MEDIEVAL PHILOSOPHY [Electronic resources] نسخه متنی

An Overview of
the Period

The Perfecting of
Philosophy in Medieval Times

This
essay discusses the rounding of philosophy into full and relatively complete
form (perfecting it) in the Scholastic System, the best synthesis that man had
been able to achieve up to that time. This was the beginning of the
"perennial philosophy" in mature form, ready to serve man in his
studies and investigations, to guide his thinking into rich and profitable
fields, and to assure the sane advance of true science. This essay looks into
the forces and influences that made for the perfecting of philosophy and
outlines the work of the more notable philosophers of the Period of Perfection.

Part I: The Factors of
Perfection in Philosophy

Factors

By the
"factors" of the perfecting of philosophy we mean those facts and
circumstances which proved to be strong influences upon the thinking of
scholarly men, stirring them to philosophic effort. Of all such factors, -- and
there must have been a rather large number of them, -- we choose for mention
and brief discussion only three; these we deem the most important of all. They
are, first, the intellectual atmosphere in which men of genius went to work;
second, the questions that engaged their special attention; third, the equipment with which they undertook their task.

Of
course, the men themselves, the thinkers, the philosophers, were the greatest
"factors" in the progress they made. But it seems somewhat inaccurate
to call them by that name, as though they were but an element in a kind of
mechanical process that worked inevitably and automatically. We dare not
degrade great gifts of mind, great patience, and tireless labors, by naming
them so harshly. Therefore, we shall understand "factors" in the
sense explained in the preceding paragraph, not as men or as the gifts of men's
minds and spirits, but as things that helped to stir men of great mind and
great diligence to the task of bringing philosophy to a perfected state.

Atmosphere

By the
"atmosphere" we mean what may be called the spirit of the times, the
interests and the temperaments of people. Now, beginning in the late 8th
century, and extending through a period of about six hundred years, there was
current in Europe a spirit, -- always strong and
often widespread, although never, of course, universal, -- for deep study, for
living with "the things of the mind"; in a word, for philosophy.
Without such an atmosphere, philosophy could not have matured. As a plant
requires suitable soil and climate, with a proper amount of light, heat, and
moisture, so philosophy, -- considered objectively, -- requires
a suitable intellectual climate or atmosphere in which to attain its growth.

In the
8th century a new spirit appeared in Europe; a spirit for learning. This fact was first made manifest
in the multiplication and the enlargement of schools, especially of the parish
schools and the cathedral schools. The spirit of learning was fostered by
Charlemagne who brought to the continent from the British Isles the learned Alcuin
and a staff of teachers to take charge of the palace school (the Palatine School) and to make it a proper model
for the others. Through the centuries a zeal for learning grew among the
people. The 14th century found the European world furnished with many great
universities, -- Cracow, Rome, Bologna, Paris, Cologne, Oxford, Cambridge, and others. All of these were
Catholic, for European civilization was Catholic; all were fostered and
furthered by ecclesiastical power.

Themes

One of
the most important themes of discussion in the age of which we now speak was
that of the nature and value of knowledge. This metaphysical question, basic in
philosophy, was focussed upon the elements of human
knowledge, our ideas. Now, ideas are, in themselves, universal ideas,
and the realities which they represent in our minds are represented there in a universal
manner. When, for example, we have the idea or concept of "tree," we
have knowledge of what tree means; we can write the definition of tree as such;
the definition is applicable to each and every possible tree, regardless of
size, location, botanical class. For, we know an essence, and we know it
as abstracted from the circumstances and limitations that mark the individual
things which have that essence in the world of things outside the mind. This is
what we mean by saying that ideas are universal ideas, and that we know things
in universal.

Now,
there is no question that the thing known in an idea or concept is present to
the mind in an abstract and universal way. But there can be question about the
way in which that essence actually exists in the things that have it. How, for
example, does the essence "tree," -- which is the object or
"thing known" in the idea "tree," -- exist in the actual
trees which exist or can exist in the world of reality outside our minds? Does
this essence exist "universally" in each individual tree? Or does
each tree merely reflect this objectively existing essence as each of a
thousand mirrors reflect the same sun?

Our
ideas are applicable to things, or are predicable of things, as constituting
their essence or as indicating what must be or may be associated with their
essence. Of the five modes called the predicables,
the most notable are genus and species. If the idea
"body" is predicated of trees, grass, flowers, weeds, moss, vines,
and stones, it is predicated as their genus, that is, as an essence
which is in each of the things named, and yet is not their entire
essence; for the plants are more than bodies, they are alive. If, of the first
six items mentioned, we predicate the idea "plant," this is their species,
for it expresses their entire essence; the points in which the various plants
differ are nonessential or accidental.

Now,
the question arises: how does the universal "body" (that is, the
essence "body," known in universal) exist in all these things, and in
all others called "body"? Do genera and species have actual existence
in things outside the mind, and if so, what is the character of this existence?
This is the famous "Question of Universals" which was hotly debated
for more than four centuries, and indeed is sometimes debated among
philosophers today.

The
idea is a universal idea. The object of a universal idea (that is, the
objective essence known in the idea) is called "the universal." What
are universals? What are genera and species? These questions are identical in
meaning, and they pose the "questions of universals."

There
are four doctrines possible in the matter of universals. Three of these are
fallacious; one is correct and true. It required the genius of the 13th century
to establish the true doctrine, which we list here as the fourth, that is,
Moderate Realism.

1.
Extreme Realism
(called Ultra-Realism and sometimes simply Realism) holds that
there are universal essences in the world of reality outside our minds. There
is, for example, a universal essence of man, and of this essence individual men
either have only a part or share, or each individual reflects the entire
essence as a little mirror reflects the whole sun. This doctrine which comes flatly
in conflict with both reason and experience is to be rejected.

2.
Conceptualism
says that the human mind is built to form ideas, and these have no knowable
corresponding reality in the world outside the mind. Individual human minds are
like so many Ford motors, all alike, all working the same way. Therefore,
universals are really nothing in themselves, they are
merely modes of the mind's working. This doctrine which destroys the value of
all knowledge and plunges us into the insane contradictions of skepticism is to
be wholly rejected.

3. Nominalism says that the mind, faced by a vast and complicated world
of individual things, finds it convenient to make groups of these things and to
affix a name or label to each group. The basis of the grouping is a "similarity"
in things. The names or labels are our ideas. Thus ideas are not
representations of essences; they are merely group-names. There are no truly
universal ideas; hence there are no universals. Nominalism
is destructive of all knowledge, of all reasoning; it renders science and
philosophy impossible; it is full of the contradictions of skepticism, as, for
instance, when it affirms a universal grasp of "similarity" even in
its detail of the universal grasp of anything. Therefore, nominalism
is to be rejected.

4.
Moderate Realism
(called also Qualified Realism) says that outside the mind only
individual things exist. There are no universal essences in the world of
creatures. Creatures cannot exist universally, but only individually. But the
mind, in forming its universal ideas, follows no mere inner drive of its nature
wholly divorced from the things known (as Conceptualism maintains), nor does it
merely apply names to groups of "similar" things (as Nominalism teaches). The mind is able to see wherein a plurality of things are at one. The mind sees, for
example, that all trees are trees. It can form the universal idea
"tree," and the idea truly represents the reality which makes any tree
a tree. In a word, the idea "tree" represents the essence
"tree." Only what is present to each tree individually is represented
in the mind universally, that is, in a manner abstracted from, or prescinding from, the individual limitations (size,
location, botanical kind, number of leaves, etc) which make a tree this
individual tree.

The
mind knows things really, according to the reality which is their
essence, but the mind knows in a mode or manner which is its own. Now, the
mind's mode of knowing is the mode called "universality." Hence, the
universality of our ideas is in the mind and from the mind, but it is based
upon reality inasmuch as the essence which the mind knows universally is
actually verified individually in each and every thing which has that essence.
Here we see the reason for calling this true doctrine on universals
"realism," and at the same time "qualified" or
"moderate" realism. For our ideas represent essences really, yet we
do not assert that the object of an idea (that is, the essence represented; the
"universal") exists as a universal essence outside the mind.

The
Question of Universals was not the only theme discussed by the philosophers of
the age of the perfecting of philosophy. Far from it.
But this is a question of outstanding importance, and it brings with it the
study of nearly every important question of metaphysics. For the critical
question (which has to do with the nature, value, and extent of human
knowledge) is the fundamental question of all philosophy; and the question of
universals is the very focus and point of the critical question. Penetrating
study of the critical question, and, in special, of the question of universals,
could not fail, and did not fail, to bring with it deep interest and active
discussion of all other important philosophical questions.

The
themes discussed in the Period of Perfection were, therefore, fundamental and
all-important themes. They constituted a notable "factor" in making
the age what it was, a time of bringing philosophy to rounded completeness.

Equipment

The
great philosophers of the age of the perfecting of philosophy brought to their
task no certified list of credits from some collegiate agency. Nor had they at
ready disposal endless libraries of printed books, in most of which, to steal a
phrase from C.E.M. Joad, each author thinks it
interesting to present the reasons which have led him to formulate his
particular brand of error.

The
limitations of the times were, in some sense, a benefit. The philosophers had
great writings; they had such a library as their times could boast; it was a
library that could be known and mastered, and was worth the effort that
mastering required. It was not a babble of voices confusing issues and
overwhelming the mind with unlimited digression and unrestrained ineptitude.

From
the late 8th century there were available for the studious mind the works of
Plato and of Aristotle at least in part (although until the 13th century
Aristotle was known in Europe in very defective and even falsified translations). There
were also the works of Porphyry, Boethius, Victorinus, Macrobius, Apuleius, Cassiodorus, Trimegistus, Hippocrates, Lucretius,
Seneca, Cicero, Galen, Martian Capella, St. Augustine, Origin, St, Clement of
Alexandria, Lactantius, St. Ambrose, St. Gregory of
Nyssa, Nemesius, Pseudo-Dionysius, St.
John Damascene.

Movements

Matthew
Arnold says that great creative epochs in literature result from the happy
concurrence of two notable powers, -- the power of the man and the power of the
moment. It may be truly said that the age of the perfecting of philosophy came
from a similar union of powers.

Although
we refuse to list the men of the period as mere "factors" of
philosophical achievement, we must notice the fact that the age was one of
great and gifted teachers. Among these we mention Alcuin,
Roscelin, Anselm, William of Champeaux,
Abelard, Bernard of Clairvaux, the doctors of the
schools of Chartres and St. Victor, William of Auvergne, Alexander of Hales, Bonaventure, Roger Bacon,
Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, Henry of Ghent, John Duns Scotus,
Raymond Lully, William of Ockham.
In addition to these Christian teachers the Arabians Averroes
and Avicenna, and the Jewish philosopher Moses Maimonides,
lent their learning and energy to the philosophical effort of the times.

As for
the power of the moment, four items may be mentioned.
First, philosophy, ripened
by five centuries of intense study, was ready for expression in an orderly
and complete synthesis at the opening of the 13th century.
Second, the works of
oriental philosophy were spread, in Latin translation, through western Europe; these aroused both sympathy and strong
controversy, and so proved to be a force in the intellectual movement of
the age.
Third, great universities
were multiplied and their influence was a strong and steady force for
philosophical achievement.
Fourth, the religious
orders of St. Francis and St. Dominic carried to the common people not
only the better knowledge of the Christian Religion but also a great deal
of philosophical knowledge; for members of these religious families went
everywhere and were often forced to meet on philosophical grounds the
thinkers of non-Christian persuasions.

Part II: From Anselm to Albert the Great

Anselm

St. Anselm of Lombardy (1033-1109), Abbot of the
Benedictine Monastery of Bec in Normandy, and later Archbishop of
Canterbury in England, was the foremost philosopher
of the 11th century.

One of his chief interests, --
which led to only a partial success in the efforts it engendered, -- was the
distinction between theology and philosophy. Anselm disagreed with those philosophers
(such as Erigena) who held that these are really one
science. But it was left for Thomas Aquinas, in the 13th century, to show with
scientific exactness that there is a clear line of demarcation between them,
and that theology (that is, supernatural theology) is one science and
philosophy another.

Anselm offered reasoned proofs
for the existence of God and for the Divine Attributes. He argued cogently in
evidence of the truth that the human soul acquires intellectual knowledge by
abstracting ideas or concepts from sense-findings, and using these in judging
and in reasoning, he inclined to the Platonic doctrine that soul and body are
united accidentally and not substantially; in this, of course, he was quite
wrong.

The heretics of Anselm's day were
fond of dialectics, -- that is, of fine logical reasoning; theirs was rather an
abuse, than a proper use of logic. Nevertheless, many pious and learned men
were led to see in dialectics a kind of snide trickery, and even a devilish
device for the spread of error and the confusing of minds. Anselm stood sanely
and firmly against this mistaken view of logic. He employed it himself with
telling effect, and so routed the heretics with their own weapon. Thus he saved
the good name and the splendid service of dialectics for Christian scholars; he
justified for all time the use of sheer reasoning and philosophical argument in
the exposition and defense of the Christian Faith.

Yet he clearly declared that the
Christian had no need to rationalize is Faith; possessing the Faith,
reason can serve to show its truth and glory, and so attract those who have it
not. The motto of Anselm was "Credo ut intelligam," that is, "I believe that I may
understand": "I find in my Faith a great light which aids me in
understanding other things; I do not need to philosophize about creatures to
justify myself in believing." Another motto of Anselm was "Fides quaerens intellectum,"
"Faith seeking to understand": that is, "If you have the Faith
to begin with, you have a head-start in the work of philosophy; you need not
philosophize yourself into an acceptance of the Faith."

Perhaps Anselm is best
remembered in our times for his famous ontological argument for the
existence of God. This argument is not a valid one, but it has intrigued the
minds of thinkers for nearly a thousand years. Descartes, Leibniz, and Spinoza
were among famous men to study it, reshape it, and present it. Despite its
attractiveness it fails to make conclusive proof. Of course, it is in no wise
required. The inescapable force of the a posteriori arguments for the existence
and attributes of God make other arguments superfluous.

But Anselm, like many another
since his day, thought that an a priori argument could be developed from the
fact that man inevitably has some notion of Deity. The famous argument ran
thus:
All men, even unbelievers, have an idea of God -- it is
the idea of the most perfect Being thinkable;
Now, the idea of the most perfect Being thinkable is
the idea of an existing Being (for, if it lack existence, it lacks
a most notable perfection and hence is not the most perfect Being
thinkable);
Therefore, God really exists.

The fallacy in this argument
lies in the fact that it "jumps" from the realm of thought (called the
logical order) to the realm of reality outside the mind (called the
ontological order), and thus leaves a gap in the reasoning. If we restate
the argument, observing the strict rules of logic, we shall see that the
conclusion is quite different:
God is the most perfect Being that can be thought of;
Now, the most perfect Being that can be thought of must
be thought of as existing;
Therefore, God must be thought of as existing.

This argument is perfectly
legitimate. But the fact that God must be thought of as existing cannot
be used as a proof that God actually does exist.

Gaunilo, a critic of Anselm's argument,
tried to reduce it to absurdity in some such fashion as this:
I have an idea of a most beautiful and perfect floating
island;
Now, unless it exists, it is not most beautiful and perfect;
Therefore, this floating island exists.

This nonsense merely proved the
fact that Gaunilo did not understand Anselm's
argument. For he was speaking of the Fist, the Infinite, the Necessary Being,
not of a creatural and limited thing like a floating island. No limited thing
can be limitless in perfection. No creature can be envisioned as most
perfect. The very concept of a creature is the concept of thing
perfectible. Anselm spoke only of that Being which we cannot help thinking of
(and which even atheists cannot help thinking of, for they must have an idea of
what they are denying when they deny God) as absolutely perfect, as limitless
in perfection, as infinite. No one needs to think of a
floating island or of any limited reality. But the idea of the absolute is
inevitable to normal and mature minds. Indeed, if the ontological argument did
not unwarrantedly assume a priori the objective validity of thought, it would
be a cogent and irrefutable proof of God's existence.

Abelard

Peter Abelard or Abaelard (1079-1142), a native of Brittany, became in early manhood the
outstanding teacher of his age. He was universally regarded by his
contemporaries as the greatest of living philosophers. In this opinion Peter
Abelard wholeheartedly concurred. He was a fiery teacher and speaker, a clever
dialectician, a man too intent on triumph in debate. There were few questions
in philosophy upon which he failed to touch; there were few to which he gave
thorough and complete treatment. His great service to philosophy is that he
stirred up the thinkers; he awoke enthusiasm. Even his errors, championed so
earnestly, aroused opposition that led to the clear exposition of many a truth
that had been only half understood or but murkily explained.

Abelard rightly maintained that
the use of reason is of the greatest value in setting forth the truths of
Faith. Yet, despite his tendency to run to extremes, he did not declare that
reason is all-sufficient (rationalism) for the full understanding of
every truth. Hence it is not just to call Abelard a Rationalist, as too many
have done.

In the matter of universals
Abelard came near the right doctrine of Moderate Realism. In his day the
terminology of this question had not been finally formulated, and hence there
is some obscurity in his position.

Abelard says that God is so far
above expression that all our speech about Him is figurative. Here he is wrong.
God is infinite, and our minds and our mode of speech are finite. But, for all
that, we can have a knowledge of God that is
literally true knowledge, not figurative knowledge, even though it is never
exhaustive. All that we know of as absolute perfection (that is, pure or unmixed
perfection) we attribute to God literally, though in a transcendent or eminent
way.

Abelard thought that God is
compelled by His goodness to create, and to create the best of all possible
worlds (theological necessitarianism and
cosmological optimism). Now, compulsion in God is unthinkable, since He is
infinite and supremely independent, and, being the Source of all reality, there
is nothing outside God which could conceivably work an independent influence
upon Him. Nor is there anything within God to compel creation. All that God
has, He is. God's Goodness is God Himself eternally subsisting.

Hence the idea of compulsion in
or upon God is a self-contradictory notion. God is not obliged in any way to
create, nor, freely choosing to create, is He obliged to create the best of all
possible worlds. It is sufficient that His work be worthy of Him; that it be
splendidly suitable for achieving the end for which it is made.

In his studies upon the ethical
question, Abelard rightly holds that God is the Supreme Good towards Which man of necessity tends. God is the ultimate end of man
in all human acts. And the possession and enjoyment of this objective End
is the subjective last end of man: that is, beatitude in the possession
of the Supreme Good. In trying to fix the norm of morality, Abelard
hesitates, and finally sets down two opinions, neither of which is correct.

He thinks that the law or line
which marks off good from evil (the norm of morality) is either God's will
alone, or man's intention. Now, the true norm of morality is God as Eternal
Law, that is, God as Divine Understanding and Will, not God as Will alone.
God's will is, humanly speaking, consequent upon His knowledge of what is in
line, and what is out of line, with Himself. Man's
intention cannot be the norm of morality. It is a determinant of
morality in so far as a bad intention can spoil a good act and make it evil;
but a good intention cannot save a bad act and make it good. The norm of
morality is The Eternal Law; it is applied by human reason judging on the
objective right or wrong of a situation here and now to be decided; in this
service, human reason is called conscience.

The Arabians

Two notable philosophers among
the Mohammedan Arabs of the Middle Ages must be
mentioned here. These are Ibn-Sina (more commonly
called by the Latinized form of his name Avicenna) and Ibn-Roschd (usually called Averroes).

Avicenna (980-1037) was a native
of Bokhara; his parents were Persian-born
Arabians. He was a man of intellectual gifts. A physician of renown as well as
a philosopher, he is forever memorable for his book, The Canons of Medicine,
which served for many years as the standard textbook for students of medical
science.

Averroes (d. 1198) was a Spanish=born
Arab. He was a notable commentator on Aristotle as well as a distinguished
thinker in his own right.

The fact that the question of
universals was of burning importance in the Middle Ages explains the enduring
of these Arab names. For the Arabians were deeply interested
in the origin of ideas, and their theories touched the very heart of the
controversy on universals.

The true doctrine on ideas may
be summed up thus: there are no inborn ideas; man acquires all his
knowledge. Ideas result in man's intellect from the action of the mind on the
findings of sense. From these ideas others may be worked out by a further
process of abstraction. So the mind rises from those ideas immediately formed
upon sense-action (physical ideas) to concepts of pure quantity (mathematical
ideas) and concepts of being considered apart from all the limitations of
materiality (metaphysical ideas).

In a word, ideas have their
origin in the native power of the human mind or intellect to abstract
understandable essences (called intelligible species) from
sense-findings, and to hold these within itself as representations of reality.
Each human being has a mind or intellect. The intellect, in so far as it abstracts
ideas (or intelligible species) from sense-findings (and from ideas already
formed) is called the intellectus agens or active intellect; in so far as it expresses
within itself the abstracted essences or intelligible species and holds these
as representations of reality (thus knowing reality), it is called the intellectus possibilis or
understanding intellect.

Now, the Arabians who followed
Avicenna held the strange doctrine that there is a common intellectus
agens for all men, jus as there is one sun in the
sky to lend light to all eyes. Averroes and his
followers went further; they taught that the intellect, both agens and possibilis,
is a common possession, a reality outside all individual men. Individual man
has no intellect at all. His knowing-power is merely that of the senses. And,
since the senses are organic (that is, dependent on bodily members), there is
no justification for the conclusion that man has spiritual element in his
make-up. Therefore, man has no spiritual soul; when he dies he perishes
utterly. So far Averroes the
philosopher.

But Averroes
the theologian, holding fast to the Koran, teaches that man has an immortal
soul. Here we have the beginning of that most disastrous of all doctrines,
against which the mighty Thomas Aquinas was to rise in towering strength: the
doctrine of a twofold truth. This pernicious doctrine holds that what is
true in philosophy may be false in theology, and vice versa. The twofold-truth
doctrine was taught in the 13th century by Siger of Brabant
in the University of Paris. The doctrine is wholly
indefensible, and it leads directly into the insane self-contradiction of
skepticism. It is ruinous of all knowledge, of all science, of all philosophy.

The doctrine of twofold-truth is
no longer defended by theorists; Aquinas put an enduring end to all discussion
of the matter. But it endures in practice, especially in the form of a
twofold morality. Thus there are people who will justify sharp practice and
open savagery by quoting as sound principles the silly clichs, "Business
is business," and "All's fair in war," -- as though the
businessman and the soldier had a set of moral laws for office hours or term of
service, and another set for private life. Truth is one, constant, consistent.
One truth cannot come in conflict with another truth. And the truth of morality
is like all other truths. There can be no such thing as a diversity of moral
principles to suit diversity of persons or circumstances.

Albert

Albert the Great, known to his
contemporaries as Albert of Cologne, and frequently called by the Latin form of
his name, Albertus Magnus, was born in Swabia, part of present Germany, in the last years of the
12th century or the first years of the 13th. He died in 1280. Albert was a
member of the Order of St. Dominic; he was made Bishop of Ratisbon
in 1260. Preeminently a student and teacher, he resigned his bishop's see after
three years of office. Most of his teaching was done at the universities of Paris and Cologne.

Albert is called "The
Universal Doctor," and the name is justified, for he was a man of enormous
capacity for learning and of tireless diligence in study and research. His
works are many, and they cover wide and various fields -- philosophy, theology,
Scripture, natural science. His genius was analytical; he worked out an amazing
amount of scientific knowledge. The synthetical power
which collates, integrates, focusses, and refines the
fruits of analysis, was not so marked a gift of Albert, although he certainly
possessed it in good measure.

Albert was an Aristotelian. He
purified the translations of Aristotle of much Arabian interpolation. In his
treatise on Aristotle's Physics, as well as in his own studies and
experiments, Albert contributed more to the development of physical science
than did the much lauded Roger Bacon.

Albert's work was notable and it
was nobly done. It stands upon its own merits. But, looking upon it in
retrospect, we must judge that Albert's greatest service to philosophy was the
fact that he prepared the ground, so to speak, for the work of his illustrious
pupil, Thomas Aquinas.

Part III: From Thomas Aquinas to William of Ockham

Aquinas

Thomas of Aquin -- more commonly called Thomas
Aquinas, or simply Aquinas -- was born during the young manhood of Albert and
died before him. Yet it seems natural for us to think of Aquinas appearing on
the intellectual scene after Albert had departed. He was a pupil of Albert, and
this enlightened teacher recognized his genius in early student days when
fellow pupils considered Aquinas only a dreamy lad of no particular talent.

Aquinas was born between 1224 and 1226 in Roccasecca
in Italy. He
died March 7, 1274, while on
his way to attend the Council of Lyons. Thus he lived, at most, but fifty
years. Yet the accomplishments of his comparatively short lifetime were enough,
one might suppose, for twenty men of twice his span of years. If we except
Aristotle, and perhaps Augustine, the history of philosophy has
no name to offer that deserves to stand in the same line with that of Thomas
Aquinas. It may be unfair to compare Aquinas with Aristotle, for Aristotle
worked in the night of pagan antiquity while Aquinas labored in the daylight of
Christianity. Perhaps it is but just to say that, in point of natural gifts,
Aristotle stands alone, and that, in point of natural and supernatural gifts
combined, Aquinas far surpasses Aristotle.

Aquinas produced a veritable library of valuable writings. These are
remarkable for their scope, their completeness, their clarity. No taint of
pride, no vain show of erudition for its own sake, soils any page he wrote. No
man ever knew more thoroughly, and more sympathetically, the significant
writings of all his predecessors in philosophy, theology, Scripture, and
physical science. Thoroughly equipped with an easy mastery of the world's
worthwhile knowledge, Aquinas brought to bear upon every question the light of
his own mighty and original mind. In him the power of analysis and the power of
synthesis seem equal.

Following the lead of Albert, Aquinas purified many doctrines attributed to
Aristotle of their Mohammedan accretions, and he induced his friend and
fellow-Dominican, William of Moerbeke, an able
linguist, to make a Latin translation of Aristotle from the original Greek.

Aquinas settled the perplexing question of the distinction between
philosophy and theology by justifying the principle: Sciences are
distinguished one from another by their respective formal objects, and
ultimately by the method or methods they use.

In the matter of universals, Aquinas offers compelling proof for the truth
of the Aristotelian doctrine of Moderate Realism. He devotes full and detailed
study to the basic concept or idea of being. This concept is the first
idea in every order -- the order of time (chronological order), the order
of knowledge (logical order), and the order of understandable reality (metaphysical
order). For the very first idea or concept acquired in life (since we are
born without any equipment of ideas) is the idea of some thing, that is,
of some being, and the notion of some being involves, implicitly,
the notion or idea of being as such.

Further, the analysis of every concept takes the mind back to the
fundamental notion of being. And, finally, every reality that can be
thought of as existing is necessarily understood as some thing, that is,
as being. The idea of being is truly transcendental. Other
transcendental ideas which extend or specially apply the idea of being
are distinct from the idea of being by only a distinction of reason
(i.e., logical distinction) not a real distinction. These ideas are: thing,
something, reality, the one, the good, the true.
Together with being, these are called "the transcendentals."

Aquinas holds the sane Aristotelian doctrine that all human knowledge
takes its beginning in the action of the senses on the bodily world around us.
He rejects the Augustinian theory that a special divine illumination is
required for certain kinds of knowledge -- such as knowledge of first
principles, or knowledge of spiritual realities. Our natural knowledge, says
Aquinas, is due to the fact that the mind is equipped with a power of
abstraction which it employs first upon the findings of the senses, and then
upon ideas themselves for their further refinement or elaboration.

Thus the mind arises from the physical order, through the mathematical
order, to the metaphysical order of concepts or ideas. Thus there are
three grades of abstraction. These are truly grades or degrees; they are
not merely kinds; they are like steps in one stairway. Aquinas takes the three
grades of abstraction as the basis for the general classification of sciences.

In point of physical philosophy, Aquinas holds with Aristotle that
all physical being (that is, all being subject to change) is compounded of actuality
and potentiality (actus et potentia). Further, all
bodily being (all ens
mobile) is composed of matter and form, and, fundamentally,
of prime matter and substantial form. Aquinas
teaches that, at any given moment, only one substantial form can in-form or
actualize the same prime matter; in this point, he differs from the view
(Scotistic and Franciscan) of those philosophers who
defend the "plurality-of-substantial-forms theory." Spiritual
substances are pure forms.

The principle of specification, by which one essential kind of
substance is distinguished from every other kind, is substantial form.
The principle of individuation, by which individual substances of the
same species or kind are distinguished from one another, is in-formed prime
matter as quantified.

Aquinas holds that the human soul is, in each man, the substantial form of
the living body. The soul does not exist before its union with the body. At one
and the same instant each soul is created and infused (i.e.,
substantially united with the body) by God.

Aquinas rejects the Arabian doctrine of a separate and common intellect
serving all men, and offers proofs for the existence of intellect as a faculty
of each human individual. He shows that man has freewill, that is, that the
human will is endowed with the freedom of choice of means to the
necessary (and not free) ultimate end, the Supreme Good.

In point of metaphysical philosophy, Aquinas treats of being
in itself, of being as it is in the mind (that is, truth and certitude).
He asserts a real distinction (not merely a rational or logical
distinction) between the essence and the existence of an existing creature. He
extends Aristotle's doctrine of causes, and deals most profoundly with the
effecting or efficient cause, and with its subsidiary, the instrumental cause.

He shows that God is First Effecting Cause, that the divine "effectingness," as act and as power, is identified
with the Divine Substance. In creatures "effectingness"
(or efficiency) as act and power is something really distinct from their substance;
it is something they have, not something which they are; hence, faculties
are things really distinct from the creatural substance which possesses and
exercises them.

Aquinas shows that God, the Necessary and Self-Subsistent First Being, is
the Effecting, the Final, and the Exemplar Cause of all perfection, that is, of
all positive being. He shows how God concurs with creatures in their
connatural activities, and he maintains that the divine concurrence is not only
simultaneous with the actions of creations, but antecedent to
such action; yet such antecedent concurrence (called physical premotion) in no wise destroys the nature of the acting
creature; even if the creature be free, its freedom is not destroyed or
in any sense hindered, for "God moves every being in a manner consonant
with its nature."

In point of moral philosophy or ethics, Aquinas shows that
man, in every human act (that is in every thought, word, deed, or
omission which is done knowingly and freely), tends towards the Supreme Good,
the possession of which will constitute man in the state of perfect beatitude.
Even the sinner, perversely choosing evil, chooses it under the guise of good,
that is, of something that will satisfy. Man is made for God and endless
perfect happiness. This end cannot be achieved perfectly this side of heaven,
but it can be approximated here on earth by living for God, by knowing, loving,
serving God.

Since God has made man for Himself and happiness, He has a plan, an
arrangement, a law which man must follow to attain His
end. In other words, the Divine Reason (that is, God as Intellect and Will) has
established the law which directs all things to their last goal or end. This
law is The Eternal Law. Man, when he comes to the use and practice of his
mental powers, inevitably becomes aware of "an order in things" which
he must not disturb but must conserve; man's awareness of The Eternal Law is
"the natural law." And man, in all his human acts, inevitably sees
them in their relation to the natural law, and mentally pronounces upon their
agreement or disagreement with the natural law. Such a pronouncement is called
a judgment of conscience. And thus we notice that the norm of
morality is The Eternal Law as applied by conscience.

Aquinas has been called, and with justice, the prince of philosophers and of
theologians. His works merit the earnest study of every thoughtful mind.

Scotus

John Duns Scotus (1266/74-1308), a member of the
Franciscan Order, was a philosopher of extraordinary gifts and of wondrous
accomplishment. He studied at Oxford,
and later taught there and at the University
of Paris. He wrote commentaries on
Aristotle and on other philosophers, and he produced a notable treatise on
theology. He also wrote Quaestiones Quodlibetales, a discussion of a variety of questions.
Many other works are attributed to Scotus. The
scholarly researches of the Franciscan Friars in our own day have shown beyond
doubt or question that some of these works are spurious, and that some theories
long attributed to Scotus are not truly his.

Scotus is known as "the Subtle Doctor."
He had a mind of marvelous acuteness, and an untiring zeal for intricacies of
discussion in which none but the keenest and most devoted students could keep
pace with him. In some points he disagrees with Thomas Aquinas. For instance,
he has small reliance on the unaided human reason as the basis of certitude,
and requires Faith and Revelation for the solution of some problems of
philosophy.

He does not agree with Aquinas in point of "the principle of individuation"
which he holds to be, not quantified matter, but a positive reality
added to a being fully constituted in its specific nature; he calls this
positive individuating reality by the name of haecceitas,
which might be clumsily translated as the "thisness"
of the being in question.

Again, Scotus teaches that in a created being
there is not a real distinction between existence and essence, nor is
there merely a rational or logical distinction; the distinction
in this instance is an actual formal distinction arising from the nature of
the reality in which the distinction is found. This distinction (usually
called "the Scotistic formal distinction")
is, therefore, something less than real distinction, and something more
than logical distinction.

Again, in point of universals, Scotus accepts
Moderate Realism, but his expression is involved, and some critics interpret
him in such wise as to make him an Ultra-Realist.

Again, Scotus defends the
"plurality-of-forms-theory"; he holds that in man, in addition to the
spiritual soul which is the substantial form of living man, there is a
substantial body-form or "a form of corporeity."

Scotus holds that man is not moved, in his
freewill acts, by the ultimate practical judgment of the mind (the ultimum judicium
practicum), but that this judgment is only a condition requisite for
the will's uninfluenced action.

Scotus holds with unwavering certitude to the
spirituality and immortality of the human soul, yet he teaches that is
immortality is proved by an appeal to Revelation, and not by unaided reason.

A man of the highest gifts, Scotus has had, and
has today, a mighty influence among Scholastic philosophers. He was the great
luminary of the Franciscans as Aquinas was the light and oracle of the
Dominicans. The Thomist and the Scotist schools are in lively existence at the
present time, especially in the realm of speculative theology.

Ockham

William of Ockham was a notable Franciscan

philosopher of the 14th century. He was born about 1280 and died in 1348. The
name by which this philosopher is most commonly known is that of his home town,
Ockham or Ockam, of Surrey
in England.

William was of impulsive and even stormy temperament, and his life was not
without troubles. He wrote commentaries on the philosophy of Aristotle, on the famous
"Sentences" (that is, doctrines) of Peter the Lombard,
and on the writings of Porphyry.

His contemporaries hailed William as "the Venerable Inceptor" of a
theory of knowledge called Terminism. But this
was really no new theory; it was merely Nominalism in
a new dress and with a new name.

William of Ockham is memorable for one valuable
rule for philosophers, Entia non sunt multiplicanda sine
necessitate, which, translated literally, means, "Things are not to be
multiplied without need"; the force of the rule might be given in this
fashion, "Explanations are to be made in the simplest and most direct
fashion which the facts allow, without needless complications and
distinctions." This dictum came to be known as "Ockham's Razor," for it was formulated to cut away
wasted verbiage and needless involvement of reasoning.

It is a good rule, but William himself used it without nice discernment of
when "multiplication of things" is actually necessary. He sometimes
used the "razor," not only to remove extraneous matters, but to level
off the features of his subject. Like all impatient men who want to make
complicated matters simple, he sometimes turned simplification into
falsification.

This note of impatience, this eagerness to make the deepest and most
complicated questions as simple as A-B-C, was -- as is always the case when it
appears in the works of men of influence -- a sign of decadence in philosophy.
For any impatience with multitudinous detail indicates a loss of the
philosophic temper which must be tirelessly patient.

Ockham is the symbol and mark of a turning-point
in philosophy. He is the last great figure in the age of perfection; some make
him the first great figure in the age of transition, even when they try to hide
the fact that the transition was also a retrogression.
The cord of strong philosophic thought which had begun to fray under the
friction of Thomistic-Scotistic argument, snapped
asunder under the impatient dicta of William of Ockham.
It was literally cut by "Ockham's Razor."