. In addition to saying “the ball is red” we must also say that the universal “redness” is embedded in the ball. The simplest theory, then, is the third which holds that universals exist only as concepts in our minds. Ockham writes,

Nothing should be posited as naturally necessarily required for some effect unless certain experience or a certain argument from what is self-evident leads to that; but neither of these leads to the positing of a universal species. [Commentary on the Sentences, Bk. 2, Q. 15]

This third view of universals, which Ockham endorses, is sometimes called conceptualism, emphasizing the role of mental concepts, but more often it is called nominalism (or “name-ism”) emphasizing the human tendency to name abstract mental concepts such as “redness”.

Ockham offered several arguments in defense of nominalism, with simplicity being just one. Briefly, here are two others. First is the argument from individual existence. According to Ockham, everything that exist should be logically independent from everything else. Plato’s and Aristotle’s views of universals undermine this since it connects objects together through universals. Second is the argument from God’s sovereignty: universals limit God’s power. God should be able to create or destroy things as he chooses. Suppose that universals existed outside the mind as Plato or Aristotle suggested, and that the universal of redness, for example, was connected with all particular red things. If God then chose to destroy a red ball, he would thus also destroy the universal “redness” and every other red thing that’s connected with it. Ockham writes,

God would not be able to annihilate one individual substance without destroying the other individuals of the same kind … [since] he would destroy the universal that is in it and in others of the same essence. [Summa Totius Logica, 1:15:5]

A final influential component of Ockham’s philosophy is his extreme view of the divine command theory. Earlier we discussed Scotus’s view of God’s ability to create moral standards, particularly ones involving murder, theft and sexual morality. God can mandate or suspend these as he sees fit. But Scotus adds that other moral standards, such as duties to love God, are fixed within the nature of God himself and cannot be changed. Ockham, however, takes the more radical position that God can create and alter both types of moral principles if that’s what he chose. Specifically, God could command us to hate him and, thus, that would be the morally right thing to do. He writes,

Every will can conform to the commands of God. God can, however, command a created will to hate Him. Therefore, the created will can do this. Moreover, any act that can be just on earth could also be just in heaven. On earth the hatred of God can be just, if it is commanded by God himself. Therefore, the hatred of God could also be just in heaven. [Fourth Book of the Sentences, 13]

H. CONCLUSION

Considering that Medieval philosophy covers a period of 1,000 years, two-fifths of the entire span of the history of philosophy, it may seem a little odd to devote only one chapter to it as we’ve done here. It is now common practice, though, to deemphasize the Medieval thinkers in deference to those of other historical periods. It is not because of a lack of philosophical writings during this period, since far more Medieval philosophy books survive than do those by ancient Greek writers. The reason is that the entire program of Medieval philosophy rests on a key assumption: readers must be compelled by the specific notion of God that’s advocated by the Jewish, Christian, and Muslim religious traditions. Most of the issues that Medieval philosophers wrestled with focus directly on God, such as his existence, nature, creative activity, and how he fashioned human nature. While at least some of these issues may be interesting in their own right, Medieval philosophy still mainly addresses an audience of monotheists. Medieval Europe consisted almost exclusively of such believers. But as the world opened during the Renaissance and the centuries following, the audience of philosophically-minded readers greatly expanded. Polytheists, pantheists, and atheists from all corners of the globe have a harder time engaging in that dialogue.

Nevertheless, even today there remains a large group of philosophically-minded monotheists who connect with the religious assumptions of the Medievals, and continue to look to their writings for inspiration. In that context, the contributions of Medieval philosophers are no less profound and innovative than those of the ancient Greeks. As religious philosophers today continue to explore such issues, they invariably begin with the basic arguments of the Medievals and follow their philosophical methodology. Scholasticism in particular continues to this day through the efforts of Christian philosophers who follow in the tradition set by Aquinas. Within that environment, the program of Medieval philosophy is alive and well.

READING 1: AUGUSTINE ON PLATO, THE FORMS AND DIVINE ILLUMINATION

Introduction: One of the main issues for philosophers during the Middle Ages was the relation between faith and reason. Augustine took the position of “faith seeking understanding”, that is, we begin with a faith belief, and reason can help clarify the details. For Augustine, Plato and is followers are by far the best sources of philosophical knowledge, and are most compatible with Christian faith. In the selections below, Augustine discusses this compatibility.

Plato’s Ethics involves Loving God as the Highest Good (City of God, 8)

4. Among the disciples of Socrates, Plato was the one who shined with a glory that far exceeded that of the others, and who not unjustly eclipsed them all. . . .

5. If, then, Plato defined the wise man as one who imitates, knows, loves this God, and who is made blessed through fellowship with Him in His own blessedness, why should we discuss the other philosophers? It is evident that none come nearer to us than the Platonists. . . .

8. Plato held that the highest good is to live according to virtue, and affirmed that he only can attain to virtue who knows and imitates God, insofar as knowledge and imitation are the only cause of blessedness. Therefore, Plato did not doubt that to philosophize is to love God, whose nature is incorporeal. From this it certainly follows that the student of wisdom, that is, the philosopher, will then become blessed when he begins to enjoy God. For though he is not necessarily blessed who enjoys that which he loves (for many are miserable by loving that which ought not to be loved, and still more miserable when they enjoy it). Nevertheless, no one is blessed who does not enjoy that which he loves. For even they who love things which ought not to be loved do not count themselves blessed by loving merely, but by enjoying them. Who, then, but the most miserable will deny that he is blessed, who enjoys that which he loves, and loves the true and highest good? But the true and highest good, according to Plato, is God, and therefore he would call him a philosopher who loves God. For philosophy is directed to the obtaining of the blessed life, and he who loves God is blessed in the enjoyment of God.

Plato Comes the Closest to Christianity (City of God, 8)

9. Concerning the supreme God, these [Platonist] philosophers held that He is both the maker of all created things, the light by which things are known, and the good in reference to which things are to be done. They held that we have in Him the first principle of nature, the truth of doctrine, and the happiness of life. Whether these philosophers may be more suitably called Platonists, or whether they may give some other name to their sect . . . we prefer these to all other philosophers, and admit that they come nearest to us. . . .

11. Certain participants with us in the grace of Christ are surprised when they hear and read that Plato had notions concerning God which they recognize have considerable agreement with the truth of our religion. Some have concluded from this that, when Plato went to Egypt, he had heard the prophet Jeremiah, or, when travelling in the same country, had read the prophetic scriptures, which opinion I myself have expressed in certain of my writings.

Glimpsing Eternal Forms through the Mind’s Eye (On the Trinity 12.14)

Few can see the Eternal Forms with the mind’s eye. When we see them as much as they can be seen, we do not retain them, but are repelled by the retraction of the mind’s eye itself. Thus, we have a temporary glimpse of a thing that is eternal. Yet we commit this temporary glimpse to memory through the instructions by which our minds are taught. Thus, the mind that is forced to pass from it may be able to return to it again. But if the thought should not return to the memory and find there what it had committed to it, the mind would nevertheless be led to it. This is just as an uninstructed person, who had been led before to something, would find it where he had first found it. . . . Through recollection, the mind will then be able to reflect upon it, to at least some extent, and then transfer what it has learned into a more systematic knowledge. But if our memory of it has been blotted out by complete forgetfulness, once again, under the guidance of teaching, we will come to that which had altogether fell away, and we will find it just as it was.

Divine Illumination of the Eternal Forms that Exist in God’s Mind (83 Questions, 46)

Where are we to believe that these Eternal Truths [by which God created all things] exist, if not in the very mind of the Creator himself? Indeed, he saw nothing outside of him that could serve him as a model for what he wanted, and it would be sacrilegious to assume that he could. Suppose that these Eternal Truths of all things (whether created or yet to be created) are contained in the divine mind. Suppose also that there can be nothing in the divine mind that is not eternal and immutable. Suppose finally that it is these Eternal Truths of things that Plato calls “Forms”. It thus follows that not only do Eternal Forms exist, but that they are true because they are eternal, permanent in their form, and immutable. It is by participation in them that everything exists, in whatever way it exists. Now, the rational soul exists in all creatures, and it is close to God when it is pure. In the proportion in which it is united to Him by charity, it finds itself filled and illuminated by that intelligible light, by means of which it sees. It is not by the eyes of the body, but by that which is best in itself that it sees, namely, by its intelligence. When contemplating these reasons she enjoys great happiness. Moreover, as we have said, we call these Eternal Truths ideas, or Forms, or species, or reasons. People may name it as they choose, but it is only very few who can see the truth.

READING 2: AQUINAS ON FAITH AND REASON

Introduction: On the topic of faith and reason, Thomas Aquinas argued that reason can go a long way in establishing religious truths, such as the existence and nature of God, but faith in divine revelation still is required for establishing the more particular truths of Christianity. In this selection, Aquinas explains the dual paths toward knowledge of God, the need for faith in addition to reason, and the compatibility of faith and reason.

Two Types of Truths about God

3. The truths that we confess concerning God fall under two categories. [First] some things that are true of God are beyond all the competence of human reason, such as that God is three and one. There are other things to which even human reason can attain, such as the existence and unity of God, which philosophers have proved to a demonstration under the guidance of the light of natural reason. It is clear that there are points of absolute intelligibility in God that are altogether beyond the compass of human reason. . . . Human understanding cannot go so far with its natural power as to grasp God’s substance, since, under the conditions of the present life, knowledge and understanding begin with the senses. Therefore, objects beyond the senses cannot be grasped by human understanding except so far as knowledge is gathered of them through the senses. But things of sense cannot lead our understanding to discover in them the essence of the divine substance, since they are effects inadequate to the power that caused them. Nevertheless [as to the second category] our understanding is thereby led to some knowledge of God, namely, of his existence and of other attributes that must necessarily be attributed to the first cause. There are, therefore, some points of intelligibility in God, accessible to human reason, and other points that altogether transcend the power of human reason. The same thing may be understood from consideration of degrees of intelligibility. Of two minds, one of which has a sharper insight into truth than the other, the higher mind understands much that the other cannot grasp at all. . . . Hence not all things that God understands in Himself can be grasped by the natural knowledge of an angel; nor is human reason competent to take in all that an angel understands of his own natural ability. . . .

Three Disadvantages of Truths Gained Solely through Reason

4. If a truth of this nature were left to the sole inquiry of reason, three disadvantages would follow. One is that the knowledge of God would be confined to few. The discovery of truth is the fruit of studious inquiry, and very many people are hindered from this. . . . It is only with great labor of study that it is possible to search out and arrive at these truths, and only a view are willing to undertake this labor for sheer love of knowledge. Another disadvantage is that those who did arrive at the knowledge or discovery of the aforesaid truth would take a long time to gain it, because of the profundity of such truth and the many prerequisites to the study. In youth and early manhood, the soul is tossed back and forth on the waves of passion and is not fit for the study of such high truth. It is only in settled age that the soul will become prudent and scientific, as the Philosopher [Aristotle] says. Thus, if the only way open to the knowledge of God were the way of reason, the human race would dwell long in thick darkness of ignorance. Thus, the knowledge of God, which is the best instrument for making people perfect and good, would come only to a few, and to those few after a considerable lapse of time. A third disadvantage is that, because of the infirmity of our judgment and the disquieting force of imagination, there is some mixture of error in most of the investigations of human reason. This would be a reason for many to continue doubting even the most accurate demonstrations, since they would not perceive the force of the demonstration, and they would also see that different judgements by different people who have the reputation of being wise. Besides, along with much demonstrated truth there is sometimes an element of error. This error, though not technically demonstrated, is nevertheless asserted on the strength of some plausible and sophistic reasoning that is taken for a demonstration. Therefore, it was necessary for the real truth concerning divine things to be presented to men with fixed certainty by way of faith. Therefore, there is a practical arrangement to divine mercy, whereby things even that reason can investigate are commanded to be held on faith, so that everyone might easily access the knowledge of God, and do so without doubt and error. . . .

The Truth of Reason is not Contrary to the Truth of Christian Faith

7. The natural dictates of reason must certainly be quite true, for it is impossible to think of their being otherwise. Nor again is it permissible to believe that the tenets of faith are false, being so evidently confirmed by God. Since therefore falsehood alone is contrary to truth, it is impossible for the truth of faith to be contrary to principles known by natural reason. Whatever is put into the disciple’s mind by the teacher is contained in the knowledge of the teacher, unless the teacher is teaching dishonestly, which would be a wicked thing to say about God. But the knowledge of principles naturally known is put into us by God, since God himself is the author of our nature. Therefore these principles also are contained in the divine wisdom. Whatever therefore is contrary to these principles is contrary to divine wisdom, and cannot be of God.

Source: Thomas Aquinas, Summa Contra Gentiles, Book 1, chs. 3, 4, 7, tr. Joseph Ricaby (adapted).

STUDY QUESTIONS

Please answer all of the following questions.

1. Explain the four main issues for medieval philosophers?

2. Explain Augustine’s views on faith, the four areas of genuine knowledge, divine illumination, and time.

3. Explain Augustine’s three solutions to the problem of evil, and his view of free will and divine foreknowledge.

4. Explain Augustine’s view of appropriate desire, and his distinction between the earthly and heavenly cities.

5. Explain Pseudo-Dionysius’s three positive assertions about God and three negative denials about God.

6. Explain Boethius’s notion of the three ways of understanding universals, and his solution to the problem of free will and divine foreknowledge.

7. Explain Anselm’s proof for God from absolute goodness, his ontological argument, and Gaunilo’s criticism of it.

8. Explain Averroes’ view of the two kinds of scriptural meaning, the three types of people who attempt to understand scripture, and the double truth doctrine of his followers.

9. Explain Maimonides’s views on religious language, the issue of whether God has a body, and statements about God’s mercy and anger.

10. Explain Aquinas’s views on the relation between faith and reason, and the twofold truth.

11. Explain Aquinas’s distinction between an accidental cause and an essential cause, and how this distinction applies to his second way of proving God’s existence.

12. Explain Aquinas’s view of divine simplicity, and the three ways of using religious language.

13. Explain Aquinas’s view of the four kinds a law, and his distinction between the highest, the primary and the secondary principles of natural law.

14. Explain Scotus’s criticism of divine illumination, his distinction between matter and form, and his divine command theory.

15. Explain Ockham’s views on faith and reason, the razor, nominalism, and extreme divine command theory.

[Reading 1: Augustine on Plato, the Forms and Divine Illumination]

16. Explain Augustine’s view on the compatibility between Plato’s philosophy and Christianity.

17. Explain Augustine’s view on how we glimpse eternal forms through the mind’s eye.

18. Explain Augustine’s view on divine illumination of the eternal forms in God’s mind

[Reading 2: Aquinas on Faith and Reason]

19. Explain Aquinas’s view of the two types of truth about God.

20. Explain Aquinas’s view of the three disadvantages of truths gained solely through reason.

[Short Essay]

21. Short essay: pick any one of the following views in this chapter and criticize it in a minimum of 150 words. Augustine: skepticism; divine illumination; time; free will and divine foreknowledge; earthly and heavenly cities. Pseudo-Dionysius: positive and negative assertions about God; Boethius: free will and divine foreknowledge. Anselm: proof for God from absolute goodness; the ontological argument. Averroes: types of scriptural meaning; three types of scripture readers; double truth doctrine. Aquinas: twofold truth; five ways; divine simplicity; three uses of religious language; natural law. Scotus: divine illumination; divine command theory. Ockham: faith and reason; extreme divine command theory.

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Medieval Philosophy (Britannica)

Medieval philosophy designates the philosophical speculation that occurred in western Europe during the Middle Ages—i.e., from the fall of the Roman Empire in the 4th and 5th centuries ce to the Renaissance of the 15th century. Philosophy of the medieval period was closely connected to Christian thought, particularly theology, and the chief philosophers of the period were churchmen. Philosophers who strayed from this close relation were chided by their superiors. Greek philosophy ceased to be creative after Plotinus in the 3rd century ce. A century later, Christian thinkers such as St. Ambrose (339–397), St. Victorinus (died c. 304), and St. Augustine (354–430) began to assimilate Neoplatonism into Christian doctrine in order to give a rational interpretation of Christian faith. Thus, medieval philosophy was born of the confluence of Greek (and to a lesser extent of Roman) philosophy and Christianity. Plotinus’s philosophy was already deeply religious, having come under the influence of Middle Eastern religions. Medieval philosophy continued to be characterized by this religious orientation. Its methods were at first those of Plotinus and later those of Aristotle. But it developed within faith as a means of throwing light on the truths and mysteries of faith. Thus, religion and philosophy fruitfully cooperated in the Middle Ages. Philosophy, as the handmaiden of theology, made possible a rational understanding of faith. Faith, for its part, inspired Christian thinkers to develop new philosophical ideas, some of which became part of the philosophical heritage of the West.

Toward the end of the Middle Ages, this beneficial interplay of faith and reasonstarted to break down. Philosophy began to be cultivated for its own sake, apart from—and even in contradiction to—Christian religion. This divorce of reason from faith, made definitive in the 17th century by Francis Bacon (1561–1626) in England and René Descartes (1596–1650) in France, marked the birth of modern philosophy.

The early Middle Ages

The early medieval period, which extended to the 12th century, was marked by the barbarian invasions of the Western Roman Empire, the collapse of its civilization, and the gradual building of a new, Christian culture in western Europe. Philosophy in these dark and troubled times was cultivated by late Roman thinkers such as Augustine and Boethius (c. 470–524), then by monks such as St. Anselm of Canterbury (c. 1033–1109). The monasteries became the main centres of learning and education and retained their preeminence until the founding of the cathedral schools and universities in the 11th and 12th centuries.

Augustine

During these centuries philosophy was heavily influenced by Neoplatonism; Stoicismand Aristotelianism played only a minor role. Augustine was awakened to the philosophical life by reading the Roman statesman Cicero (106–43 bce), but the Neoplatonists most decisively shaped his philosophical methods and ideas. To them he owed his conviction that beyond the world of the senses there is a spiritual, eternal realm of Truth that is the object of the human mind and the goal of all human striving. This Truth he identified with the God of Christianity. Human beings encounter this divine world not through the senses but through the mind—and, above the mind, through the intelligible light. Augustine’s demonstration of the existence of God coincides with his proof of the existence of necessary, immutable Truth. He considered the truths of both mathematics and ethics to be necessary, immutable, and eternal. These truths cannot come from the world of contingent, mutable, and temporal things, nor from the mind itself, which is also contingent, mutable, and temporal. They are due to the illuminating presence in the human mind of eternal and immutable Truth, or God. Any doubt that humans may know the Truth with certainty was dispelled for Augustine by the certitude that, even if they are deceived in many cases, they cannot doubt that they exist, know, and love.

Augustine conceived of human beings as composites of two substances, body and soul, of which the soul is by far the superior. The body, nevertheless, is not to be excluded from human nature, and its eventual resurrection from the dead is assured by Christian faith. The soul’s immortality is proved by its possession of eternal and unchangeable Truth.

Augustine’s Confessions (c. 400) and De Trinitate (400–416; On the Trinity) abound with penetrating psychological analyses of knowledge, perception, memory, and love. His De civitate Dei (413–426; The City of God) presents the whole drama of human history as a progressive movement of humankind, redeemed by God, to its final repose in its Creator.

Boethius

One of the most important channels by which Greek philosophy was transmitted to the Middle Ages was Boethius. He began to translate into Latin all the philosophical works of the Greeks, but his imprisonment and death by order of Theodoric, king of the Ostrogoths, cut short this project. He finished translating only the logical writings of Porphyry and Aristotle. These translations and his commentaries on them brought to the thinkers of the Middle Ages the rudiments of Aristotelian logic. They also raised important philosophical questions, such as those concerning the nature of universals (terms that can be applied to more than one particular thing). Do universals exist independently, or are they only mental concepts? If they exist independently, are they corporeal or incorporeal? If incorporeal, do they exist in the sensible world or apart from it? Medieval philosophers debated at length these and other problems relating to universals. In his logical works Boethius presents the Aristotelian doctrine of universals: that they are only mental abstractions. In his De consolatione philosophiae (c. 525; Consolation of Philosophy), however, he adopts the Platonic notion that they are innate ideas, and their origin is in the remembering of knowledge from a previous existence. This book was extremely popular and influential in the Middle Ages. It contains not only a Platonic view of knowledge and reality but also a lively treatment of providence, divine foreknowledge, chance, fate, and human happiness.

The Greek Fathers of the Church and Erigena

Another stream from which Greek philosophy, especially Neoplatonic thought, flowed into the Middle Ages was the Greek Fathers of the Church, notably Origen (c. 185–c. 254), St. Gregory of Nyssa (c. 335–c. 394), Nemesius of Emesa (flourished 4th century), Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (flourished c. 500), and St. Maximus the Confessor (c. 580–662). In the 9th century John Scotus (810–c. 877), called Erigena(“Belonging to the People of Erin”) because he was born in Ireland, a master at the Carolingian court of Charles II the Bald (823–877), translated into Latin some of the writings of these Greek theologians, and his own major work, De divisione naturae(862–866; On the Division of Nature), is a vast synthesis of Christian thought organized along Neoplatonic lines. For Scotus, God is the primal unity, unknowable and unnameable in himself, from which the multiplicity of creatures flows. He so far transcends his creatures that he is most appropriately called superreal and supergood. Creation is the process of division whereby the many derive from the One. The One descends into the manifold of creation and reveals himself in it. By the reverse process, the multiplicity of creatures will return to their unitary source at the end of time, when everything will be absorbed in God.

Anselm

Although the Carolingian empire collapsed in the 10th century and intellectualspeculation was at a low ebb in western Europe, signs of revival appeared almost contemporaneously. Political stability was achieved by Otto I, who reestablished the empire in 963, and Benedictine monasteries were revitalized by reform movements begun at Cluny and Gorze. In the next century, reformers such as Peter Damiancombined the ascetic and monastic traditions and laid the foundation for the vita apostolica. Like Tertullian, a Christian writer of the 2nd and 3rd centuries, Damian mistrusted secular learning and philosophy as harmful to the faith. Other monks showed a keen interest in dialectic and philosophy. Among the latter was Anselm, an Italian who became abbot of the French monastery of Bec and later archbishop of Canterbury.

Like Augustine, Anselm used both faith and reason in his search for truth. Faith comes first, in his view, but reason should follow, giving reasons for what human beings believe. Anselm’s monks asked him to write a model meditation on God in which everything would be proved by reason and nothing on the authority of Scripture. He replied with his Monologion (1077; “Monologue”). It contains three proofs of the existence of God, all of which are based on Neoplatonic thought. The first proof moves from the awareness of a multiplicity of good things to the recognition that they all share or participate more or less in one and the same Good, which is supremely good in itself, and this is God. The second and third proofs are similar, moving from an awareness of a multiplicity of beings that are more or less perfect to the recognition of that through which everything exists, which itself is supremely perfect.

Anselm’s later work, the Proslogion (1077/78; “Allocution” or “Address”), contains his most famous proof of the existence of God. This begins with a datum of faith: humans believe God to be the being than which none greater can be conceived. Some, like the fool in the Psalms, say there is no God; but even the fool, on hearing these words, understands them, and what he understands exists in his intellect, even though he does not grant that such a being exists in reality. But it is greater to exist in reality and in the understanding than to exist in the understanding alone. Therefore it is contradictory to hold that God exists only in the intellect, for then the being than which none greater can be conceived is one than which a greater can be conceived—namely, one that exists both in reality and in the understanding. Philosophers still debate the meaning and value of this so-called ontological argument for God’s existence.

Bernard de Clairvaux and Abelard

Anselm’s inquiry into the existence and nature of God, as also his discussion of truth, love, and human liberty, aimed at fostering monastic contemplation. Other monks, such as the Cistercian St. Bernard de Clairvaux (1090–1153), were suspicious of the use of secular learning and philosophy in matters of faith. Bernard complained of the excessive indulgence in dialectic displayed by contemporaries such as Peter Abelard(1079–1142). He himself developed a doctrine of mystical love, the influence of which lasted for centuries. The monks of the Parisian abbey of Saint-Victor were no less intent on fostering mystical contemplation, but they cultivated the liberal arts and philosophy as an aid to it. In this spirit, Hugh of Saint-Victor (1096–1141) wrote his Didascalicon (c. 1127; “Teaching”; Eng. trans., Didascalicon), a monumental treatise on the theoretical and practical sciences and on the trivium (grammar, rhetoric, dialectic) and the quadrivium (arithmetic, music, geometry, astronomy). During the same period the School of Chartres, attached to the famous Chartres Cathedral near Paris, was the focus of Christian Neoplatonism and humanism.

Urban development in the 12th century shifted the centre of learning and education from the monasteries to the towns. Abelard founded and taught in several urban schools near Paris. A passionate logician, he pioneered a method in theology that contributed to the later Scholastic method. His Sic et non (1115–17; Yes and No) cites the best authorities on both sides of theological questions in order to reach their correct solution. In philosophy his main interest was logic. On the question of universals, he agreed with neither the nominalists nor the realists of his day (seenominalism and realism). His nominalist teacher Roscelin (c. 1050–c. 1125) held that universals, such as “man” and “animal,” are nothing but words, or names (flatus vocis). Abelard argued that this does not take into account the fact that names have meaning. His realist teacher William of Champeaux (c. 1070–1121) taught that universals are realities apart from the mind. For Abelard, only individuals are real; universals are indeed names or mental concepts, but they have meaning because they refer to individuals. They do not signify an essence common to individuals, as the realists maintained (e.g., the essence “humanity” shared by all human beings), but signify instead the individuals in their common condition, or status, of being in a certain species, which results from God having created them according to the same divine idea.

The transition to Scholasticism

In the 12th century a cultural revolution took place that influenced the entire subsequent history of Western philosophy. The old style of education, based on the liberal arts and emphasizing grammar and the reading of the Latin classics, was replaced by new methods stressing logic, dialectic, and all the scientific disciplinesknown at the time. John of Salisbury (c. 1115–80), of the School of Chartres, witnessed this radical change:

Behold, everything was being renovated: grammar was being made over, logic was being remodeled, rhetoric was being despised. Discarding the rules of their predecessors, [the masters] were teaching the quadrivium with new methods taken from the very depths of philosophy.

In philosophy itself, there was a decline in Platonism and a growing interest in Aristotelianism. This change was occasioned by the translation into Latin of the works of Aristotle in the late 12th and the early 13th century. Until then, only a few of his minor logical treatises were known. Now his Topica, Analytica priora, and Analytica posteriora were rendered into Latin, giving the Schoolmen access to the Aristotelian methods of disputation and science, which became their own techniques of discussion and inquiry. Many other philosophical and scientific works of Greek and Arabic origin were translated at this time, creating a “knowledge explosion” in western Europe.

Arabic thought

Among the works to be translated from Arabic were some of the writings of Avicenna(980–1037). This Islamic philosopher had an extraordinary impact on the medievalSchoolmen. His interpretation of Aristotle’s notion of metaphysics as the science of ens qua ens (Latin: “being as being”), his analysis of many metaphysical terms, such as being, essence, and existence, and his metaphysical proof of the existence of God were often quoted, with approval or disapproval, in Christian circles. Also influential were his psychology, logic, and natural philosophy. His Al-Qānūn fī al-ṭibb (Canon of Medicine) was authoritative on the subject until modern times. The Maqāṣid al-falāsifah (1094; “The Aims of the Philosophers”) of the Arabic theologian al-Ghazālī(1058–1111; known in Latin as Algazel), an exposition of Avicenna’s philosophy written in order to criticize it, was read as a complement to Avicenna’s works. The anonymous Liber de causis (“Book of Causes”) was also translated into Latin from Arabic. This work, excerpted from Proclus’s Stiocheiōsis theologikē (Elements of Theology), was often ascribed to Aristotle, and it gave a Neoplatonic cast to his philosophy until its true origin was discovered by St. Thomas Aquinas (c. 1224–74).

The commentaries of the Arabic philosopher Averroës (1126–98) were translated along with Aristotle’s works. As Aristotle was called “the Philosopher” by the medieval philosophers, Averroës was dubbed “the Commentator.” The Christian Schoolmen often attacked Averroës as the archenemy of Christianity for his rationalism and his doctrine of the eternity of the world and the unity of the intellect for all human beings—i.e., the doctrine that intellect is a single, undifferentiated form with which individuals become reunited at death. This was anathema to the Christian Schoolmen because it contravened the Christian doctrine of individual immortality.

Jewish thought

Of considerably less influence on the Scholastics was medieval Jewish thought. Ibn Gabirol (c. 1022–c. 1058), known to the Scholastics as Avicebron or Avencebrol, was thought to be an Arab or Christian, though in fact he was a Spanish Jew. His chief philosophical work, written in Arabic and preserved in toto only in a Latin translation titled Fons vitae (c. 1050; The Fountain of Life), stresses the unity and simplicity of God. All creatures are composed of form and matter, either the gross corporeal matter of the sensible world or the spiritual matter of angels and human souls. Some of the Schoolmen were attracted to the notion of spiritual matter and also to Ibn Gabirol’s analysis of a plurality of forms in creatures, according to which every corporeal being receives a variety of forms by which it is given its place in the hierarchy of being—for example, a dog has the forms of a corporeal thing, a living thing, an animal, and a dog.

Moses Maimonides (1135–1204), or Moses ben Maimon, was known to Christians of the Middle Ages as Rabbi Moses. His Dalālat al-hāʾirīn (c. 1190; The Guide for the Perplexed) helped them to reconcile Greek philosophy with revealed religion. For Maimonides there could be no conflict between reason and faith because both come from God; an apparent contradiction is due to a misinterpretation of either the Bible or the philosophers. Thus, he showed that creation is reconcilable with philosophical principles and that the Aristotelian arguments for an eternal world are not conclusive because they ignore the omnipotence of God, who can create a world of either finite or infinite duration.

While Western scholars were assimilating the new treasures of Greek, Islamic, and Jewish thought, universities that became the centres of Scholasticism were being founded. Of these, the most important were located in Paris and Oxford (formed 1150–70 and 1168, respectively). Scholasticism is the name given to the theological and philosophical teachings of the Schoolmen in the universities. There was no single Scholastic doctrine; each of the Scholastics developed his own, which was often in disagreement with that of his fellow teachers. They had in common a respect for the great writers of old, such as the Fathers of the Church, Aristotle, Plato, Boethius, Pseudo-Dionysius, and Avicenna. These they called “authorities.” Their interpretation and evaluation of the authorities, however, frequently differed. They also shared a common style and method that developed out of the teaching practices in the universities. Teaching was done by lecture and disputation (a formal debate). A lecture consisted of the reading of a prescribed text followed by the teacher’s commentary on it. Masters also held disputations in which the affirmative and negative sides of a question were thoroughly argued by students and teacher before the latter resolved the problem.

The age of the Schoolmen

Robert Grosseteste and Roger Bacon

The newly translated Greek and Arabic treatises had an immediate effect on the University of Oxford. Its first chancellor, Robert Grosseteste (c. 1175–1253), commented on some of Aristotle’s works and translated the Nicomachean Ethicsfrom Greek to Latin. He was deeply interested in scientific method, which he described as both inductive and deductive. By the observation of individual events in nature, human beings advance to a general law, called a “universal experimental principle,” which accounts for these events. Experimentation either verifies or falsifies a theory by testing its empirical consequences. For Grosseteste, the study of nature is impossible without mathematics. He cultivated the science of optics (perspectiva), which measures the behaviour of light by mathematical means. His studies of the rainbow and comets employ both observation and mathematics. His treatise De luce(1215–20; On Light) presents light as the basic form of all things and God as the primal, uncreated light.

Grosseteste’s pupil Roger Bacon (c. 1220–92) made the mathematical and experimental methods the key to natural science. The term experimental science was popularized in the West through his writings. For him, human beings acquire knowledge through reasoning and experience, but without the latter there can be no certitude. Humans gain experience through the senses and also through an interior divine illumination that culminates in mystical experience. Bacon was critical of the methods of Parisian theologians such as St. Albertus Magnus (c. 1200–80) and Aquinas. He strove to create a universal wisdom embracing all the sciences and organized by theology. He also proposed the formation of a single worldwide society, or “Christian republic,” that would unite all humankind under the leadership of the pope.

William of Auvergne

At the University of Paris, William of Auvergne (c. 1180–1249) was one of the first to feel the impact of the philosophies of Aristotle and Avicenna. As a teacher and then as bishop of Paris, he was concerned with the threat to the Christian faith posed by pagan and Islamic thought. He opposed the Aristotelian doctrine of the eternity of the world as contrary to the Christian notion of creation. His critique of Avicenna emphasized the latter’s conception of God and creation. Against the God of Avicenna, who creates the universe eternally and necessarily through the mediation of 10 intelligences, William defended the Christian notion of a God who creates the world freely and directly. Creatures are radically contingent and dependent on God’s creative will. Unlike God, they do not exist necessarily; indeed, their existence is distinct from their essence and accidental to it. God has no essence distinct from his existence; he is pure existence. In stressing the essential instability and temporality of the world, William attributed true existence and causality to God alone. Although a follower of Augustine, William, like others of his time, was compelled to rethink the older Augustinian notions in terms of the newer Aristotelian and Avicennian philosophies.

Bonaventure

The Franciscan friar St. Bonaventure (c. 1217–74) reacted similarly to the growing popularity of Aristotle and his Arabic commentators. He admired Aristotle as a natural scientist, but he preferred Plato and Plotinus, and above all Augustine, as metaphysicians. His main criticism of Aristotle and his followers was that they denied the existence of divine ideas. As a result, Aristotle was ignorant of exemplarism (God’s creation of the world according to ideas in his mind) and also of divine providence and government of the world. This involved Aristotle in a threefold blindness: he taught that the world is eternal, that all men share one agent intellect (the active principle of understanding), and that there are no rewards or punishments after death. Plato and Plotinus avoided these mistakes, but because they lacked Christian faith, they could not see the whole truth. For Bonaventure, faith alone enables one to avoid error in these important matters.

Bonaventure did not confuse philosophy with theology. Philosophy is knowledge of the things of nature and the soul that is innate in human beings or acquired through their own efforts, whereas theology is knowledge of heavenly things that is based on faith and divine revelation. Bonaventure, however, rejected the practical separation of philosophy from theology. Philosophy needs the guidance of faith; far from being self-sufficient, it is but a stage in a progression toward the higher knowledge that culminates in the vision of God.

For Bonaventure, every creature to some degree bears the mark of its Creator. The soul has been made in the very image of God. Thus, the universe is like a book in which the triune God is revealed. His Itinerarium mentis in Deum (1259; The Soul’s Journey into God) follows Augustine’s path to God, from the external world to the interior world of the mind and then beyond the mind from the temporal to the eternal. Throughout this journey, human beings are aided by a moral and intellectualdivine illumination. The mind has been created with an innate idea of God so that, as Anselm pointed out, humans cannot think that God does not exist. In a terse reformulation of the Anselmian argument for God’s existence, Bonaventure states that if God is God, he exists.

Albertus Magnus

The achievement of the Dominican friar Albertus Magnus was of vital importance for the development of medieval philosophy. A person of immense erudition and intellectual curiosity, he was one of the first to recognize the true value of the newly translated Greco-Arabic scientific and philosophical literature. Everything he considered valuable in it he included in his encyclopaedic writings. He set out to teach this literature to his contemporaries and in particular to make the philosophy of Aristotle, whom he considered to be the greatest philosopher, understandable to them. He also proposed to write original works in order to complete what was lacking in the Aristotelian system. In no small measure, the triumph of Aristotelianism in the 13th century can be attributed to him.

Albertus’s observations and discoveries in the natural sciences advanced botany, zoology, and mineralogy. In philosophy he was less original and creative than his famous pupil Aquinas. Albertus produced a synthesis of Aristotelianism and Neoplatonism, blending together the philosophies of Aristotle, Avicenna, and Ibn Gabirol and, among Christians, Augustine and Pseudo-Dionysius.

Thomas Aquinas

Albertus Magnus’s Dominican confrere and pupil Thomas Aquinas shared his master’s great esteem for the ancient philosophers, especially Aristotle, and also for the more recent Arabic and Jewish thinkers. He welcomed truth wherever he found it and used it for the enrichment of Christian thought. For him reason and faith cannot contradict each other, because they come from the same divine source. In his day, conservative theologians and philosophers regarded Aristotle with suspicion and leaned toward the more traditional Christian Neoplatonism. Aquinas realized that their suspicion was partly due to the fact that Aristotle’s philosophy had been distorted by the Arabic commentators, so he wrote his own commentaries to show the essential soundness of Aristotle’s system and to convince his contemporaries of its value for Christian theology.

Aquinas’s own philosophical views are best expressed in his theological works, especially his Summa theologiae (1265/66–1273; Eng. trans., Summa theologiae) and Summa contra gentiles (1258–64; Summa Against the Gentiles). In these works he clearly distinguished between the domains and methods of philosophy and theology. The philosopher seeks the first causes of things, beginning with data furnished by the senses; the subject of the theologian’s inquiry is God as revealed in sacred scripture. In theology, appeal to authority carries the most weight; in philosophy, it carries the least.

Aquinas found Aristotelianism and, to a lesser extent, Platonism useful instruments for Christian thought and communication; but he transformed and deepened everything he borrowed from them. For example, he adopted Aristotle’s proof of the existence of a primary unmoved mover, but the primary mover at which Aquinas arrived is very different from that of Aristotle; it is in fact the God of Judaism and Christianity. He also adopted Aristotle’s teaching that the soul is the human being’sform and the body his matter, but for Aquinas this does not entail, as it did for the Aristotelians, the denial of the immortality of the soul or the ultimate value of the individual. Aquinas never compromised Christian doctrine by bringing it into line with the current Aristotelianism; rather, he modified and corrected the latter whenever it clashed with Christian belief. The harmony he established between Aristotelianism and Christianity was not forced but achieved by a new understanding of philosophical principles, especially the notion of being, which he conceived as the act of existing (esse). For him, God is pure being, or the act of existing. Creatures participate in being according to their essence; for example, human beings participate in being, or the act of existing, to the extent that their humanity, or essence, permits. The fundamental distinction between God and creatures is that creatures have a real composition of essence and existence, whereas God’s essence is his existence.

Averroists

A group of masters in the faculty of arts at Paris welcomed Aristotle’s philosophy and taught it in disregard of its possible opposition to the Christian faith. They wanted to be philosophers, not theologians, and to them this meant following the Aristotelian system. Because Averroës was the recognized commentator on Aristotle, they generally interpreted Aristotle’s thought in an Averroistic way. Hence, in their own day they were known as “Averroists”; today they are often called “Latin Averroists” because they taught in Latin. Their leader, Siger de Brabant (c. 1240–c. 1281), taught as rationally demonstrated certain Aristotelian doctrines that contradicted the faith, such as the eternity of the world and the oneness of the intellect. The Latin Averroists were accused of holding a “double truth”—i.e., of maintaining the existence of two contradictory truths, one commanded by faith, the other taught by reason. Although Siger never proposed philosophical conclusions contrary to faith, other members of this group upheld the right and duty of the philosopher to follow human reason to its natural conclusions, even when they contradicted the truths of faith.

This growing rationalism confirmed the belief of theologians of a traditionalist cast that the pagan and Islamic philosophies would destroy the Christian faith. They attacked these philosophies in treatises such as Errores philosophorum (1270; The Errors of the Philosophers) by Giles of Rome (c. 1243–1316). In 1277 the bishop of Paris condemned 219 propositions based on the new trend toward rationalism and naturalism. These included even some of Aquinas’s Aristotelian doctrines. In the same year, the archbishop of Canterbury made a similar condemnation at Oxford. These reactions to the novel trends in philosophy did not prevent the Averroists from treating philosophical questions apart from religious considerations. Theologians, for their part, were increasingly suspicious of the philosophers and less optimistic about the ultimate reconciliation of philosophy and theology.

The late Middle Ages

In the late Middle Ages earlier ways of philosophizing were continued and formalized into distinct schools of thought. In the Dominican order, Thomism, the theological and philosophical system of Thomas Aquinas, was made the official teaching, though the Dominicans did not always adhere to it rigorously. Averroism, cultivated by philosophers such as John of Jandun (c. 1286–1328), remained a significant, though sterile, movement into the Renaissance. In the Franciscan order, John Duns Scotus (c. 1266–1308) and William of Ockham (c. 1285–c. 1347) developed new styles of theologyand philosophy that vied with Thomism throughout the late Middle Ages.

John Duns Scotus

John Duns Scotus opposed the rationalists’ contention that philosophy is self-sufficient and adequate to satisfy the human desire for knowledge. In fact, he claimed that a pure philosopher, such as Aristotle, could not truly understand the human condition because he was ignorant of the Fall of Man and his need for grace and redemption. Unenlightened by Christian revelation, Aristotle mistook humankind’s present fallen state, in which all knowledge comes through the senses, for its natural condition, in which the object of knowledge would be coextensive with all being, including the being of God. The limitation of Aristotle’s philosophy was apparent to Duns Scotus in the Aristotelian proof of the existence of God as the primary mover of the universe. More adequate than this physical proof, he contended, is his own very intricate metaphysical demonstration of the existence of God as the absolutely primary, unique, and infinite being. He incorporated the Anselmian argument into this demonstration. For Duns Scotus, the notion of infinite being, not that of primary mover or being itself, is humankind’s most perfect concept of God.

In opposition to the Greco-Arabic view of the government of the universe from above by necessary causes, Duns Scotus stressed the contingency of the universe and its total dependence on God’s infinite creative will. He adopted the traditional Franciscan voluntarism, elevating the will above the intellect in human beings.

Duns Scotus’s doctrine of universals justly earned him the title “Doctor Subtilis.” Universals, in his view, exist only as abstract concepts, but they are based on common natures, such as humanity, which exist, or can exist, in many individuals. Common natures are real, and they have a real unity of their own distinct from the unity of the individuals in which they exist. The individuality of each individual is due to an added positive reality that makes the common nature a specific individual—e.g., Socrates. Duns Scotus calls such a reality an “individual difference,” or “thisness” (haecceitas). It is an original development of the earlier medieval realism of universals.

William of Ockham

In the late 14th century, Thomism and Scotism were called the “old way” (via antiqua) of philosophizing, in contrast to the “modern way” (via moderna) begun by philosophers such as William of Ockham. Ockham, no less than Duns Scotus, wanted to defend the Christian doctrine of the freedom and omnipotence of God and the contingency of creatures against the necessitarianism of Greco-Arabic philosophy. But for him the freedom of God is incompatible with the existence of divine ideas as positive models of creation. God does not use preconceived ideas when he creates, as Duns Scotus maintained, but he fashions the universe as he wishes. As a result, creatures have no natures, or essences, in common. There are no realities but individual things, and these have nothing in common. They are more or less like each other, however, and on this basis human beings can form universal concepts of them and talk about them in general terms.

The absolute freedom of God was often used by Ockham as a principle of philosophical and theological explanation. Because the order of nature has been freely created by God, it could have been different: fire, for example, could cool as it now heats. If God wishes, he can give us the sight, or “intuitive knowledge,” of a star without the reality of the star. The moral order could also have been different. God could have made hating him meritorious instead of loving him. It was typical of Ockham not to put too much trust in the power of human reason to reach the truth. For him, philosophy must often be content with probable arguments, as in establishing the existence of the Christian God. Faith alone gives certitude in this and in other vital matters. Another principle invoked by Ockham is that a plurality is not to be posited without necessity. This principle of economy of thought, later stated as “beings are not to be multiplied without necessity,” is called “Ockham’s razor.”

Ockhamism was censured by a papal commission at Avignon in 1326, and in 1474 it was forbidden to be taught at Paris. Nevertheless, it spread widely in the late Middle Ages and rivaled Thomism and Scotism in popularity. Other Scholastics in the 14th century shared Ockham’s basic principles and contributed with him to skepticism and probabilism in philosophy. John of Mirecourt (flourished 14th century) stressed the absolute power of God and the divine will to the point of making God the cause of human sin. Nicholas of Autrecourt (c. 1300–c. 1350) adopted a skeptical attitude regarding matters such as the ability of human beings to prove the existence of God and the reality of substance and causality. Rejecting Aristotelianism as inimical to the Christian faith, he advocated a return to the atomism of the ancient Greeks as a more adequate explanation of the universe.

Meister Eckehart

The trend away from Aristotelianism was accentuated by the German Dominican Meister Eckehart (c. 1260–c. 1327), who developed a speculative mysticism of both Christian and Neoplatonic inspiration. Eckehart depicted the ascent of the soul to God in Neoplatonic terms: by gradually purifying itself from the body, the soul transcends being and knowledge until it is absorbed in the One. The soul is then united with God at its highest point, or “citadel.” God himself transcends being and knowledge. Sometimes Eckehart describes God as the being of all things. This language, which was also used by Erigena and other Christian Neoplatonists, leaves him open to the charge of pantheism (the doctrine that the being of creatures is identical with that of God); but for Eckehart there is an infinite gulf between creatures and God. Eckehart meant that creatures have no existence of their own but are given existence by God, as the body is made to exist and is contained by the soul. Eckehart’s profound influence can be seen in the flowering of mysticism in the German Rhineland in the late Middle Ages.

Nicholas of Cusa

Nicholas of Cusa (1401–64) also preferred the Neoplatonists to the Aristotelians. To him the philosophy of Aristotle is an obstacle to the mind in its ascent to God because its primary rule is the principle of contradiction, which denies the compatibility of contradictories. But God is the “coincidence of opposites.” Because he is infinite, he embraces all things in perfect unity; he is at once the maximum and the minimum. Nicholas uses mathematical symbols to illustrate how, in infinity, contradictories coincide. If a circle is enlarged, the curve of its circumference becomes less; if a circle is infinite, its circumference is a straight line. As for human knowledge of the infinite God, one must be content with conjecture or approximation to the truth. The absolute truth escapes human beings; their proper attitude is “learned ignorance.”

For Nicholas, God alone is absolutely infinite. The universe reflects this divine perfection and is relatively infinite. It has no circumference, for it is limited by nothing outside of itself. Neither has it a centre; the Earth is neither at the centre of the universe nor is it completely at rest. Place and motion are not absolute but relative to the observer. This new, non-Aristotelian conception of the universe anticipated some of the features of modern theories.

Thus, at the end of the Middle Ages, some of the most creative minds were abandoning Aristotelianism and turning to newer ways of thought. The philosophy of Aristotle, in its various interpretations, continued to be taught in the universities, but it had lost its vitality and creativity. Christian philosophers were once again finding inspiration in Neoplatonism. The Platonism of the Renaissance was directly continuous with the Platonism of the Middle Ages.

Armand Maurer

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Western-philosophy/Medieval-philosophy

Scholasticism

The Scholastic period

The period extending from the beginning of Christian speculation to the time of St. Augustine, inclusive, is known as the Patristic era in philosophy and theology. In general, that era inclined to Platonism and underestimated the importance of Aristotle. The Fathers strove to construct on Platonic principles a system of Christian philosophy. They brought reason to the aid of Revelation. They leaned, however, towards the doctrine of the mystics, and, in ultimate resort, relied more on spiritual intuition than on dialectical proof for the establishment and explanation of the highest truths of philosophy. Between the end of the Patristic era in the fifth century and the beginning of the Scholastic era in the ninth there intervene a number of intercalary thinkers, as they may be called, like Claudianus Mamertus, Boethius, Cassiodorus, St. Isidore of Seville, Venerable Bede etc., who helped to hand down to the new generation the traditions of the Patristic age and to continue into the Scholastic era the current of Platonism. With the Carolingian revival of learning in the ninth century began a period of educational activity which resulted in a new phase of Christian thought known as Scholasticism. The first masters of the schools in the ninth century Alcuin, Rabanus, etc., were not indeed, more original than Boethius or Cassiodorus; the first original thinker in the Scholastic era was John the Scot (see JOHN SCOTUS ERIUGENA). Nevertheless they inaugurated the Scholastic movement because they endeavoured to bring the Patristic (principally the Augustinian) tradition into touch with the new life of European Christianity. They did not abandon Platonism. They knew little of Aristotle except as a logician. But by the emphasis they laid on dialectical reasoning, they gave a new direction to Christian tradition in philosophy. In the curriculum of the schools in which they taught, philosophy was represented by dialectic. On the textbooks of dialectic which they used they wrote commentaries and glosses, into which, little by little, they admitted problems of psychology, metaphysics, cosmology, and ethics, so that the Scholastic movement as a whole may be said to have sprung from the discussions of the dialecticians.

Method, contents, and conclusions were influenced by this origin. There resulted a species of Christian Rationalism which more than any other trait characterizes Scholastic philosophy in every successive stage of its development and marks it off very definitely from the Patristic philosophy, which, as has been said, was ultimately intuitional and mystic. With Roscelin, who appeared about the middle of the eleventh century, the note of Rationalism is very distinctly sounded, and the first rumbling is heard of the inevitable reaction, the voice of Christian mysticism uttering its note of warning, and condemning the excess into which Rationalism had fallen. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, therefore, Scholasticism passed through its period of storm and stress. On the one side were the advocates of reason, Roscelin, Abelard, Peter Lombard; on the other were the champions of mysticism, St. Anselm, St. Peter Damian, St. Bernard, and the Victorines. Like all ardent advocates, the Rationalists went too far at first, and only gradually brought their method within the lines of orthodoxy and harmonized it with Christian reverence for the mysteries of Faith. Like all conservative reactionists, the mystics at first condemned the use as well as the abuse of reason; they did not reach an intelligent compromise with the dialecticians until the end of the twelfth century. In the final outcome of the struggle, it was Rationalism that, having modified its unreasonable claims, triumphed in the Christian schools, without, however driving the mystics from the field.

Meantime, Eclectics, like John of Salisbury, and Platonists, like the members of the School of Chartres, gave to the Scholastic movement a broader spirit of toleration, imparted, so to speak, a sort of Humanism to philosophy, so that, when we come to the eve of the thirteenth century, Scholasticism has made two very decided steps in advance. First, the use of reason in the discussion of spiritual truth and the application of dialectic to theology are accepted with. out protest, so long as they are kept within the bounds of moderation. Second, there is a willingness on the part of the Schoolmen to go outside the lines of strict ecclesiastical tradition and learn, not only from Aristotle, who was now beginning to be known as a metaphysician and a psychologist, but also from the Arabians and the Jews, whose works had begun to penetrate in Latin translations into the schools of Christian Europe. The taking of Constantinople in 1204, the introduction of Arabian, Jewish, and Greek works into the Christian schools, the rise of the universities, and the foundation of the mendicant orders — these are the events which led to the extraordinary intellectual activity of the thirteenth century, which centered in the University of Paris. At first there was considerable confusion, and it seemed as if the battles won in the twelfth century by the dialecticians should be fought over again. The translations of Aristotle made from the Arabian and accompanied by Arabian commentaries were tinged with Pantheism, Fatalism, and other Neoplatonic errors. Even in the Christian schools there were declared Pantheists, like David of Dinant, and outspoken Averroists, like Siger of Brabant, who bade fair to prejudice the cause of Aristoteleanism.

These developments were suppressed by the most stringent disciplinary measures during the first few decades of the thirteenth century. While they were still a source of danger, men like William of Auvergne and Alexander of Hales hesitated between the traditional Augustinianism of the Christian schools and the new Aristoteleanism, which came from a suspected source. Besides, Augustinianism and Platonism accorded with piety, while Aristoteleanism was found to lack the element of mysticism. In time, however, the translations made from the Greek revealed an Aristotle free from the errors attributed to him by the Arabians, and, above all, the commanding genius of St. Albertus Magnus and his still more illustrious disciple, St. Thomas Aquinas, who appeared at the critical moment, calmly surveyed the difficulties of the situation, and met them fearlessly, won the victory for the new philosophy and continued successfully the traditions established in the preceding century. Their contemporary, St. Bonaventure, showed that the new learning was not incompatible with mysticism drawn from Christian sources, and Roger Bacon demonstrated by his unsuccessful attempts to develop the natural sciences the possibilities of another kind which were latent in Aristoteleanism.

With Duns Scotus, a genius of the first order, but not of the constructive type, begins the critical phase, of Scholasticism. Even before his time, the Franciscan and the Dominican currents had set out in divergent directions. It was his keen and unrelenting search for the weak points in Thomistic philosophy that irritated and wounded susceptibilities among the followers of St. Thomas, and brought about the spirit of partisanship which did so much to dissipate the energy of Scholasticism in the fourteenth century. The recrudescence of Averroism in the schools, the excessive cultivation of formalism and subtlety, the growth of artificial and even barbarous terminology, and the neglect of the study of nature and of history contributed to the same result. Ockham's Nominalism and Durandus's attempt to "simplify" Scholastic philosophy did not have the effect which their authors intended. "The glory and power of scholasticism faded into the warmth and brightness of mysticism," and Gerson, Thomas à Kempis, and Eckhart are more representative of what the Christian Church was actually thinking in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries than are the Thomists, Scotists, and Ockhamists of that period, who frittered away much valuable time in the discussion of highly technical questions which arose within the schools and possess little interest except for adepts in Scholastic subtlety. After the rise of Humanism, when the Renaissance, which ushered in the modern era, was in full progress, the great Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese commentators inaugurated an age of more healthy Scholasticism, and the great Jesuit teachers, Toletus, Vasquez, and Francisco Suárez, seemed to recall the best days of thirteenth century speculation. The triumph of scientific discovery, with which, as a rule, the representatives of Scholasticism in the seats of academic authority had, unfortunately, too little sympathy, led to new ways of philosophizing, and when, finally, Descartes in practice, if not in theory, effected a complete separation of philosophy from theology, the modern era had begun and the age known as that of Scholasticism had come to an end.

The Scholastic method

No method in philosophy has been more unjustly condemned than that of the Scholastics. No philosophy has been more grossly misrepresented. And this is true not only of the details, but also of the most essential elements of Scholasticism. Two charges, especially, are made against the Schoolmen: First, that they confounded philosophy with theology; and second, that they made reason subservient to authority. As a matter of fact, the very essence of Scholasticism is, first, its clear delimitation of the respective domains of philosophy and theology, and, second, its advocacy of the use of reason.

Theology and philosophy

Christian thinkers, from the beginning, were confronted with the question: How are we to reconcile reason with revelation, science with faith, philosophy with theology? The first apologists possessed no philosophy of their own. They had to deal with a pagan world proud of its literature and its philosophy, ready at any moment to flaunt its inheritance of wisdom in the face of ignorant Christians. The apologists met the situation by a theory that was as audacious as it must have been disconcerting to the pagans. They advanced the explanation that all the wisdom of Plato and the other Greeks was due to the inspiration of the Logos; that it was God's truth, and, therefore, could not be in contradiction with the supernatural revelation contained in the Gospels. It was a hypothesis calculated not only to silence a pagan opponent, but also to work constructively. We find it in St. Basil, in Origen, and even in St. Augustine. The belief that the two orders of truth, the natural and the supernatural, must harmonize, is the inspiration of intellectual activity in the Patristic era. But that era did little to define the limits of the two realms of truth. St. Augustine believes that faith aids reason (credo ut intelligam) and that reason aids faith (intelligo ut credam); he is, however, inclined to emphasize the first principle and not the second. He does not develop a definite methodology in dealing with them. The Scholastics, almost from the first, attempted to do so.

John Scotus Eriugena, in the ninth century, by his doctrine that all truth is a theophany, or showing forth of God, tried to elevate philosophy to the rank of theology, and identify the two in a species of theosophy. Abelard, in the twelfth century, tried to bring theology down to the level of philosophy, and identify both in a Rationalistic system. The greatest of the Scholastics in the thirteenth century, especially St. Thomas Aquinas, solved the problem for all time, so far as Christian speculation is concerned, by showing that the two are distinct sciences, and yet that they agree. They are distinct, he teaches, because, while philosophy relies on reason alone, theology uses the truths derived from revelation, and also because there are some truths, the mysteries of Faith, which lie completely outside the domain of philosophy and belong to theology. They agree, and must agree, because God is the author of all truth, and it is impossible to think that He would teach in the natural order anything that contradicts what He teaches in the supernatural order. The recognition of these principles is one of the crowning achievements of Scholasticism. It is one of the characteristics that mark it off from the Patristic era, in which the same principles were, so to speak, in solution, and not crystallized in definite expression. It is the trait which differentiates Scholasticism from Averroism. It is the inspiration of all Scholastic effort. As long as it lasted Scholasticism lasted, and as soon as the opposite conviction became established, the conviction, namely, that what is true in theology may be false in philosophy, Scholasticism ceased to exist. It is, therefore, a matter of constant surprise to those who know Scholasticism to find it misrepresented on this vital point.

Scholastic rationalism

Scholasticism sprang from the study of dialectic in the schools. The most decisive battle of Scholasticism was that which it waged in the twelfth century against the mystics who condemned the use of dialectic. The distinguishing mark of Scholasticism in the age of its highest development is its use of the dialectical method. It is, therefore, a matter, once more, for surprise, to find Scholasticism accused of undue subservience to authority and of the neglect of reason. Rationalism is a word which has various meanings. It is sometimes used to designate a system which, refusing to acknowledge the authority of revelation, tests all truth by the standard of reason. In this sense, the Scholastics were not Rationalists. The Rationalism of Scholasticism consists in the conviction that reason is to be used in the elucidation of spiritual truth and in defence of the dogmas of Faith. It is opposed to mysticism, which distrusted reason and placed emphasis on intuition and contemplation. In this milder meaning of the term, all the Scholastics were convinced Rationalists, the only difference being that some, like Abelard and Roscelin, were too ardent in their advocacy of the use of reason, and went so far as to maintain that reason can prove even the supernatural mysteries of Faith, while others, like St. Thomas, moderated the claims of reason, set limits to its power of proving spiritual truth, and maintained that the mysteries of faith could not be discovered and cannot be proved by unaided reason.

The whole Scholastic movement, therefore, is a Rationalistic movement in the second sense of the term Rationalism. The Scholastics used their reason; they applied dialectic to the study of nature, of human nature and of supernatural truth. Far from depreciating reason, they went as far as man can go — some modern critics think they went too far — in the application of reason to the discussion of the dogmas of Faith. They acknowledged the authority of revelation, as all Christian philosophers are obliged to do. They admitted the force of human authority when the conditions of its valid application were verified. But in theology, the authority of revelation did not coerce their reason and in philosophy and in natural science they taught very emphatically that the argument from authority is the weakest of all arguments. They did not subordinate reason to authority in any unworthy sense of that phrase. It was an opponent of the Scholastic movement who styled philosophy "the handmaid of theology", a designation which, however, some of the Schoolmen accepted to mean that to philosophy belongs the honourable task of carrying the light which is to guide the footsteps of theology. One need not go so far as to say, with Barthélemy Saint Hilaire, that "Scholasticism, in its general result, is the first revolt of the modern spirit against authority." Nevertheless, one is compelled by the facts of history to admit that there is more truth in that description than in the superficial judgment of the historians who describe Scholasticism as the subordination of reason to authority.

Details of Scholastic method

The Scholastic manner of treating the problems of philosophy and theology is apparent from a glance at the body of literature which the Schoolmen produced. The immense amount of commentary on Aristotle, on Peter Lombard, on Boethius, on Pseudo-Dionysius, and on the Scriptures indicates the form of academic activity which characterizes the Scholastic period. The use of texts dates from the very beginning of the Scholastic era in philosophy and theology, and was continued down into modern times. The mature teacher, however, very often embodied the results of his own speculation in a Summa, which, in time became a text in the hands of his successors. The Questiones disputatae were special treatises on the more difficult or the more important topics, and as the name implied, followed the method of debate prevalent in the schools, generally called disputation or determination. The Quodlibeta were miscellanies generally in the form of answers to questions which as soon as a teacher had attained a widespread renown, began to come to him, not only from the academic world in which he lived, but from all classes of persons and from every part of Christendom. The division of topics in theology was determined by the arrangement followed in Peter Lombard's "Books of Sentences" (see SUMMAE), and in philosophy it adhered closely to the order of treatises in Aristotle's works. There is a good deal of divergence among the principal Scholastics in the details of arrangement, as well as in the relative values of the sub-titles, "part", "question", "disputation", "article", etc. All, however, adopt the manner of treatment by which thesis, objections, and solutions of objections stand out distinctly in the discussion of each problem. We find traces of this in Gerbert's little treatise "De rational) et ratione uti" in the tenth century, and it is still more definitely adopted in Abelard's "Sic et non". It had its root in Aristotelean method, but was determined more immediately by the dialectical activity of the early schools, from which, as was said, Scholasticism sprang.

Much has been said both in praise and in blame of Scholastic terminology in philosophy and theology. It is rather generally acknowledged that whatever precision there is in the modern languages of Western Europe is due largely to the dialectic disquisitions of the Scholastics. On the other hand, ridicule has been poured on the stiffness, the awkwardness, and the barbarity of the Scholastic style. In an impartial study of the question, it should be remembered that the Scholastics of the thirteenth century—and it was not they but their successors who were guilty of the grossest sins of style—were confronted with a terminological problem unique in the history of thought. They came suddenly into possession of an entirely new literature, the works of Aristotle. They spoke a language, Latin, on which the terminology of Aristotle in metaphysics psychology etc., had made no impression. Consequently, they were obliged to create all at once Latin words and phrases to express the terminology of Aristotle, a terminology remarkable for its extent, its variety, and its technical complexity. They did it honestly and humbly, by translating Aristotle's phrases literally; so that many a strange-sounding Latin phrase in the writings of the Schoolmen would be very good Aristotelean Greek, if rendered word for word into that language. The Latin of the best of the Scholastics may be lacking in elegance and distinction; but no one will deny the merits of its rigorous severity of phrase and its logical soundness of construction. Though wanting the graces of what is called the fine style, graces which have the power of pleasing but do not facilitate the task of the learner in philosophy, the style of the thirteenth-century masters possesses the fundamental qualities, clearness, conciseness, and richness of technical phrase.

The contents of the Scholastic system

In logic the Scholastics adopted all the details of the Aristotelean system, which was known to the Latin world from the time of Boethius. Their individual contributions consisted of some minor improvements in the matter of teaching and in the technic of the science. Their underlying theory of knowledge is also Aristotelean. It may be described by saying that it is a system of Moderate Realism and Moderate Intellectualism. The Realism consists in teaching that outside the mind there exist things fundamentally universal which correspond to our universal ideas. The Moderate Intellectualism is summed up in the two principles:

all our knowledge is derived from sense-knowledge; and

intellectual knowledge differs from sense-knowledge, not only in degree but also in kind.

In this way, Scholasticism avoids Innatism, according to which all our ideas, or some of our ideas, are born with the soul and have no origin in the world outside us. At the same time, it avoids Sensism, according to which our so-called intellectual knowledge is only sense-knowledge of a higher or finer sort. The Scholastics, moreover, took a firm stand against the doctrine of Subjectivism. In their discussion of the value of knowledge they held that there is an external world which is real and independent of our thoughts. In that world are the forms which make things to be what they are. The same forms received into the mind in the process of knowing cause us not to be the object but to know the object. This presence of things in the mind by means of forms is true representation, or rather presentation. For it is the objective thing that we are first aware of, not its representation in us.

The Scholastic outlook on the world of nature is Aristotelean. The Schoolmen adopt the doctrine of matter and form, which they apply not only to living things but also to inorganic nature. Since the form, or entelechy is always striving for its own realization or actualization, the view of nature which this doctrine leads to is teleological. Instead, however, of ascribing purpose in a vague, unsatisfactory manner to nature itself, the Scholastics attributed design to the intelligent, provident author of nature. The principle of finality thus acquired a more precise meaning, and at the same time the danger of a Pantheistic interpretation was avoided. On the question of the universality of matter the Schoolmen were divided among themselves, some, like the Franciscan teachers, maintaining that all created beings are material, others, like St. Thomas, holding the existence of "separate forms", such as the angels, in whom there is potency but no matter. Again, on the question of the oneness of substantial forms, there was a lack of agreement. St. Thomas held that in each individual material substance, organic or inorganic, there is but one substantial form, which confers being, substantiality and, in the case of man, life, sensation, and reason. Others, on the contrary, believed that in one substance, man, for instance, there are simultaneously several forms, one of which confers existence, another substantiality, another life, and another, reason. Finally, there was a divergence of views as to what is the principle of individuation, by which several individuals of the same species are differentiated from one another. St. Thomas taught that the principle of individuation is matter with its determined dimensions, materia signata.

In regard to the nature of man, the first Scholastics were Augustinians. Their definition of the soul is what may be called the spiritual, as opposed to the biological, definition. They held that the soul is the principle of thought-activity, and that the exercise of the senses is a process from the soul through the body not a process of the whole organism, that is, of the body animated by the soul. The Scholastics of the thirteenth century frankly adopted the Aristotelean definition of the soul as the principle of life, not of thought merely. Therefore, they maintained, man is a compound of body and soul, each of which is an incomplete substantial principle the union being, consequently, immediate, vital, and substantial. For them there is no need of an intermediary "body of light" such as St. Augustine imagined to exist. All the vital activities of the individual human being are ascribed ultimately to the soul, as to their active principle, although they may have more immediate principles namely the faculties, such as intellect, the senses, the vegetative and muscular powers. But while the soul is in this way concerned with all the vital functions, being, in fact, the source of them, and the body enters as a passive principle into all the activities of the soul, exception must be made in the case of immaterial thought-activities. They are, like all the other activities, activities of the individual. The soul is the active principle of them. But the body contributes to them, not in the same intrinsic manner in which it contributes to seeing, hearing, digesting etc., but only in an extrinsic manner, by supplying the materials out of which the intellect manufactures ideas. This extrinsic dependence explains the phenomena of fatigue, etc. At the same time it leaves the soul so independent intrinsically that the latter is truly said to be immaterial.

From the immateriality of the soul follows its immortality. Setting aside the possibility of annihilation, a possibility to which all creatures, even the angels are subject, the human soul is naturally immortal, and its immortality, St. Thomas believes, can be proved from its immateriality. Duns Scotus, however, whose notion of the strict requirements of a demonstration was influenced by his training in mathematics, denies the conclusive force of the argument from immateriality, and calls attention to Aristotle's hesitation or obscurity on this point. Aristotle, as interpreted by the Arabians, was, undoubtedly, opposed to immortality. It was, however, one of St. Thomas's greatest achievements in philosophy that, especially in his opusculum "De unitate intellectus", he refuted the Arabian interpretation of Aristotle, showed that the active intellect is part of the individual soul, and thus removed the uncertainty which, for the Aristoteleans, hung around the notions of immateriality and immortality. From the immateriality of the soul follows not only that it is immortal, but also that it originated by an act of creation. It was created at the moment in which it was united with the body: creando infunditur, et infundendo creatur is the Scholastic phrase.

Scholastic metaphysics added to the Aristotelean system a full discussion of the nature of personality, restated in more definite terms the traditional arguments for the existence of God, and developed the doctrine of the providential government of the universe. The exigencies of theological discussion occasioned also a minute analysis of the nature of accident in general and of quantity in particular. The application of the resulting principles to the explanation of the mystery of the Eucharist, as contained in St. Thomas's works on the subject, is one of the most successful of all the Scholastic attempts to render faith reasonable by means of dialectical discussion. Indeed, it may be said, in general, that the peculiar excellence of the Scholastics as systematic thinkers consisted in their ability to take hold of the profoundest metaphysical distinctions, such as matter and form, potency and actuality, substance and accident, and apply them to every department of thought. They were no mere apriorists, they recognized in principle and in practice that scientific method begins with the observation of facts. Nevertheless, they excelled most of all in the talent which is peculiarly metaphysical, the power to grasp abstract general principles and apply them consistently and systematically.

So far as the ethics of Scholasticism is not distinctly Christian, seeking to expound and justify Divine law and the Christian standard of morals, it is Aristotelean. This is clear from the adoption and application of the Aristotelean definition of virtue as the golden mean between two extremes. Fundamentally, the definition is eudemonistic. It rests on the conviction that the supreme good of man is happiness, that happiness is the realization, or complete actualization, of one's nature, and that virtue is an essential means to that end. But what is vague and unsatisfactory in Aristotelean Eudemonism is made definite and safe in the Scholastic system, which determines the meaning of happiness and realization according to the Divine purpose in creation and the dignity to which man is destined as a child of God.

In their discussion of the problems of political philosophy the philosophers of the thirteenth century while not discarding the theological views of St. Augustine contained in "The City of God", laid a new foundation for the study of political organizations by introducing Aristotle's scientific definition of the origin and purpose of civil society. Man, says St. Thomas, is naturally a social and political animal. By giving to human beings a nature which requires the co-operation of other human beings for its welfare, God ordained man for society, and thus it is His will that princes should govern with a view to the public welfare. The end for which the state exists is, then, not merely vivere but bene vivere. All that goes to make life better and happier is included the Divine charter from which kings and rulers derive their authority. The Scholastic treatises on this subject and the commentaries on the "Polities" of Aristotle prepared the way for the medieval and modern discussions of political problems. In this department of thought, as in many others, the Schoolmen did at least one service which posterity should appreciate: they strive to express in clear systematic form what was present in the consciousness of Christendom in their day.

The Catholic Encyclopedia
https://www.newadvent.org/cathen/13548a.htm

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Medieval Philosophy & Scholasticism