Huh. Somewhat surprised that in the list of people Roger Bacon approves of (in ch. 28) William of Sherwood is omitted. Bacon said he was "much wiser than Albert [the Great]; for in *philosophia communis* no one is greater than he". High praise indeed.
Oooh, a portion of this chapter focuses on Bacon's semiotics. In the @ArchePhilosophy / @StAndrewsPhil medieval logic reading group we're currently working our way through his De Signis, which has proven to be a v. interesting text.
The claim that Adamson calls "a bit puzzling", viz., that the distance between the existent and the non-existent is infinite, is precisely the bit we've been wrestling with for the last two weeks, and will probably wrestle with again this Friday. "Puzzling" is an understatement.
Moving on to ch. 29 on Bonaventure. I find Bonaventure fascinating for similar reasons I find St Francis fascinating -- they were both big enough "celebrities" in the Middle Ages to leave their mark on naming practices.
Both "Francis" and "Bonaventure" were almost unheard of names before the 13th C, and they rocketed in popularity afterwards, (cf. dmnes.org/name/Bonaventu… and dmnes.org/name/Francis).
Huh. This ch. is questioning the extent to which Dominicans and Franciscans can be opposed to each other in views and methodology, and also the extent to which we can identify Dominicanism with Aristotelianism and Franciscanism with Augustinianism.
It's for things like this that I find reading this book so valuable: My own education in medieval philosophy has been gappy enough that I didn't even know that anyone had made these equations! (This is what comes of reading more primary sources and fewer secondary ones...)
GIRAFFE ALERT, GIRAFFE ALERT! P. 206. It's been 7 chapters since we had a giraffe.
Chapter 30 is on Peter Olivi, whom I've always harbored an irrational dislike of because his name is MESSED UP. Sometimes it's Peter Olivi. Sometimes it's Petrus Olivi. Sometimes it's Peter of John Olivi. Sometimes its Peter John Olivi. No one agrees.
And with the exception of "Petrus Olivi", none of the options make sense, from a linguistic or onomastic point of view -- unless someone wants to tell me where the city "John Olivi" is located!
Hey, I found a gap! Not in the book, but in wikipedia: Adamson says that it was a rivalry with Arnauld Gaillard that prevented Peter from ever taking up an academic position. Gaillard doesn't have a wikipedia page.
There's an interesting epistemological proposal on p. 211: "Having formed the (admittedly rather dubious) belief that it would be a fantastic idea to include the pun in this book..."
There's nothing dubious about this belief at all. Puns are ALWAYS fantastic.
There's nothing dubious about this belief at all. Puns are ALWAYS fantastic.
Ch. 31 is on Franciscan poverty.
I remember being baffled by this idea when I was introduced to it as a child, and for similar reasons to why I was baffled when I was taught the scientific method. I simply couldn't fathom that there was another way of doing things.
I remember being baffled by this idea when I was introduced to it as a child, and for similar reasons to why I was baffled when I was taught the scientific method. I simply couldn't fathom that there was another way of doing things.
Eventually I learned that the scientific method was something that had to be developed, it didn't spring fully formed from Zeus's head.
But why poverty was so problematic in the Middle Ages? No one ever really explained that to me. Looking forward to this chapter.
But why poverty was so problematic in the Middle Ages? No one ever really explained that to me. Looking forward to this chapter.
"The secular masters were also stung by the mendicant's refusal to show solidarity with them, for instance by failing to join in a teaching strike in 1229" (p. 216).
There's something comforting about this, as we gear up for teaching strikes 790 years later.
There's something comforting about this, as we gear up for teaching strikes 790 years later.
*goggle eyes* "But the refusal to own any possessions at all constituted a degradation of the human, who is after all unique among creatures as being fashioned in the image of God" (p. 217) *goggle eyes*
So, uh, being fashioned in the image of God entails we have to own things? Because... God owned things? Err...I don't get how this is supposed to work. Or, because only humans can own things, and humans are Speshul, b/c they are made in the image of God?
This chapter was been way more interesting than it had any right to be. Adamson locates the birth of human rights in the anti-mendicant idea (espoused by, among others, Godfrey of Fontaines) that we, as humans, have certain inalienable rights concerning ownership.
"was been". Gah. I should need tweet while exhausted. But if I waited for a time when I wasn't about to faceplant onto my laptop and dose for an hour or two, I would never tweet again.
GAAAH!! I should NOT tweet....
[please let there be no typos in this tweet, please let there be no typos in this tweet.]
[please let there be no typos in this tweet, please let there be no typos in this tweet.]
One of the most frustrating parts of #ucustrike was not getting to read any more of this book. First of all, it's been really interesting. Second of all, I've been reading it since October and I'm not even half-way through and I really need to pick up the pace!
Ch. 32 is on the beguines, a topic I normally avoid talking about -- not because they aren't fascinating, but because I don't know how to pronounce "beguine".
Thankfully, twitter is a wholly written medium.
Thankfully, twitter is a wholly written medium.
Opening line of the ch.: "By now you probably feel you have a good understanding of what philosophy was like in the thirteenth century."
BWAHAHAHAHAHAH. If only. The more I read, the less I understand. (Not re: this book; but in general.)
BWAHAHAHAHAHAH. If only. The more I read, the less I understand. (Not re: this book; but in general.)
What do you do when you want to have the intellectual space afforded to middle/upper-class white men by universities, but you're a woman?
Form a beguinage!
Form a beguinage!
Onto ch. 33, on Robert Kilwardby. Since day one, he has always occupied the same mental space as Grosseteste -- no matter how often I remind myself that these AREN'T THE SAME PERSON, my brain refuses to comply.
Giraffe alert, giraffe alert!! (p. 230) 
"We may hope for old age to bring wisdom but often as not, it just brings grumpiness (p. 234).
I'm feeling called out here.
I'm feeling called out here.
Oh, oh!! Footnote 17 in chapter 32 has just rocketed to the top of "my favorite endnote" chart! (Much as it pains me -- a hater of endnotes -- to have such a chart.)
(Why?, you ask -- well, if you flip to the back of the book, the referenced cited...was written by me!)
(Why?, you ask -- well, if you flip to the back of the book, the referenced cited...was written by me!)
I need to pick up my pace here! I've read 33 out of 78 chapters. I'd love to get 2-3 chapters a day done until it's finished. Can I? I love me a bit of optimism on a Monday morning...
Chapter 34 is on Albert the Great. Was he a self-educated prodigy? Or an untutored, unlearned man without any linguistic capabilities? Let's find out!
I've read a decent-ish amount of ol' Al, but definitely not much, considered as a percentage of what he wrote. Among other things, I did not know until today that he had an interest in botany, and wrote on the topic.
One thing I've enjoyed about the book is how it puts paid to the idea that the medievals weren't interested in empirical study. Over and over again, natural philosophers show that this _just wasn't true_.
Given that this chapter discussions animals in addition to plants, I was getting a bit worried that we might escape without a giraffe alert, but fear not! There's a giraffe on p. 241!
Ch. 34 seems to end rather abruptly, but that's okay: Ch. 35 is ALSO on Albert the Great! Specifically, on his metaphysics.
I had a discussion w/ someone the other day (wish I could remember who! Or even via what medium) about how there wasn't any neo-Platonism before the Renaissance. (Yeah, I know...)
Adamson calls Albert "the most Neoplatonically inclined medieval thinker we've met since Eriugena" (p. 243), and says he gets at least some of his Neoplatonism via Avicenna.
Interestingly, another source for Albert's Neoplatonism was the Liber de Causis, which, ironically, he thought was by Aristotle.
More giraffes showing up on p. 245. When Adamson speaks of giraffes "coming to be", I like to think of them this way:
Here's a nice way to put the distinction between metaphysics and theology: Both require you to understand God as a causal agent, but only the latter aims to help you love and enjoy him, not just understand him (p. 245).
Going back to the issue of empiricism, Aquinas (the subject of ch. 36) went so far as to say that natural reasoning _must_ be based in empirical method:
In discussing how Aquinas viewed the relationship between philosophy and theology, Adamson brings up apologetics. When I was 7, my dad quit his job to get his MDiv in apologetics.
That's was a significant contributing factor to me being here now, reading this book.
That's was a significant contributing factor to me being here now, reading this book.
My dad is basically a modern-day scholastics theologian; I had an excellent example in the application of rational methods to, well, basically, EVERYTHING, growing up.
Oh, this is interesting: Adamson thinks that Aquinas begs the question against Anselm w.r.t. the validity of the ontological argument.
Adamson: "I assume all readers will want to learn about Aquinas" (p. 256).
One thing that has always made me feel like Not A True Medieval Philosopher is that I invariably find Aquinas _boring_.
One thing that has always made me feel like Not A True Medieval Philosopher is that I invariably find Aquinas _boring_.
But I do approve of his method in this chapter: To balance people's interest in Aquinas with the fact that he wasn't really as important/influential in his period as he is now made out to be, Adamson introduces Aquinas's views in comparison with his contemporaries'.
Aquinas: Against the (modern) Catholic idea that life begins at conception. Why? Because a soul cannot enter into a body that does not have the organs to carry out the soul's functions, and these organs are lacking in early fetal development.
It's a good thing I'm reading this chapter AFTER lunch, because it keeps talking about pizza, and if I were hungry, I'd be thinking of nothing other than how much I wanted pizza.
Ch. 38 is on Aquinas on ethics. I find it interesting that medieval Christian ethics had to deal with the problem of "how could pre-Christian people be virtuous" while modern evangelical Christians seem to struggle w/ the question "how can athiests be moral".
Ch. 39 moves on to the topic of the Rule of Law. Did you know that the original seal of Massachusetts bears a man holding a copy of the Magna Carta? I didn't either, not until just now.
"Nowadays, we take it for granted that our leaders are subject to the law, even if can't take it for granted that they will always follow the law" (p. 269). Sadly true...
I know basically NOTHING about modern political philosophy/theory. Does anyone still advocated something along the lines of natural laws, in the way that Aquinas did?
One of my fave. medieval arguments is the "you have what you have not lost. You have not lost horns, therefore you have horns."
A similar argument was given by William of Auxerre about private ownership:
"You cannot steal what is not owned. but stealing is wrong, therefore things can be owned."
"You cannot steal what is not owned. but stealing is wrong, therefore things can be owned."
Giraffe alert, giraffe alert!! (p. 273). (Conveniently, this giraffe occurs in context with rocks, just like this gif.)
Here's another Q that also falls under the header of "I really know very little about the current state of political philosophy": How often is Aquinas taught in PPE programmes?
Moving on to ch. 40, another very timely topic: Is it possible to wage just war?
Answer: Yes, maybe, perhaps, in the right circumstances.
That's 40 chapters done! More than half-way through!
On to ch. 41! "Given that you're still reading this book after forty chapter..." well, SOME of us HAVE to read it cover to cover, to justify our free copy. :)
(Don't worry, I AM enjoying myself and finding it interesting.)
(Don't worry, I AM enjoying myself and finding it interesting.)
This chapter covers the 1270 and 1277 condemnations of Bishop Tempier of Paris -- events I still know intimately, a decade after I immersed myself in them for my dissertation (cf. link.springer.com/article/10.100…).
The target of Tempier's condemnations has long thought to have been the Radical Aristotelians in the arts faculty at the University of Paris. Both Albert and Aquinas offer an antidote to this pernicious philosophy -- Less Radical Aristotelianism, in Adamson's words.
It's funny how 20th and 21st C scholars assessing the impact of the condemnations say both that (a) they stifled the development of philosophy as an independent field from theology and (b) they paved the way for the birth of modern science as an independent field from philosophy.
Ch. 42 is on Latin Averroism, and the issue of "double truth". I find it interesting that no one (? yet?) has tried co-opt Siger of Brabant, Boethius of Dacia, and others, into the dialetheist train.
It's good to know, though, that when I study giraffes and when you study giraffes, we are both studying the same thing, with the same nature -- not distinct natures.
(Sometimes you study the giraffe, sometimes the giraffe studies you.)
(Sometimes you study the giraffe, sometimes the giraffe studies you.)
Reading here about how problematic it can be to teach university students "how to prove the eternity of the world and the unicity of the human intellect", and wondering if we even do that any more. Maybe the latter still creeps up in phil of mind courses?
Oooh, the next chapter is on the eternity of the world! I was going to stop after ch. 42 and write some exam questions, but now I want to keep reading.
Oooh, Siger of Brabant has an answer to the "Chicken or Egg?" question: Alternating chickens and eggs all the way back into eternity.
Ooh the next chapter is on speculative grammar -- one of the most exciting developments of the 13th C! But I really do need to go write those exam questions first...
One exam done. Back to reading! Let's speculate on some grammar!
First, we get a brief introduction to the idea that language works because it somehow corresponds to/represents/pictures the world. This is illustrated via the sentence "The giraffe rollerskates", and when I went to google for a nice image, look what I found:
It's amazing the things I've discovered and learned while reading this book [Adamson's, not Jackson's].
One thing that fascinates me about speculative grammar is that it illustrates just how perennial some questions are. The medievals face a genuine Q: How can grammar be a science if it is not universally applicable?
I would love to know what the medieval grammarians and logicians would've thought of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis, either in its strong or its weak form.
Coming to the end of ch. 44, Adamson tells us we should "have a break from university life". I'm not in a position to make a complete break with the university, but I _can_ pause for a cup of tea.
Got my cup of tea (not the same one as I paused to make yesterday), and now I've got a chapter on the Roman de la Rose.
The chapter opens up with the eternal question "What is love?"
.....
[I'll pause for you to sing "Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more!"]
.....
[there, ready to continue?]
.....
[I'll pause for you to sing "Baby, don't hurt me, don't hurt me, no more!"]
.....
[there, ready to continue?]
Andreas Capellanus (12th C): "a certain innate suffering caused by seeing, and thinking too much about the shapeliness of someone of the opposite sex" (p. 311)
Roman de la Rose (13th C): "a mental illness afflicting two persons of the opposite sex" (p. 311).
UGH.
Roman de la Rose (13th C): "a mental illness afflicting two persons of the opposite sex" (p. 311).
UGH.
Huh. There's not much in this book that has disappointed or frustrated me, but this does: Adamson says that de Meun "made more traditional contributions to our subject" than the RdlR, and gives a footnote: But that footnote contains NO further info about these works. :(
Wikipedia doesn't shed much light on what other philosophical works de Meun may have provided, other than a translation of the Consolation of Philosophy. But translation of philosophy isn't really philosophy...
Starting ch. 46 on Henry of Ghent, I idly mused "I wish more contemporary philosophy adopted the disputed question method". Turned the page, and guess what! Adamson adopts that method for this chapter? How pleasant.
Henry's epistemology, like that of many other 13th C thinkers, is a midway between Aristotelian empiricism and Augustinian illumination. We form a rough concept of a giraffe via our visual perception of giraffes.
Ch. 47: Trinity and Eucharist.
Indeed, I _am_ surprised to learn that "transubstantiation" as a conception of the Eucharist only arose in the 12th C. That's quite late!
Indeed, I _am_ surprised to learn that "transubstantiation" as a conception of the Eucharist only arose in the 12th C. That's quite late!
Ch. 48 on the varieties of being, and especially the discussion of Aquinas's views, makes me very grateful that we're currently reading Roger Bacon on signification (and specifically on equivocation) in medieval logic reading group!
48 chapters in, 30 left to go! I confess, I do hope we get away from the metaphysics soon and get back to the interesting stuff.
Got a load of things today (got a stack of logic exams to mark just a bit ago!) but I've made a pact with myself that I won't let a day in the office go by without reading at least one chapter. What's the lucky chapter today? Scotus on freedom! (That's DUNS Scotus, not SCOTUS.)
Now I'm curious: Has anyone ever done a nice Scotus/SCOTUS punning paper title yet?
As Adamson lays out the historical foundations for answering the question "what does it mean to be free?" I am reminded of something I've long felt, which is that few philosophers take necessity ut nunc seriously enough.
I have some very complicated thoughts about how necessity ut nunc relates to victim blaming, which I've had for a few years now but never have been able to sort out enough to put into words -- not even in a blog post.
Another thing that strikes me, reading Scotus's bio (born in Scotland; studied and taught in England, taught in France, died in Germany), is how the European academic life has always been peregrinatory and international.
It saddens me to think that it was probably easier for Duns Scotus in the 13th and 14th C to build and maintain his international academic career than it is for contemporary philosophers in 21st C England. It's horrible what we're losing with #Brexit.
No reading group this morning, so sneaking in a cheeky chapter. Who wants to know what Scotus has to say about ethics? (Tbh, not me especially, but that has nothing to do with Scotus and everything to do with ethics.)
The chapter opens with an important question of morality, which I would like to turn into a twitter poll. Do you serve your ketchup in a glass bowl or straight from the bottle?
A perhaps more philosophically interesting question is this: Can we have duties higher than those required by ethics?
If so, what would be an example of such a duty?
If so, what would be an example of such a duty?
At least we get another giraffe on p. 347!
What've we got this morning? Another chapter on Scotus! Spoiler: There are A LOT of chapters on Scotus in this book.
Hmmm. Adamson seems to think that in the nursery rhyme "Roses are red, violets are blue," there is a claim that _all_ roses are red.
Putting on my logician's hat, I don't think I agree. All it says is that roses are CHARACTERISTICALLY red, or red by default.
Putting on my logician's hat, I don't think I agree. All it says is that roses are CHARACTERISTICALLY red, or red by default.
Reading this chapter on universals and individuation, it appears that Scotus was the original proponent of Socratising.
Well, not only was that the final chapter on Scotus (rather surprised that there was no explicit discussion of his possible worlds semantics!), it also brings us to the end of the 13th C! Next up: 14th C. Only 200 pages left to go.
What will the 14th century bring us today? Well, among other things, it gives me legitimate procrastination from my marking, so let's get reading!
....I feel like I have had an entirely different introduction to the 14th C than the one that Adamson is rehearsing in the overview chapter. Calamitous? Embarrassing? Something most people skip?
The 14th C is SUCH a highpoint for logical developments, I've always been a bit embarrassed to admit I'm a 13th C girl rather than a 14th C one. All the cool kids work on 14th C developments...
But I agree entirely with Adamson here: "You can't understand the philosophical developments of the Renaissance and Reformation without knowing what happened in the 14th C" (p. 361).
You can't understand a reformation until you know what's being reformed.
You can't understand a reformation until you know what's being reformed.
Also worth remembering: the story of "fourteenth-century philosophy is [not] just the story of scholasticism" (p. 362). You can't spend a century building a system of education that churns people out into the world and expect these people not to make their marks outside the uni.
We get our first giraffes of the 14th C on p. 364: But not real giraffes, only signs of giraffes.
The final point emphasised in ch. 52 is that the 14th C is the period in which philosophy became vernacularised. A witness of this is the subject of ch. 53: Marguerite Porete.
Adamson draws parallels between Porete and earlier vernacular mystics, Hadewijch and Mechthild. But here's a straightforward Q that he doesn't seem to address -- would Porete have read the works of either of these? She was French. Could she read Old German?
The chapter on Porete (whom I've heard of but never really read anything of before) was quite interesting, especially her idea of annihilation of the soul and the removal of all desire. It felt like it had some faint Buddhist overtones, connected to ideas of nonbeing.
But I really wish the chapter had contained more information not about how her views reflected earlier mystical and neo-Platonic views, but the extent to which her views were actually based on those earlier views. Could she read Latin? Did she read Latin?
Or were Porete's ideas truly her own, and only accidentally similar to the ideas of some who came before her?
Love the title of Ch. 54: "To Hell and Back". And the topic of the chapter isn't my email inbox, -- b/c so far I don't have any evidence I'll get back from THAT hell.
No, it's about Dante!
No, it's about Dante!
I've never actually read the Inferno, but I read the introductory comments in the English translation my parents had when I was in high school (by John...someone or other. It started with "S" I think), and found it fascinating and terrifying. I just don't like reading poetry.
There's something quite lovely about writing a book entitled "On the Eloquence of the Vernacular" in Latin.
Huh. All the people who like to talk about the Latin of the medieval logicians being a regimented or semi-regimented language -- how many of them/us have read what Dante has to say about the regimentation/artificiality of Latin? (Not me...)
Weird that the ch. ends with an affirmation of Dante's brilliance in politics/political theory, on the basis of his work On Monarchy, but the ch. itself says very little about what's in that work.
"But, one can't help wondering, what if the Pope is a complete jerk?"
Dunno if you've ever wondered this, but if you have, Giles of Rome has the answer for you!
Dunno if you've ever wondered this, but if you have, Giles of Rome has the answer for you!
Even if the pope is a jerk, the papacy still remains supreme spiritual authority.
Ah! Here in ch. 55 we get a bit on Dante's views in On Monarchy, as a foil for Giles's views.
Ch. 56 is on Marsilius of Padua. There was a while in which I routinely confused Marsilius of Padua and Marsilius of Inghen, but after having hung out with @GrazianaCiola for awhile, I will never make that mistake again.
"Political rules should govern in the interest of their subjects, not in their own interests" (p. 387). A timely reminder, on Brexit-Eve-Eve-Eve.
Adamson describes Ockham's nickname, "The Venerable Inceptor", as "surely the least catchy nickname in all of medieval philosophy" (p. 395). But don't each and every one of us, deep in our heart of hearts, long to someday be known as "The Venerable _anything_"?
Y'all can start calling me "The Venerable Logician".
Ockham's political and ethical views are being pitched as radical, but anyone who thinks Abraham slaughtering Isaac on God's command is a morally right action shouldn't bat an eye about the possibility of God commanding someone to steal or commit adultery.
Oooh, ch. 59 is on Ockham on mental language. I gave my 3rd year Language & Mind students some of his works on this my first year in Durham. They were...perplexed.
"What does it mean to be an influential philosophers? The obvious answer would be that influential philosophers have followers" (p. 414).
*checks twitter*
*has followers*
Oooh, I'm an influential philosopher!
*checks twitter*
*has followers*
Oooh, I'm an influential philosopher!
Giraffe alert! P. 418. It's been a long time since we last had a giraffe.
Wow, I just came across a named philosopher I'd never heard of before, and who _doesn't even have a wikipedia article_: Arnold of Strelley.
Backtracking a bit to the ch. on mental language, something I thought but didn't tweet then is that it's weird that things like "woof" and "meow" are given as examples of naturally signifying language instead of conventionally, when how an individual language represents...
...animal sounds is conventional. (I was delighted when I learned that in Dutch, mice don't squeak, they go "piep"!) Why am I bringing this up now, when I opted to think not tweet this thought earlier?
Cause I just came across this thread:
Cause I just came across this thread:
Well, my goal to read at least 1 (but preferably 2-3) chapters a day has crashed and burned dramatically! But nothing is stopping me (other than office hours) from getting at least one chapter read today.
Chapter 62 is the wonderfully named "Trivial Pursuits", on the topic of logic in the 14th C. While I'm definitely a 13th C girl at heart, I still love me some good 14th C logic, so this is going to be FUN.
Here's a general Q for people reading this who have done graduate work in philosophy: Was formal logic an entry requirement (for programmes w/o course work) or were you required to take formal logic (for programmes w/ course work)?
Interestingly, this chapter is confirming a hypothesis I've been developing while reading the entire book: Chapters on things I know nothing about, I really love; chapters on my specialisms I'm finding problematic.
In the opening pages, Adamson wants to make the argument (following Pinborg and Kretzmann) that 14th C logic underwent a shift from its 13th C position, with emphasis moving from ambiguity in terms to ambiguity in propositions.
But the example he cites as a witness to this shift -- Heytesbury's treatise on compounded and divided sense of propositions -- picks up a phenomenon that is NOT a 14th C one.
Lambert of Auxerre (mid 13th C) was equally exercised on compounded vs. divided readings of modal and temporal statements -- you can read about this in ch. 5 of my PhD (illc.uva.nl/cms/Research/P…)
Now, this is only the beginning of the chapter, so I'll reserve judgement, but it is worthwhile pointing out that this is a trend I'm seeing.
Well, I've gotten to the end of the ch, and, yup, pretty much everything there (other than the treatises on consequences) can also be found in the 13thC. Even Kilvington's comments on obligationes & counterfactual reasoning can be found a century earlier: brill.com/view/journals/…
[Now, I don't want this to come across as "this chapter sux b/c Adamson didn't cite meeeeeee", because as it turns out, in the podcast, in the episode following this topic, he interviewed me :) historyofphilosophy.net/obligations-uc…...
...buuuuuttt, I do want to make the record clear that much of what is being dubbed as 14th C is not new to that century. That's all. Carry on.]
Chapter 63 is on the quadrivium, which I know less intimately than the trivium, so let's hope this chapter engenders less unhappiness!
One thing I've long found interesting is how familiar medieval logic looks to a modern logician -- something that can be said about very few of the other sciences. One science in particular where this is NOT especially true is physics.
As Adamson points out, "it took scientists a long time to realize that it would also make sense to use numbers to keep track of how fast a sheep is working its way across the meadow" (p. 435).
This: That the world can be described by numbers and these descriptions are useful things, absolutely fascinates me. It is the single biggest Q in philosophy of math that I have not been able to answer: How is it that numbers _work_? It's baffling, and marvelous.
Only 15 more chapters to go! Hard to believe that I'm staring down the end of this book. It's only taken me...*counts fingers* four months so far...
*yawn* So, what did I learn in ch. 64? That I don't find discussions of medieval cosmology/physics all that interesting...sorry, folks. You'll have to read that chapter yourself to find out what was in it.
Plus ça change..."At one point [Buridan] asks why the arts faculty is lower than those of theology, medicine, or law. His answer is a pointed one: the arts faculty may have less money..." (p. 449).
Has anyone ever studied/edited/translated Buridan's commentaries on Aristotle's ethics?
Well, that's ^^^^^^ 4 hours of rather resounding silence...
Chapter 66 opens with an interesting question: "Is having knowledge more like being pregnant or more like being hungry?" What does the twitterverse think?
I do disagree with the claim that "pregnancy is an all or nothing affair"...any woman who has anxiously awaited blood test results to see if her beta is rising knows that one can be only a little bit pregnant.
I am amused that while the root of Descartes' skepticism is an evil demon, the root of Ockham's skepticism is God.
Well, I was going to work on other things, having read my requisite two chapters today, but am I unironically VERY EXCITED about chapter 67 on medieval economic theory, so I'm going to indulge myself and read it.
This ch. is proving particularly interesting when I reflect on the upcoming UCU strikes. "Justice is achieved when buyer and seller both get equal value out of the deal" (p. 465): And yet, I can't help but think my employer gets so much more out of me than I from them.
Moving on from economics to Eckhart: I've always wondered why Meister Eckhart gets a prefixed title, but very few others do. Why don't we call Ockham Magister William? Or Master William? Or Albert, Meister Albert?
Apparently Eckhart wrote a book on how to cope with suffering, including such advice as "if you have one hundred gold marks and lose forty, just remember that plenty of people would do anything to own the sixty marks you still possess" (p. 471).
Meister Eckhart's views are _weird_. Reading them, and contrasting him with, say, the Merton Calculators, I feel like the Calculators were the analytic philosophers of the 14th C and Eckhart was the continental philosophers/phenomenologists of the 14th C.
I find the whole approach of much of continental philosophy baffling; I do not understand how it can reliably lead people to the truth (which is at least one aim of philosophy in my book). Seeing how Eckhart completely turns everything upside down and backwards feels the same.
My worry about the sort of methodology that is on display here, and my worry about a lot of continental methodology, is: It feels too strong, like you could argue for any conclusion you wanted. And that's...worrisome.
Ch. 69 is on the Men in Black -- no, not spies, but Dominicans! In case anyone else is like me and cannot remember which ones the Blackfriars are and which ones the Whitefriars are, here's a handy reminder:
Berthold of Moosburg (let's pause a moment to enjoy this fantastic name) praised Proclus as one of the greatest followers of Plato, who "alone unveils true Platonic teachings" (p. 478).
And yet, nowadays, how often do Plato scholars read Proclus?
And yet, nowadays, how often do Plato scholars read Proclus?
I just find it really interesting thinking about how philosophy has fads. Whoever was highlighted as the best and brightest in one century might be almost entirely forgotten in another century. 5 centuries from now, who will read Quine, Lewis, Kripke?
Now I'm learning about Henry Suso, whom I've never heard of before, who wrote a "Small Book of Truth" which contains a character known as "daz namelos wilde" ("the nameless wild one"). This sounds amazing.
On to chapter 70! Hard to believe I've made it this far.
The topic? Angels in medieval philosophy...which immediately reminds me that someday I will screenshot the medieval-MS-style image from the opening credits of Neon Genesis Evangelion to see exactly what it says.
The topic? Angels in medieval philosophy...which immediately reminds me that someday I will screenshot the medieval-MS-style image from the opening credits of Neon Genesis Evangelion to see exactly what it says.
Oooh, hey, my friend @Going_Loopy just got name checked! (p. 486). Martin, I had no idea you'd edited a book on angels!
Upon reaching the end of the ch. on English mysticism, I'm not quite sure what to think. No, wait, I do know: I am too much of a logician to understand what the point of mysticism is supposed to be.
At the start of ch. 72, Adamson says "I am intrigued by the slogan 'say it with flowers'." Well, _I_ am intrigued by the idea of a chapter on Chaucer in a book on philosophy. The Chaucer _I've_ (oh, god, Troilus & Criseyde) read never seemed very philosophical...
So, yet, again, this book is doing what it does best: Introducing me to new material and new ways of looking at old material, to teach me something I didn't know.
I just hope we get another giraffe. It's been nearly 10 chapters since we last had a giraffe.
I just hope we get another giraffe. It's been nearly 10 chapters since we last had a giraffe.
Here's a question for #medievaltwitter people who teach Chaucer: How much philosophy do you teach concurrently? Do your students read any Ockham, to understand Chaucer? Do they know what a sophism is? Or what voluntarism is?
OH MY GOODNESS. When I read T&C as an undergrad, I had no idea who Strode was, and so would not have appreciated that Chaucer dedicated T&C to Strode. Now that I am reminded of this fact...as I can think of is, Did Chaucer hate Strode? Because T&C is SO dull and annoying.
(Basically the only thing I remember about it from reading it back in...probably 2000 (!) is how whiny Troilus was.)
"This, I think, is one of the things that literature can do for philosophy. It can help us to inhabit more than one worldview" (p. 499).
Yes.
Yes.
It was probably clever of Adamson to wait until ch. 73 to cover sexuality and misogyny in the Middle Ages. Because if I encountered that topic in, say, the first 10 chapters, I'm not sure I'd've read further.
Huh. I did not know that the word 'sodomia' was coined by Peter Damian in the 11th C, a neologism formed on the pattern of 'blasphemia' (p. 502).
Interesting to reflect on the fact the medieval homophobia was rooted less in gender and family essentialisms, as it often is nowadays, and more in fear of, as Adamson puts it, "misuse of the generative power" (p. 503).
The chapter concludes with a lament about how many of the "medieval" attitudes towards women and sex are still propagated today, including the "common medieval association between women and the body" (p. 508).
That "women = body/men = mind" equation -- brute force as it is -- gets repeated all too often in contemporary philosophy, and -- worst of all! -- more often in feminist philosophy contexts than outside of it.
Never do I feel more unwelcome in philosophy then when women tell me I am being unfeminine for embracing logic. My last significant interaction with a "women and philosophy" event/group left me with a clear dichotomy: Either what I do isn't philosophy, or I'm not a woman.
Since I'm happy to admit logic is a part of philosophy, I get pushed onto the horn "I'm not a woman". Now, seeing as I'm actually a robot, I'm okay with that horn, too -- but I'm unhappy on behalf of ACTUAL women who want to do logic.
It shouldn't be this way. </end rant>
It shouldn't be this way. </end rant>
On to the chapter on Catherine of Siena, about whom I know nothing. It's titled "Sighs were her food", and I, well, that just makes me hungry, so I'm glad I'm reading this AFTER lunch.
Heads up: If you aren't interested in retrospective medical diagnoses of medieval people, don't read this chapter.
In ch. 75, we return to the Roman de la Rose, a topic last covered 30 chapters ago, or rather....just over a month ago:
Except this time, the focus is not on the Roman itself but rather the Querelle that arose a century later, involving a variety of French aristocrats, the chancellor of the University of Paris, and Christine de Pisan.
There's a lot of interesting material in the Querelle, particularly in de Pisan's exchanges with Pierre Col, concerning the relationship between an author and the fiction characters they create.
One should not always put the words of a character into the mouth of the author.
One should not always put the words of a character into the mouth of the author.
Both both de Pisan and Jean Gerson agree that even if you distinguish the author from their characters, "this does not give an author license to say just whatever he [sic] wants" (p. 518).
It's rather bizarre, half an hour into office hours and _no students_ have arrived yet. Time for a cheeky chapter? Let's hope so! This one is on John Wyclif.
The chapter opens with an EXCELLENT quote weighing in on the nominalism/realism debate:
"All envy or actual sin is caused by the lack of an ordered love of universals" (p. 523).
Got that, you nominalists? YOU'RE SINNERS!
"All envy or actual sin is caused by the lack of an ordered love of universals" (p. 523).
Got that, you nominalists? YOU'RE SINNERS!
You know those SF movies and TV shows wherein you cannot tell whether you're talking to an actual human, or some alien/robot/cylon/etc.?
The 14th C version of this is not being able to tell whether someone is predestined for grace or not.
The 14th C version of this is not being able to tell whether someone is predestined for grace or not.
"We have no way of identifying those who are among the predestined. We cannot know, for example, whether the Pope himself is sanctified, and thus whether he is a member of the true Church" (p. 526).
Put that way, that's rather creepy!
Put that way, that's rather creepy!
We're quickly approaching the end of the 14th C. Wyclif was described in ch. 76 as the morning star of the Reformation and the evening star of scholasticism, so it's no surprise that in ch. 77 we move on to Prague, a place where Wyclif's influence was strongly felt.
Before we even get to Prague, though, we get a tour through the rest of Europe in the 14th C, how universities and studia spread out from England, Italy, and France, how those newcomers became intellectual centers in their own rights.
Enjoying the discussion of the University of Heidelberg, my academic home before Durham, and its founder, Marsilius of Inghen, whose "thought is not easy to encapsulate briefly". If you want to know more about Marsilius, check out the work of my colleague @GrazianaCiola.
Weird to think that of all the things one could co-opt into one's nationalistic rhetoric, the Czechs chose Wyclif's realism.
Of all the things...
Of all the things...
I am on page 537. There are 637 pages in the book. The end is in sight.
But it's been AGES since we last had a giraffe. :(
But it's been AGES since we last had a giraffe. :(
I have to admit, I was a bit surprised to come to a chapter on Ramon Llull and Petrarch (does he even have a given name? Does anyone know what it is?) after a ch. on the end of the 14th C.
But I like Adamson's description of them as Renaissance men before the Renaissance.
But I like Adamson's description of them as Renaissance men before the Renaissance.
Huh. Despite having written on both the 1277 condemnations, AND on Ramon Llull, I had not known until just now that Llull wrote a defense of the condemnations.
Francesco!
Relevant to @DurhamCAMP's current reading group choice: "Upon reading Aristotle's Ethics, Petrarch remarked, 'I know slightly more than I did before. But my mind is the same as it was; my will is the same; and I am the same'." (p. 504).
Wait...what?! Chapter 78 was the last chapter?! There's now 64 pages of endnotes (*boo, hiss*!), followed by 16 pages of topically-organised references for further reading, publisher's acknowledgements, and a short index and then...
That's it.
I'm done.
That's it.
I'm done.
Did you hear, that @HistPhilosophy?! I'm done! I've read every single page (of prose) of your book! Started Oct. 4, ended Feb. 28, and astonishingly did it _without breaking the twitter thread_ (which starts here: ).
Hey, @threadreaderapp, can you unroll this for me?
