Medieval Philosophy

First published Tue Aug 3, 2004; substantive revision Tue Mar 15, 2016
Medieval philosophy is conventionally construed as the philosophy of Western Europe
between the decline of classical pagan culture and the Renaissance. Such a broad topic
cannot be covered in detail in a single article, and fortunately there is no need to do so, since
other articles in this Encyclopedia treat individual medieval philosophers and topics. The
present article will confine itself to articulating some of the overall contours of medieval
philosophy. The reader should refer to the items listed under Related Entries below for more
detailed information on narrower subjects.

 1. The Geographical and Chronological Boundaries of Medieval Philosophy

 2. The Main Ingredients of Medieval Philosophy
 3. The Availability of Greek Texts
 4. From the Patristic Period to the Mid-Twelfth Century
o 4.1 Augustine
o 4.2 Boethius
o 4.3 The Carolingian Period
o 4.4 Anselm of Canterbury
o 4.5 Peter Abelard
o 4.6 General Characteristics of This Early Period
 5. The Twelfth Century and the Rise of Universities
o 5.1 New Translations
o 5.2 New Forms of Education
 6. The Thirteenth Century and Later
 7. Some Main Topics in Medieval Philosophy
 Bibliography
 Academic Tools
 Other Internet Resources
 Related Entries
1. The Geographical and Chronological Boundaries
of Medieval Philosophy
‘Medieval philosophy’ refers to philosophy in Western Europe during the “medieval” period,
the so called “Middle Ages.” The notion of a “Middle Age” (or plural “Middle Ages”) was
introduced in the fifteenth century for the period between the decline of classical pagan
culture in Western Europe and what was taken to be its rediscovery during the Renaissance.
The first known documented use of the expression (in the form ‘media tempestas’) is from
1469 (Robinson [1984], p. 748).[1]
The originators of the notion of the Middle Ages were thinking primarily of the so called
“Latin West,” the area, roughly speaking, of Roman Catholicism. While it is true that this
region was to some extent a unit, culturally separate from its neighbors, it is also true that
medieval philosophy was decisively influenced by ideas from the Greek East, from the
Jewish philosophical tradition, and from Islam. If one takes medieval philosophy to include
the Patristic period, as the present author prefers to do, then the area must be expanded to
include, at least during the early centuries, Greek-speaking eastern Europe, as well as North
Africa and parts of Asia Minor.
The chronological limits of medieval philosophy are likewise imprecise. Many histories of
medieval philosophy (like many syllabi for courses on the subject) begin with St. Augustine
(354–430), though some include second- and third-century Christian thinkers (see Marenbon
[2007], p. 1), whereas Pasnau ([2010], p. 1) speaks of a more recent “consensus on when and
where to place the beginnings of medieval philosophy, understood as a project of
independent philosophical inquiry: it begins in Baghdad, in the middle of the eighth century,
and in France, in the itinerant court of Charlemagne, in the last quarter of the eighth
century.” At the other end of the period, things are even more imprecise. Robinson ([1984],
pp. 749–50) amusingly summarizes the situation:[2]
Scholars have advocated many different termini for our period, and there seems to be little
agreement and indeed little basis for reasoned argument on these points. The Middle Ages
begin, we are told, with the death of Theodosius in 395, or with the settlement of Germanic
tribes in the Roman Empire, or with the sack of Rome in 410, or with the fall of the Western
Roman Empire (usually dated C.E. 476), or even as late as the Moslem occupation of the
Mediterranean. It ends … with the fall of Constantinople, or with the invention of printing,
or with the discovery of America, or with the beginning of the Italian wars (1494), or with
the Lutheran Reformation (1517), or with the election of Charles V (1519). Several reference
works I have consulted simply assert that the Middle Ages ended in 1500, presumably on
New Year’s Eve. Yet another terminus often given for the Middle Ages is the so-called
“Revival of Learning,” that marvelous era when Humanist scholars “discovered” classical
texts and restored them to mankind after the long Gothic night. Medievalists must always
smile a little over these “discoveries,” for we know where the Humanists discovered those
classical texts—namely, in medieval manuscripts, where medieval scribes had been carefully
preserving them for mankind over the centuries. … In view of all this disagreement over the
duration of the Middle Ages, perhaps we should content ourselves with saying that our
period extends from the close of the classical period to the beginning of the Renaissance. If
classicists and Renaissance scholars don’t know when their periods begin and end, then that
is their problem.
Still, it is perhaps most useful not to think of medieval philosophy as defined by the
chronological boundaries of its adjacent philosophical periods, but as beginning when
thinkers first started to measure their philosophical speculations against the requirements of
Christian doctrine and as ending when this was no longer the predominant practice. [3] This
view allows late ancient and early medieval philosophy to overlap during the Patristic period;
thus Proclus (411–85) belongs to the story of ancient philosophy, even though he is later than
Saint Augustine (354–430). Again, this view accommodates the fact that late scholasticism
survived and flourished even in the Renaissance. Thus Francisco Suárez (1548–1617), who
can arguably be regarded as the last chapter in the history of medieval philosophy, was
contemporary with Francis Bacon (1561–1626). Nevertheless by c. 1450, at the latest,
radically new ways of doing philosophy were clearly emerging.
This perhaps generous interpretation of the chronological limits of medieval philosophy
implies that it lasted at least from the Greek patristic author Justin Martyr (mid-second
century) until well into the fifteenth century—more than half the entire history of philosophy
generally. Clearly there is much to be discussed.

2. The Main Ingredients of Medieval Philosophy

Here is a recipe for producing medieval philosophy: Combine classical pagan philosophy,
mainly Greek but also in its Roman versions, with the new Christian religion. Season with a
variety of flavorings from the Jewish and Islamic intellectual heritages. Stir and simmer for
1300 years or more, until done.
This recipe produces a potent and volatile brew. For in fact many features of Christianity do
not fit well into classical philosophical views. The notion of the Incarnation and the doctrine
of the Trinity are obvious cases in point. But even before those doctrines were fully
formulated, there were difficulties, so that an educated Christian in the early centuries would
be hard pressed to know how to accommodate religious views into the only philosophical
tradition available. To take just one example, consider pagan philosophical theories of the
soul. At first glance, it would appear that the Platonic[4] tradition would be most appealing to
an early Christian. And in fact it was. In the first place, the Platonic tradition was very
concerned with the moral development of the soul. Again, that tradition saw the highest goal
of a human being as some kind of mystical gazing on or union with the Form of the Good or
the One; it would be easy to interpret this as the “face to face” encounter with God in the
next life that St. Paul describes in 1 Cor. 13:12. Most important of all, Platonism held that the
soul could exist apart from the body after death. This would obviously be appealing to
Christians, who believed in an afterlife.
On the other hand, there was another crucial aspect of Christianity that simply made no sense
to a Platonist. This was the doctrine of the resurrection of the dead at the end of the world.
Platonism allowed for reincarnation, so there was no special theoretical problem for a
Platonist about the soul’s reentering the body. But for a Christian this resurrection was
something to look forward to; it was a good thing. This would be incomprehensible from a
Platonic viewpoint, for which “the body is the prison of the soul,” and for which the task of
the philosopher is to “learn how to die” in order to be free from the distracting and corrupting
influences of the body. No, for a Platonist it is best for the soul not to be in the body.[5]
A Christian would therefore have a hard time being a straightforward Platonist about the
soul. But neither could a Christian be a straightforward Aristotelian. Aristotle’s own views
on the immortality of the soul are notoriously obscure, and he was often interpreted as
denying it outright. All the harder, therefore, to make sense of the view that the resurrection
of the dead at the end of the world is something to be joyfully expected. [6]
This problem illustrates the kind of difficulties that emerge from the above “recipe” for
medieval philosophy. Educated early Christians, striving to reconcile their religion in terms
of the only philosophical traditions they knew, would plainly have a lot of work to do. Such
tensions may be regarded as the “motors” that drove much of philosophy throughout the
period. In response to them, new concepts, new theories, and new distinctions were
developed. Of course, once developed, these tools remained and indeed still remain available
to be used in contexts that have nothing to do with Christian doctrine. Readers of medieval
philosophy who go on to study John Locke, for instance, will find it hard to imagine how his
famous discussion of “personal identity” in the Essay Concerning Human
Understanding could ever have been written if it were not for the medieval distinction
between “person” and “nature,” worked out in dealing with the doctrines of the Incarnation
and the Trinity.

3. The Availability of Greek Texts

While the influence of classical pagan philosophy was crucial for the development of
medieval philosophy, it is likewise crucial that until the twelfth and thirteenth centuries
almost all the original Greek texts were lost to the Latin West, so that they exerted their
influence only indirectly. They were “lost” not in the sense that the texts were simply
unavailable but in the sense that very few people could read them, since they were written in
the wrong language. As the Western Roman Empire gradually disintegrated, the knowledge
of Greek all but disappeared. Boethius (c. 480–545/526) was still fluent in Greek, but he
recognized the need for translations even in his own day; after him Greek was effectively a
dead language in the West. There were still some pockets of Greek literacy, especially
around such figures as Isidore of Seville and the Venerable Bede, preserving and
transmitting ideas of ancient learning, but making little impact on medieval philosophical
thought.
In the case of Plato, the Middle Ages for all practical purposes had only the first part of
the Timaeus (to 53c), hardly a typical Platonic dialogue, in a translation and commentary by
a certain Calcidius (or Chalcidius).[7] The Timaeus contains Plato’s cosmology, his account of
the origin of the cosmos.
There were also translations of the Meno and the Phaedo made in the twelfth century by a
certain Henry Aristippus of Catania,[8] but almost no one appears to have read them. They
seem to have had only a modest circulation and absolutely no influence at all to speak of. [9]
There had been a few other Latin translations made even much earlier, but these vanished
from circulation before the Middle Ages got very far along. Cicero himself had translated
the Protagoras and a small part of the Timaeus, and in the second century Apuleius
translated the Phaedo, but these translations disappeared after the sixth century and had very
little effect on anyone (Klibansky [1982], pp. 21–22). As Saint Jerome remarks in the late-
fourth or early-fifth century, in his Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians, “How many
people know Plato’s books, or his name? Idle old men on the corners hardly recall him”
(Migne [1844–64], vol. 26, col. 401B).
This state of affairs lasted until the Renaissance, when Marsilio Ficino (1433–99) translated
and commented on the complete works of Plato. Thus, except for roughly the first half of
the Timaeus, the Middle Ages did not know the actual texts of Plato.
As for Plotinus, matters were even worse. His Enneads (the collection of his writings) were
almost completely unavailable. Marius Victorinus is said to have translated some of
the Enneads into Latin in the fourth century, but his translation, if in fact it really existed,
seems to have been lost soon afterwards.[10]
For Aristotle, the Middle Ages were in somewhat better shape. Marius Victorinus translated
the Categories and On Interpretation. A little over a century later, the logical works in
general, except perhaps for the Posterior Analytics, were translated by Boethius, c. 510–12,
but only his translations of the Categories and On Interpretation ever got into general
circulation before the twelfth century. The rest of Aristotle was eventually translated into
Latin, but only much later, from about the middle of the twelfth century. First there came the
rest of the logical works, and then the Physics, the Metaphysics, and so on. Essentially all the
works had been translated by the middle of the thirteenth century (Dod [1982]). This
“recovery” of Aristotle in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was a momentous event in the
history of medieval philosophy.
Still, while it is important to emphasize this absence of primary texts of Greek philosophy in
the Latin Middle Ages, it is also important to recognize that the medievals knew a good deal
about Greek philosophy anyway. They got their information from (1) some of the Latin
patristic authors, like Tertullian, Ambrose, and Boethius, who wrote before the knowledge of
Greek effectively disappeared in the West, and who often discuss classical Greek doctrines in
some detail; and (2) certain Latin pagan authors such as Cicero and Seneca, who give us (and
gave the medievals) a great deal of information about Greek philosophy.
During the first part of the Middle Ages, Platonic and neo-Platonic influences dominated
philosophical thinking. “Plato himself does not appear at all, but Platonism is everywhere,”
as Gilson has said. (Gilson [1955], p. 144.[11]) This situation prevailed until the recovery of
Aristotle in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Hence, even though it is sometimes still
done, it is quite wrong to think of medieval philosophy as mainly just a matter of warmed-
over commentaries on Aristotle. For most of the Middle Ages by far, Aristotle was of
decidedly secondary importance. This of course is not to deny that when Aristotle did come
to dominate, he was very dominant indeed and his influence was immense.

4. From the Patristic Period to the Mid-Twelfth

Century
“Patrology” or “patristics” is the study of the so called “Fathers (patres) of the Church.” In
this sense, ‘fathers’ does not mean priests, although of course many patristic
authors were priests. Neither does it does mean “fathers” in the sense of “founding fathers,”
although many patristic authors were likewise foundational for everything that came
afterward. Rather ‘fathers’ in this sense means “teachers.” See, for example, St. Paul: “For
though you might have ten thousand guardians in Christ, you do not have many fathers.
Indeed, in Christ Jesus I became your father through the gospel” (1 Cor. 4:15 [NRSV]). In
early Christian usage, the term ‘father’ was applied primarily to the bishop, who had
preeminent teaching authority within the Church. But gradually the word was extended until,
much later, it came to include all early Christian writers who were taken to represent the
authentic tradition of the Church (Quasten [1950–86], I, p. 9). The patristic period is
generally taken to extend from the immediately post-Apostolic authors to either Gregory the
Great (d. 604) or Isidore of Seville (d. 636) in the Latin West, and to John of Damascus (d.
749) in the Greek East (Quasten [1950–86], I, 1).

4.1 Augustine
By no means all patristic authors are of philosophical significance, but many of them
definitely are. By far the most important is Saint Augustine (354–430) (see the entry on Saint
Augustine). Augustine is certainly the most important and influential philosopher of the
Middle Ages, and one of the most influential philosophers of any time: [12]
His authority has been felt much more broadly, and for a much longer time, than Aristotle’s,
whose role in the Middle Ages was comparatively minor until rather late. As for Plato, for a
long time much of his influence was felt mainly through the writings of Augustine. For more
than a millennium after his death, Augustine was an authority who simply had to be
accommodated. He shaped medieval thought as no one else did. Moreover, his influence did
not end with the Middle Ages. Throughout the Reformation, appeals to Augustine’s authority
were commonplace on all sides. His theory of illumination lives on in Malebranche and in
Descartes’s “light of nature.” His approach to the problem of evil and to human free will is
still widely held today. His force was and is still felt not just in philosophy but also in
theology, popular religion, and political thought, for example in the theory of the just war.
(Spade [1994], pp. 57–58)
Yet despite his philosophical preeminence, Augustine was not, and did not think of himself
as, a philosopher either by training or by profession. By training he was a rhetorician, by
profession first a rhetorician and teacher of rhetoric, then later Bishop of Hippo (modern
Annaba, or French Bône, in what is now northeast Algeria), where his concerns were
pastoral and theological. As a result, few of his writings contain what we would think of as
purely philosophical discussions.[13] What we find instead in Augustine is a man who is a
“philosopher” in the original, etymological sense, a “lover a wisdom,” one who
is searching for it rather than one who writes as if he has found it and is now presenting it to
us in systematic, argumentative form.

4.2 Boethius
After Augustine, the first thinker of philosophical note was Boethius (c. 480–524/525) (see
the entry on Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius). Boethius is no doubt best known today
for The Consolation of Philosophy, a dialogue in five books between Boethius and “Lady
Philosophy,” an allegorical figure who appears to him in a vision while he is languishing in
jail under sentence of death for treason. Boethius had occupied a high station in society and
government. He was born into a family with an excellent old Roman pedigree, and rose to a
position of immense power and influence in the Ostrogothic kingdom under Theodoric.
Although for a while he was conspicuously successful, he nevertheless eventually fell into
disfavor, was charged with treasonable conspiracy having to do with the Emperor Justin in
Constantinople (Boethius claims he was innocent), was arrested and finally executed. [14] In
the Consolation, Boethius and Lady Philosophy discuss the problem of evil and the
fickleness of fortune—a particularly pressing issue for Boethius, given the circumstances
under which the work was written.
But although the Consolation is justly famous, both in our own day and in the Middle Ages,
Boethius’s long-term importance probably rests more on his translations and commentary
activity. For Boethius was well educated, and was one of the increasingly rare people in the
West who knew Greek well, not just the language but the intellectual culture. He came up
with the lofty goal to translate Plato and Aristotle into Latin, write commentaries on the
whole of that material, and then write another work to show that Plato and Aristotle
essentially said the same thing:
If the more powerful favor of divinity grants it to me, this is [my] firm purpose: Although
those people were very great talents whose labor and study translated into the Latin tongue
much of what we are now treating, nevertheless they did not bring it into any kind of order or
shape or in its arrangement to the level of the [scholarly] disciplines. [Hence I propose] that I
turn all of Aristotle’s work—[or] whatever [of it] comes into my hands—into the Latin style
and write commentaries in the Latin language on all of it, so that if anything of the subtlety
of the logical art was written down by Aristotle, of the weightiness of moral knowledge, of
the cleverness of the truth of physical matters, I will translate it and even illuminate it with a
kind of “light” of commentary. [Then,] translating all of Plato’s dialogues or even
commenting [on them], I will bring them into Latin form. Once all this is done, I will not fail
to bring the views of Aristotle and Plato together into a kind of harmony and show that they
do not, as most people [think], disagree about everything but rather agree on most things,
especially in philosophy. (Boethius [1880], pp. 79. 9–80.6 [my translation])
No doubt this plan would have proved unmanageable even if Boethius had not been executed
in his mid-forties. In particular, while the Consolation certainly shows a knowledge of
the Timaeus, Boethius does not appear to have actually translated any Plato at all, despite his
intentions. He did, however, translate Aristotle’s Categories and On Interpretation, together
with Porphyry of Tyre’s Isagoge, a kind of “introduction” to Aristotle’s Categories.[15] He
also appears to have translated the other works in Aristotle’s Organon (except perhaps for
the Posterior Analytics, about which there is some doubt), but the fate of those translations is
obscure; they did not circulate widely until much later (Dod [1982], pp. 53–54).
In addition to his translations, Boethius wrote a number of logical treatises of his own. These
are, first of all, a commentary on Aristotle’s Topics, which is no longer extant. Whether or
not he translated the Posterior Analytics, there may have been a commentary on it, but if so it
has not survived and did not have any influence (Ebbesen [1973]). The same goes for a
possible (incomplete) commentary on the Prior Analytics (Obertello [1974], I, pp. 230–32).
More important were a series of commentaries (one on the Categories, two each on On
Interpretation and on Porphyry’s Isagoge, and one on Cicero’s Topics) (see the entry
on medieval theories of categories), together with several other works on categorical and
hypothetical syllogisms, logical “division,” and on the differences between Aristotle’s and
Cicero’s Topics (Chadwick [1981], Gibson [1981], Obertello [1974]). Together all these
logical writings, both the translations and the others, constitute what later came to be called
the “Old Logic” (= logica vetus). Some of the works were more influential than others. But
basically, everything the Middle Ages knew about logic up to the middle of the twelfth
century was contained in these books. As a result, Boethius is one of the main sources for the
transmission of ancient Greek philosophy to the Latin West during the first half of the
Middle Ages.
Boethius is also important for having introduced the famous “problem of universals” in the
form in which it was mainly discussed throughout the Middle Ages (see the entry on the
medieval problem of universals).
He also proved to be influential in the twelfth century and afterwards for the metaphysical
views contained in a series of short studies known collectively as the Theological Tractates.

4.3 The Carolingian Period

After Boethius, as the classical Greco-Roman world grew ever more distant, philosophy—
and to some extent culture generally—entered a period of relative stagnation, a period that
lasted until after the year 1000. There was one short-lived bright spot, however, the late-
eighth and early-ninth century court of Charlemagne (768–814) and his successors, the so
called “Carolingian” period. The major philosophical figure in this period was John Scottus
Eriugena[16] (c. 800–c. 877), an Irish monk who was at the court of Charles the Bald around
850 (see the entry on John Scottus Eriugena). Curiously, the knowledge of Greek was still
not quite dead in Ireland even at this late date, and Eriugena brought a knowledge of the
language with him. At the Carolingian court, Eriugena translated several Greek works into
Latin, including the very important writings of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite (more on
him below), a work by Maximus Confessor (also known as Maximus of Constantinople, c.
580–662), and Gregory of Nyssa’s (died c. 385) On the Making of Man (= De hominis
opificio). Eriugena also wrote several other works of his own.
Among his translations, the writings of Pseudo-Dionysius are surely the most important and
influential (see the entry on Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite).[17] The true identity of the
man we call “Pseudo-Dionysius” is unknown, but he lived probably in the late-fifth century,
somewhere in the Greek-speaking near East, and was very much influenced by the late neo-
Platonist Proclus. Whoever he was, he claimed to be a certain Dionysius who is reported to
have been among the philosophers on the Areopagus in Athens when St. Paul went there to
preach (Acts 17:19–34). Most of the audience on that occasion laughed at Paul and his novel
doctrines.
But some of them joined him and became believers, including Dionysius the Areopagite and
a woman named Damaris, and others with them. (Acts 17:34)
Damaris and the “others” have disappeared without a trace, but our unknown later
author pretends to be the Dionysius mentioned in this passage.
The Pseudo-Dionysian writings consist of four treatises and a series of ten letters. The most
philosophically important of them are the two treatises On the Divine Names and On
Mystical Theology. Through them the Latin West was introduced to what is sometimes called
“darkness mysticism,” the tradition that interprets mystical experience not in terms of an
“intellectual vision” (compare Plato’s Allegory of the Cave, where the Form of the Good is
described as the dazzling sun), but in terms of the will rather than the intellect, darkness
rather than light. (Compare later mystical expressions such as “dark night of the soul,”
“cloud of unknowing.”)
It is also mainly through these two treatises that medieval philosophy got the still familiar
view that there are three ways of talking about God, by trying to say what he is like (the via
affirmativa), by saying instead what he is not (the via negativa), and by a kind of
“combined” way that speaks of God with affirmative predicates, but with some kind of mark
of superexcellence (the via eminentiae, “God is more than good, more than wise.”).
Among Eriugena’s own writings, the two most important ones were surely On the Division
of Nature (= De divisione naturae or, under a Greek title, Periphyseon) and On
Predestination (= De praedestinatione), both very strongly influenced by the neo-Platonic
texts Eriugena was translating. Both works were condemned, On Predestination soon after it
was written. On the Division of Nature is a large, systematic work in four books, presenting a
vision of reality in strongly neo-Platonic terms. The unfamiliarity of this kind of thinking in
Western Christendom, which was strongly influenced by Augustine, no doubt contributed to
his later reputation of being a heretic.

4.4 Anselm of Canterbury

After its brief “renaissance” during the Carolingian period, education and culture declined
once again for roughly another 200 years. Then, shortly after the turn of the millennium,
things began to revive. The Germanic “barbarian” tribes that had so disturbed the late Roman
empire had long since settled down, and the later Viking raiders had by this time become
respectable “Normans.” Trade began to revive, travel became relatively safe again, at least
compared to what it had been, new cities began to emerge, and along with them new social
arrangements began to develop. Education was part of this general revival, and with it
philosophy. The major medieval philosophers before the year 1000 are probably fewer than
five in number (depending on how generously one wants to take the word ‘major’). But after
1000 their numbers grow exponentially. It is no longer possible to treat them individually in
chronological order; indeed, it is difficult to keep track of them all. As time goes on, the
complications and the numbers only increase.
Simultaneously, philosophy becomes increasingly technical and “academic.” Anselm of
Canterbury (1033–1109) represents a major transitional figure (see the entry on Saint
Anselm). His writings are not yet laden with the technicalities and jargon that make so much
later medieval philosophy formidable and inaccessible to the non-specialist. And yet his
writings are philosophically “argumentative” in a way much earlier medieval philosophy is
not and that looks much more familiar to present-day readers.
Anselm is no doubt best known as the originator of the famous “ontological argument” for
the existence of God.[18] But he wrote much else besides, on many philosophical and
theological topics. His writings abound in subtle and sophisticated reasoning; indeed, they
illustrate the increasing role of “dialectic” in philosophy and theology. In Anselm’s hands,
theology begins to develop into an argumentative discipline, less exclusively a matter of
“scripture studies” and spirituality and increasingly a matter of systematic exploration and
presentation of doctrine. This development grows even more pronounced after Anselm.

4.5 Peter Abelard

By the early twelfth century, the revival of education that had begun shortly after the
millennium was in full swing. During the first half of the century, the most important
philosopher by far was undoubtedly Peter Abelard (1079–1142) (see the entry on Peter
Abelard). He was also one of the most colorful figures in the entire history of philosophy.
His affair with Héloise and his consequent castration are the stuff of legend, and his
controversy with the much more traditional Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153) has only
enhanced his reputation among those who have viewed him (with considerable
oversimplification) as a champion of reason over authority. His autobiographical Story of My
Adversities (= Historia calamitatum) is a “good read” even today, and is one of the most
intensely personal documents of the Middle Ages. [19]
Abelard represents the full flower of “early medieval philosophy,” just before the new
translations of Aristotle and others transform everything. It is important to realize that,
except for the works of Pseudo-Dionysius, which do not appear to have had an important
role in Abelard’s thinking, he had access to no more of the original sources of philosophy in
the ancient world than anyone else in Europe had had since the time of Boethius. Yet his
philosophy is strikingly original. His views on logic and what we would call philosophy of
language are sophisticated and novel; indeed, he is a serious contender for the title of the
greatest logician of the entire medieval period, early or late. He is one of the first
nominalists, and certainly the first important one. His writings on ethics put a new and very
strong emphasis on the role of the agent’s intention rather than exterior actions. He also
wrote on theological topics such as Trinity.
Abelard’s writings further amplify the tendency, already seen in Anselm, to increase the use
of reasoning and argumentation in theology. But whereas Anselm had managed to deflect
criticisms of this new approach in theology, Abelard’s disputatious personality alarmed those
who were more comfortable with the older style. He was subject to ecclesiastical censure
during his lifetime, a fact that no doubt contributes to the relatively few explicit citations of
him in the later Middle Ages. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that his influence was
widespread.

4.6 General Characteristics of This Early Period

Throughout this early medieval period, we find many writers, usually of a broadly “Platonic”
persuasion, who deal with philosophical topics in an unsystematic but far from shallow way
that does not clearly distinguish philosophy from theology, or for that matter from “wisdom
literature” generally. Frequently their views are presented by arguments that amount to an
appeal to a “vision” of how things are (“Look, don’t you see?”). [20] This is simply a general
although not universal observation about these authors, and should not be regarded as a
philosophical limitation or defect. After all, some of the world’s most important philosophy
has been presented in such a “visionary” way. Consider the role of “intuition” in twentieth-
century phenomenology, for example, not to mention Parmenides’s poem (where the
philosophy is presented by a goddess) and much of Plato’s philosophy, including the
Allegory of the Cave.
There are many exceptions to this generalization. Boethius’s logical commentaries, for
example, are purely philosophical and frequently genuinely argumentative, even if they are
often obscure and inaccessible to modern readers. Eriugena’s On the Division of Nature,
while definitely “visionary,” is nevertheless quite systematic in its structure. And by the time
of Anselm, the role of logical argumentation is beginning to grow. Certainly for Abelard the
above generalization fails entirely.
Nevertheless, a big change is about to occur. Prior to Abelard, philosophy in the Middle
Ages had not been an exclusively academic affair. It had been addressed for the most part to
any well educated reader interested in the topics being discussed. Boethius’s Consolation, for
instance, or almost any of Augustine’s or Anselm’s writings, could profitably be read by any
literate person. Soon, however, this all changes. Philosophy becomes an increasingly
specialized discipline, pursued by and for those whose livelihood is found only in
educational institutions. Philosophy and theology become more clearly distinguished from
one another; both become more systematic, rigorous and precise. These virtues are
accompanied by an increasingly technical jargon, which makes so much late-medieval
philosophy intimidating and formidable to non-specialist readers. By the same token, this
increasing technicality diminishes the overall sense of moral urgency one finds for example
in Augustine’s Confessions or Boethius’s Consolation.
As with the previous generalization, this one should not be regarded as a philosophical fault
of the later authors; it is simply a different way of doing philosophy. As David Hume knew,
there are two styles of philosophy, each with its own advantages (An Enquiry Concerning
Human Understanding, § 1). What we see in passing from the earlier to the later Middle
Ages is a transition from one to the other.

5. The Twelfth Century and the Rise of Universities

5.1 New Translations[21]
As part of the cultural revival described above, and from the late-eleventh century on, there
was a new and increasing interest in having translations of previously unavailable texts, not
all of them philosophical by any means. No doubt this new interest was prompted in part by
Western Europe’s exposure to the Greek and Islamic world during the First Crusade
(beginning in 1095). But, for whatever reason, new translations soon began to appear from:
  Sicily, which was at this time a melting-pot of Latins, Greeks, Jews, and Muslims.
Euclid and Ptolemy were translated there, as well as other mathematical and medical
works.
 Constantinople. A few Western scholars journeyed to Constantinople, notably one
James of Venice in roughly the late 1120s, an important translator of Aristotle’s
logical and other writings. Nevertheless, political tensions between the West and
Constantinople at this time guaranteed that such contact was not widespread (see the
entry on Byzantine philosophy).
 Spain. An extremely important school of translators emerged at Toledo, under the
direction of Archbishop Raymond (d. 1151, although the school survived him). They
included, among others:
o John of Spain (Johannes Hispanus) who translated, among other things, the
immensely important Muslim philosopher Avicenna’s (Ibn Sina, 980–
1037) Logic from Arabic into Latin.
o Dominic Gundissalinus (or Gundisalvi, an old form of “Gonzales,” fl. late-
twelfth century). Gundissalinus translated Avicenna’s Metaphysics, part of
his Physics, and some of his other works, as well as writings by the Islamic
philosophers Al-Farabi (c. 870–950) and Al-Ghazali (1058–1111). Together
with John of Spain, Gundissalinus translated Solomon Ibn Gabirol’s (c. 1022–
c. 1058/c.1070) Fountain of Life (= Fons vitae). Ibn Gabirol (in Latin,
Avicebron, Avencebrol, etc.) was an Iberian Jewish author whose Fountain of
Life was written in Arabic. It presents a systematic neo-Platonic view of the
cosmos. In addition to these translations, Gundissalinus was also the author of
some original philosophical works of his own.
o Gerard of Cremona (d. 1187). Gerard began work at Toledo in 1134. He
translated Aristotle’s Posterior Analytics, together with Themistius’s
commentary on it, Aristotle’s Physics, On the Heavens, On Generation and
Corruption, and parts of his Meteorology, the Muslim Al-Kindi’s (d. 873)
important On the Intellect and other works of his. Gerard also translated the
very important Book of Causes (= Liber de causis), falsely attributed to
Aristotle although the work is in fact based on certain theses extracted from
Proclus’s Elements of Theology.
The Spanish translators worked from Arabic texts. In the case of Aristotle, they used Arabic
translations of Aristotle’s Greek, sometimes with an earlier Syriac link in between. After
such a circuitous route, it is no less than amazing that the Latin Europeans were able to
understand anything at all of these newly available Aristotelian works. Eventually the
extensive and thorough commentaries by the Moorish Ibn Rushd (in Latin, Averroes, 1126–
98) were translated from Arabic as well. These commentaries were extremely important in
shaping the late medieval understanding of Aristotle, although some of the views contained
in them became highly controversial.
By the end of the twelfth century, almost all of Aristotle’s works available today had been
translated into Latin and, together with the commentaries and other newly translated texts,
gradually began to circulate. By the mid-thirteenth century, they were widely known. The
first things to spread were the remaining logical writings of Aristotle’s Organon, those not
already widely known from Boethius’s translations some six hundred years previously.
These new logical writings, as distinct from the “Old Logic” (= Logica vetus) stemming from
Boethius, became known collectively as the “New Logic” (= Logica nova). After them,
the Physics, Metaphysics and other Aristotelian writings gradually became known.
This relatively sudden injection of so much new and unfamiliar material into Western Europe
was a stunning shock, nothing less than revolutionary. It was no longer possible for
philosophers and theologians to regard their task as simply one of deepening and elaborating
traditional views that had come mainly from the Church Fathers and other familiar and
approved authorities. It was now a matter of dealing with an entirely unfamiliar framework,
with new ideas, accompanied by powerful arguments for them, some of which ideas were
plainly unacceptable to a Christian—for example, Aristotle’s rejection of anything like
divine providence, and his views on the eternity of the world (see the entry on William of
Auvergne).

5.2 New Forms of Education

As part of the revival that began after the turn of the millennium, new forms of education
began to emerge in Western Europe. In general, we may distinguish four main types of
educational practices in the Middle Ages:[22]
 Monastic schools. These were schools that had been regularly associated with
monasteries ever since the sixth century. Much of Anselm’s most important work, for
instance, including the Proslogion containing his “ontological argument,” was penned
at the monastic school of Bec in Normandy. Abelard in his Story of My
Adversities describes how, at least according to Abelard’s telling, his teacher William
of Champeaux (c. 1070–1121) was driven out of Paris by Abelard’s superior
dialectical skills and retired to the abbey of Saint Victor, where he “founded” (or at
least reorganized) what came to be known as the School of Saint Victor. This was
another one of these monastic schools. The masters of this school became quite well
known in their own right in the later-twelfth century. They are collectively known as
the “Victorines.” The most important of them are:
o Hugh of St. Victor (c. 1096–1141), the author of a Didascalicon on the various
liberal arts. Hugh was also a theologian and theorist of mysticism.
 o Richard of St. Victor (c. 1123–73), who succeeded Hugh as master of the
school. Richard, like Hugh, was a theorist of mysticism. He also wrote an
important treatise on the doctrine of the Trinity, the first serious alternative to
Augustine’s approach in the latter’s own On the Trinity. Unlike Hugh, Richard
was much more favorably disposed toward the new use of dialectic or logic in
theology. He is said to have written a treatise of his own on logic but it does
not appear to have survived.
 Individual “masters.” Beginning in the mid-eleventh century, individual scholars
would occasionally set up a “school” of their own and gather students around them.
Such schools were sometimes itinerant, and depended entirely on the appeal of the
teaching “master.” Perhaps the closest analogue to this arrangement would be the
modern “martial arts” schools one often finds in present-day cities. The practice
declined after c. 1150. Abelard conducted such a “school” at Melun in the very early
eleventh century, and seems earlier to have attended a similar “school” conducted by
a certain Roscelin (c. 1045–c. 1120), a controversial nominalist whose writings have
mostly not survived, but who had in effect been accused by Anselm of out-and-out
tritheism on the doctrine of the Trinity.
 Cathedral schools. These were schools associated with the official church of a
bishop, and played a role similar to that of the monastic schools for monasteries: they
trained young clerics and occasionally others as well. Before William of Champeaux
left Paris as the result of Abelard’s criticisms of his views, he had been teaching at the
cathedral school of Paris (see the entry on William of Champeaux). The so-called
“School of Chartres” may likewise have been such a cathedral school. [23] The scholars
there were especially interested in that portion of Plato’s Timaeus that was circulating
in Calcidius’s translation (see above), and in the metaphysical implications of
Boethius’s Theological Tractates. Important figures associated with the School of
Chartres include Bernard of Chartres (died c. 1130), Thierry (= Theodoric) of
Chartres (died c. 1150), and Gilbert of Poitiers (= Gilbert de la Porrée, Gilbertus
Porreta, c. 1085–1154). John of Salisbury’s (c. 1115–80) Metalogicon is an
invaluable source of information about all these and many other thinkers from the
first half of the twelfth century (John of Salisbury [1955]; see John of Salisbury).
[24]
 Cathedral schools flourished c. 1050–c. 1150.
 Universities. Parliament and the “university” are arguably the two great medieval
institutions that have survived more or less intact to the present day. (The Church may
be counted as a conspicuous third, depending on one’s views about the Reformation
and Counter-Reformation.) Frequently, universities grew out of cathedral schools.
Thus, the cathedral school at Paris developed by the early-thirteenth century into the
University of Paris. An important cathedral school drew students from all over
 Europe. Such a school became known as a studium generale. Some of these studia
generalia survived and became known as “universities.” At first, the term
‘universitas’ referred simply to the “entirety” or “universality” of scholars, both
faculty and students, associated with the school. As the term gradually came to be
used, a “university” was one of these major, international schools that was
distinguished from others by its possessing an official charter (granted by a royal or
ecclesiastical authority), a set of statutes, and an established form of governing itself.
The University of Paris was the premier university in Europe in the thirteenth century. Its
statutes were officially approved by the papal legate Robert de Courçon in 1215. The official
founding of the University is usually put at this date, although it is clear that the statutes
existed earlier. Oxford and Cambridge also date from the early-thirteenth century, although
their period of greatest vigor in the Middle Ages came in the late-thirteenth and early-
fourteenth century. Toulouse was founded in 1229 by papal charter. Salamanca was founded
by royal charter in 1200. There were also universities in Italy; indeed, Bologna was the first
university in all of Europe, and had the peculiarity of being a student-run university.
Universities were divided into “faculties.” The four most common ones were the faculties of
arts, law, medicine, and theology. Most universities had arts faculties, in addition to one or
more of the others. The arts faculty was for the basic training of students, before they
proceeded to one of the “higher” faculties. In effect, the arts faculty was the equivalent of the
modern undergraduate program. As for the “higher” faculties, Bologna was primarily a
university for the study of law. Others were best known for medicine. Paris had all four
faculties, but the faculty of theology was considered the highest of the four.
In the medieval university, philosophy was cultivated first and foremost in the arts faculty.
When the newly translated works of Aristotle first appeared at the University of Paris, for
instance, it was in the faculty of arts. The works were clearly not law or medicine. (Some of
them might be stretched a bit to count as medicine, but these were not the ones that were
influential first.) Neither were they theology in the traditional sense of “Sacred Doctrine,”
although some of Aristotle’s writings had important consequences for theology. Some of
these consequences were thought to be dangerous for Christian doctrine, and they were. In
1210, a provincial synod at Paris ruled that Aristotle’s “natural theology” could not be “read”
in the faculty of arts at Paris. To “read” in this context means to “lecture on.” It did not mean
that students and masters couldn’t study and discuss these works in private. In 1215, when
Robert de Courçon approved the statutes of the University of Paris, one of them forbade the
arts masters from lecturing on Aristotelian metaphysics and natural science. In 1231, Pope
Gregory IX ordered that the works prohibited in 1210 not be used until they could be
examined by a theological commission to remove any errors. In 1245, Innocent IV extended
the prohibitions of 1210 and 1215 to the University of Toulouse. Despite these bans, study
and discussion of Aristotle could not be stopped. By the 1250s, people were openly lecturing
on everything they had of Aristotle’s.
Why were these prohibitions issued? In part it was out of a genuine concern for the purity of
the faith. Aristotelianism was thought, and rightly so, to be theologically suspect. Besides,
European academics were just getting acquainted with most of Aristotle, and at this early
stage of their acquaintance they weren’t altogether sure just what he meant and what the
implications were. A “go slow” approach was not an altogether unreasonable course of
action to adopt. On the other hand, it cannot be denied that some of the basis for the
prohibitions was simply a resistance to new ideas.

6. The Thirteenth Century and Later

By their very nature, universities brought together masters and students from all over Europe
and put them in close proximity. Not surprisingly, the result was a “boom” in academic
study, including philosophy. Already in the twelfth century, and certainly by the early-
thirteenth, it is futile even to attempt anything like a sequential narrative of the history of
medieval philosophy. Instead, the remainder of this article will mention only a few of the
major figures and describe some of the main topics that were discussed throughout the
medieval period. For a more complete picture, readers should consult any of the general
histories in the Bibliography below, and for details on individual authors and topics
the Related Entries in this Encyclopedia, listed below.
Histories of medieval philosophy often treat Thomas Aquinas (1224/25–74), John Duns
Scotus (c. 1265–1308), and William of Ockham (c. 1287–1347) as the “big three” figures in
the later medieval period; a few add Bonaventure (1221–74) as a fourth. Although there is
certainly ample justification for giving special emphasis to these authors, it would be
misleading if one thought one could get even a fair overall picture from them alone.
Nevertheless, the list is instructive and illustrates several things.
First of all, not one of these three or four authors was French. Aquinas and Bonaventure were
Italian, Scotus—as his name implies—was a Scot, and Ockham was English. All but
Ockham spent at least part of their careers at the University of Paris. This illustrates both the
preeminence of the University of Paris in the thirteenth century and the increasing
internationalization of education in the later Middle Ages in general. But it also illustrates
another odd fact: the relative absence of Frenchmen as major players on the philosophical
scene during this period, even at the premier university in France. There are certainly notable
exceptions to this perhaps contentious observation (see for example the entries on Peter
Auriol, John Buridan, Godfrey of Fontaines, Nicholas of Autrecourt, Peter John Olivi, Philip
the Chancellor, and William of Auvergne), but with the arguable exception of Buridan,
surely none of them is of the stature of the four mentioned above.
The fact that Buridan has not been generally acknowledged in the same rank as the four
“greats,” even though he is certainly a formidable contender, points to an important feature
of the twentieth-century historiography of later medieval philosophy. Buridan was what is
known as a “secular master.” That is, although he was a priest, he did not belong to any of
the religious “orders.”[25] Beginning in the early-thirteenth century, several new orders were
founded, notably the Franciscans (1209) and the Dominicans (1216), both of which became
very prominent in late medieval universities. Aquinas was a Dominican, while Bonaventure,
Scotus, and Ockham were Franciscans.
Religious orders tend to keep good records, including the writings of their members, so that
historians of medieval philosophy typically have more material to work with for authors in
the various orders than they do for “secular” figures like Buridan. Besides, other things being
equal, orders understandably prefer to “champion their own” in academic as in other matters,
and when the academic champion comes relatively early in the history of his order, he can
come to be regarded as representing the order’s authentic “position,” thereby influencing the
views of later members of the order.[26] In this way, Aquinas soon became the semi-“official”
philosopher and theologian of the Dominicans, a status that was enhanced in 1879 in Pope
Leo XIII’s encyclical Aeterni Patris, which called Aquinas “the chief and master of all the
scholastic doctors,” and urged that preference be given to Thomistic doctrine in Catholic
schools (see the entry on Saint Thomas Aquinas). As a result, Aquinas enjoyed a far greater
authority in the late-nineteenth and the first half of the twentieth century than perhaps he ever
did in the Middle Ages. To some extent, Bonaventure likewise came to be regarded as
representing typically Franciscan views (see the entry on Saint Bonaventure), and later on
Scotus was highly respected and often favored among the Franciscans (see the entry on John
Duns Scotus). Ockham is a special case. He was a controversial figure, mainly because of
political disputes with the Pope that embroiled his later life (see the entry on William of
Ockham). Nevertheless, as one of their own, the Franciscans have always been interested in
him and in his writings.
The upshot of all this is that major late medieval philosophers, like Buridan, who did not
belong to a religious order have often suffered from neglect in standard histories of medieval
philosophy, at least until fairly recently. Another neglected secular master was Henry of
Ghent, a very important late-thirteenth century figure who has turned out to be crucial for
understanding much of Duns Scotus, but whose views have only in the last few decades
begun to be seriously studied (see the entry on Henry of Ghent).
For that matter, even many important and influential late medieval philosophers who did
belong to religious orders are still virtually unknown or at least woefully understudied today,
despite the labors of generations of scholars. Their works have never been printed and exist
only in handwritten manuscripts, written in a devilishly obscure system of abbreviation it
takes special training to decode. It is probably safe to say that for no other period in the
history of European philosophy does so much basic groundwork remain to be done.

7. Some Main Topics in Medieval Philosophy

Medieval philosophy included all the main areas we think of as part of philosophy today.
Nevertheless, certain topics stand out as worthy of special mention. To begin with, it is only
a slight exaggeration to say that medieval philosophy invented the philosophy of religion. To
be sure, ancient pagan philosophers sometimes talked about the nature of the gods. But a
whole host of traditional problems in the philosophy of religion first took on in the Middle
Ages the forms in which we still often discuss them today:

 The problem of the compatibility of the divine attributes.

 The problem of evil. Ancient philosophy had speculated on evil, but the particularly
pressing form the problem takes on in Christianity, where an omniscient, omnipotent,
and benevolent God freely created absolutely everything besides himself, first
emerged in the Middle Ages.
 The problem of the compatibility of divine foreknowledge with human free will.
Many medieval authors appealed to human free will in their response to the problem
of evil, so that it was especially important to find some way to reconcile our free will
with divine foreknowledge (see the entry on medieval theories of future contingents).
As for logic, the great historian of logic I. M. Bocheński ([1961], pp. 10–18) remarked that
the later Middle Ages was—along with the ancient period from roughly 350–200 BCE and
the recent period from Boole and Peano on—one of the three great, original periods in the
history of logic. Although we have learned much about the history of logic since Bocheński
wrote, and although we can find individual notable figures in logic who fall outside any of
his three great periods, his observation is still by and large correct. From the time of Abelard
through at least the middle of the fourteenth century, if not later, the peculiarly medieval
contributions to logic were developed and cultivated to a very high degree. It was no longer a
matter of interpreting Aristotle, or commenting on the works of the “Old Logic” or the “New
Logic”; wholly new genres of logical writing sprang up, and entirely new logical and
semantic notions were developed. For logical developments in the Middle Ages, see the
articles insolubles, literary forms of medieval philosophy, medieval theories of
categories, medieval semiotics, medieval theories of analogy, medieval theories of
demonstration, medieval theories of modality, medieval theories of  Obligationes, medieval
theories: properties of terms, medieval theories of singular terms, medieval theories of the
syllogism, and sophismata. For information on some contributors to medieval logic, see the
articles Albert of Saxony, Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius, John Buridan, John
Wyclif, Johannes Sharpe, Paul of Venice, Peter Abelard, Peter of Spain, Richard
Kilvington, Richard the Sophister, Roger Bacon, Thomas of Erfurt, Walter Burley, William
Heytesbury, and William of Ockham.
In metaphysics, the Middle Ages has a well deserved reputation for philosophical excellence.
The problem of universals, for example, was one of the topics that were discussed at this
time with a level of precision and rigor it would be hard to find matched before or since. But
it was by no means the only such question. For some of the main topics in metaphysics on
which medieval philosophers sharpened their wits, see the articles binarium
famosissimum, existence, medieval mereology, the medieval problem of universals, medieval
theories of causality, medieval theories of haecceity, and medieval theories of relations. For
some important contributors to medieval metaphysics, see the articles John Buridan, John
Duns Scotus, John Wyclif, Saint Augustine, Saint Thomas Aquinas, and William of Ockham.
In natural philosophy and philosophy of science, medieval philosophy was of course very
strongly—but not exclusively—influenced by Aristotle. See, for example, the
articles medieval theories of causality and Saint Thomas Aquinas. Particularly from the
fourteenth century on, the increasing use of mathematical reasoning in natural philosophy
would eventually pave the way for the rise of early modern science later on. Important
figures in this development include William Heytesbury and William of Ockham. Other
important contributors to medieval natural philosophy include Albert of Saxony, Dietrich of
Freiberg, John Buridan, Nicholas of Autrecourt, Nicole Oresme, Robert Grosseteste,
and William Crathorn.
Medieval epistemology was not, with some noteworthy exceptions, particularly worried over
the problem of skepticism, over whether we have genuine knowledge (see the entry
on medieval skepticism). The tendency was to take it for granted that we do, and instead to
ask about how this comes about: what are the mechanisms of cognition, concept formation,
etc. Medieval epistemology, therefore, typically shades into what we would nowadays call
philosophical psychology or philosophy of mind; after the recovery of Aristotle’s On the
Soul, it was regarded as a branch of the philosophy of nature. For some of the important
topics discussed in the area of medieval epistemology, see the entries divine illumination,
medieval theories of demonstration, and mental representation in medieval philosophy. For
some important medieval authors in this area, see the entries on John Buridan, John Duns
Scotus, Nicholas of Autrecourt, Saint Augustine, Saint Thomas, Walter Chatton,
and William of Ockham.
For details on some important developments in medieval ethics, see the entries on medieval
theories of conscience, medieval theories of practical reason, and the natural law tradition in
ethics. For some of the major contributors to medieval ethics, see the articles John Duns
Scotus, Peter Abelard, Peter of Spain Saint Anselm, Saint Augustine, Saint Thomas
Aquinas and William of Ockham, elsewhere in this Encyclopedia. For some important
figures in medieval political theory, see the articles Dante Alighieri, John Wyclif, John
Wyclif’s Political Philosophy and William of Ockham.
The above lists of topics and important figures should be regarded as only representative;
they are far from exhaustive.