Bonaventure, the German Dominicans and the new translations


Bonaventure, the German Dominicans and the new translations
Bonaventure, the German Dominicans and the new translations John Marenbon As the previous chapter has illustrated, even in the first half of the thirteenth century the outlook of thinkers was much affected by the newly available translations of Aristotle and of Arabic commentaries and treatises.1 By the mid-1250s, the arts course in Paris included almost the whole body of Aristotle’s works and, within a couple of decades, nearly all the translations from the Greek and Arabic which would be used in the medieval universities were already available. The three leading theologians of this generation are the Dominicans, Thomas Aquinas and his teacher, Albert the Great, and the Franciscan, Bonaventure.2 As philosophers, it may be argued, they form an unequal triumvirate. Aquinas is, by almost any account, among the greatest philosophers of his, or any, period; the next chapter will be devoted to him. Neither Bonaventure nor Albert came near to his ability at devising and interlinking, on a wide variety of philosophical questions, clear and powerful arguments which modern philosophers still find it worthwhile to scrutinize. Each, however, developed a range of distinctive positions. They include striking views on the nature of philosophy and its relation to their Work as theologians; and, in Albert’s case at least, these were adapted (and ultimately transformed) by a school of followers. It is these views on which the present, brief discussion will concentrate. But first some further details about the new translations are necessary, since they provide the background both to the thinking of Bonaventure and Albert, and to the work which all the following chapters will be examining. THE TRANSLATIONS Aristotle, the old textbooks used to say, reached the West through the Arabs. Literally, this statement is false. For the most part, Aristotle reached Western scholars in direct translations from the Greek: Boethius’ translations of nearly all the logic (which became available gradually from the ninth to the twelfth centuries); James of Venice’s versions (c. 1130–50) of the Posterior Analytics, Physics, On the Soul, some shorter scientific works; other twelfth-century translations of On Generation and Corruption and the Physics. As for the Ethics and the Metaphysics, there was a twelfth-century version of Nicomachean Ethics II and III (known as the ‘Old Ethics’); the whole work was translated early in the thirteenth century, though only Book I (known as the ‘New Ethics’) circulated; and then (c. 1246–7) Robert Grosseteste and his assistants made a new translation of the whole work (they also translated part of On the Heavens). James of Venice translated Metaphysics I–III and part of IV; an early thirteenth-century revision of this translation, conflated with the unrevised text, formed the ‘Old Metaphysics’, whilst a twelfthcentury translation of the whole work except Book XI was known as the ‘Middle Metaphysics’ (it seems not to have been used until the midthirteenth century). Finally, between 1260 and 1280 William of Moerbeke revised or retranslated almost all Aristotle’s works, as well as making the Politics and Poetics available for the first time. William’s translations became standard, except for the logic, for which Boethius’ translations (and, for the Posterior Analytics, James of Venice’s) were generally used.3 But there is, none the less, an important element of truth in the idea of ‘Aristotle through the Arabs’. Some translations were made from the Arabic: for example those of Gerard of Cremona, who worked in Toledo, of the Posterior Analytics, Physics and some of the scientific works. A version of the Metaphysics (the ‘New Metaphysics’; Book I, minus beginning, to X and most of XII) translated from the lemmata of Averroes’ commentary was used in the early to mid-thirteenth century.4 More important, Aristotle’s non-logical works reached the West along with (or preceded by) a corpus of commentary by Arabic philosophers. In mid-twelfth-century Toledo, Dominic Gundissalinus, a canon of the cathedral there, helped by Arabic-speaking assistants, translated parts—including those corresponding to On the Soul and the Metaphysics—of Ibn Sina’s (Avicenna’s) paraphrase-commentary of Aristotle, the Shifā’ (Book of Healing); further sections were translated late in the thirteenth century.5 In the 1220s in Sicily, Michael Scotus translated a number of commentaries by Ibn Rushd (Averroes), including the ‘great’ commentaries (full-scale, detailed sentence by sentence discussions) on On the Soul, the Physics, Metaphysics and On the Heavens. Averroes’ shorter ‘middle’ commentaries to a variety of Aristotle’s works, including the logic, On Generation and Corruption and Nicomachean Ethics, were translated either by Scotus, or a little later by others. All these commentaries profoundly affected the ways Western thinkers read Aristotle. In addition, the Toledan translators of the twelfth century made Latin versions of various works by al-Kindī and al-Fārābī, more or less connected with Aristotle, as well as al- Ghazzālī’s Intentions of the Philosophers. Plato did not benefit directly from this busy period of translation. Although Henry Aristippus made Latin versions of the Meno and Phaedo in Sicily shortly before 1150, they hardly circulated, so the Timaeus in Calcidius’ incomplete translation remained the one text by Plato himself well known in the Middle Ages.6 A good deal of Neoplatonic material, however, became available, partly in the commentaries and other works related to Aristotle, because the Arab philosophical tradition before Averroes was heavily influenced by Neoplatonism in its approach to Aristotle, and also more directly: an Arabic adaptation of some of Proclus’ Elements of Theology was translated into Latin by Gerard of Cremona as the Book about Causes (Liber de causis) and adopted into the Aristotelian curriculum (see below, pp. 230–1); later, William of Moerbeke translated the whole of the Elements of Theology directly from the Greek. Jewish philosophy was also translated. The Toledan translators put into Latin Isaac Israeli’s Book on Definitions and Solomon ibn Gabirol’s (‘Avicebron’ or ‘Avencebrol’) Fountain of Life. Maimonides’ great Guide of the Perplexed was put into Latin in the 1220s, from the Hebrew translation of Judah al-Harisi (see [10.32]). BONAVENTURE John of Fidanza, known as Bonaventure, was born c. 1217. He studied arts in Paris from 1234 or 1235 until 1243. He then joined the Franciscans and studied theology, also in Paris, where he was taught by Alexander of Hales, the first of the Franciscan masters of theology. Bonaventure himself held the Franciscan chair from 1253 to 1255. In 1257 he was elected Minister General of his Order, but he still maintained close contacts with the university and continued his theological writing up until nearly the time of his death in 1274. Among his most important works are his commentary on the Sentences (1250– 5), a systematic textbook of theology called the Breviloquium, the brief Journey of the Mind towards God (1259) which expresses in a concise personal style many of his central ideas, and the sets of university sermons (Collationes) he gave in his last years, especially those on the Work of the Six Days (Hexaemeron), from 1273. Bonaventure knew many of the newly translated texts and commentaries well. Theology, as he and his contemporaries recognized it, was a discipline which used arguments. Aristotelian logic had long been regarded as one of the theologian’s essential argumentative tools, and by the 1250s the terminology and concepts of Aristotle’s metaphysics and natural science were also indispensable. Bonaventure used this intellectual equipment, but his commitment to argument and conceptual analysis was far weaker than Aquinas’, nor did he share much of Aquinas’ belief that, on many questions, a full and accurate grasp of Aristotle’s views was the best way to the right answer. Not surprisingly, then, he tended to adapt Aristotelian positions and combine them with others in the ways which best suited his overriding theological aims. For example, he accepted a roughly Aristotelian account of sense-cognition as the first stage of his theory of knowledge, but insisted that for knowledge of the truth direct divine illumination was required. Aristotle’s theory of matter and form became, for Bonaventure (perhaps influenced by Solomon ibn Gabirol, see p. 75), a doctrine of universal hylomorphism. Everything, with the sole exception of God, is a composite of matter and form. Human body and human intellective soul are not, therefore, related—as in Aristotle, and Aquinas—as matter to form, but as matter—form composite to matter—form composite; a position which may be less satisfying than Aristotle’s intellectually but fits well with Christian belief about individual immortality. The difference between Bonaventure and Aquinas is particularly pointed on the question of the eternity of the universe. This view, clearly contrary to Christian belief, was (rightly) recognized by many at the time to have been Aristotle’s—though there were also doubts about the attribution. Aquinas insisted that, although ‘the universe is not eternal’ is a truth known by faith, it cannot be demonstrated; towards the end of his life, indeed, he argued that God could have created an eternal universe had he so chosen. By contrast, Bonaventure thought that he could demonstrate—using arguments based on Aristotle’s own views about the infinite—that the universe is not and could not have been eternal.7 One of Aristotle’s special failings, in Bonaventure’s view, was his rejection of Platonic Ideas. In using the Ideas—considered, in the usual way since patristic times, as being in the mind of God—as a way of explaining the relationship between the creator and the universe, Bonaventure was merely doing the same as almost every other thirteenth-century theologian, Aquinas included. He was exceptional, however, in the weight he gave to explaining exemplarism which, along with the discussion of creation and divine illumination, he held constituted the whole of true metaphysics. This emphasis reveals the underlying direction of his thought. We reach the divine exemplars, and through them, God, by seeking in all things that which they exemplify. For Bonaventure, the main task of a Christian thinker is not so much to argue or analyse (though sometimes this is necessary) as to learn how to read creation, finding in it the hidden patterns and resemblances which lead back to God. We have been provided, he says, with a threefold aid for reaching ‘the exemplary reasons’ of things: sensibly-perceptible creation, where God has left his traces (vestigia); man’s soul, which is made in the image of God; and Scripture, with its riches of inner meaning. In The Journey of the Mind, Bonaventure develops this way of thinking in the most explicit way. The universe is ‘a ladder for climbing to God’: we must ascend through the traces of God, which we find in what is bodily, temporal and outside us, through the image of God, which we find within our immortal, spiritual selves, and finally raise ourselves to the eternal being. To these three stages correspond the threefold existence of things: in matter, in understanding and in God’s mind, and Christ’s threefold substance, bodily, spiritual and divine (I, 2–3). Each stage, however, is itself divided in two, for in each we can find God either through his mirror or in his mirror. The six steps yielded by this multiplication correspond to six powers of our soul: sense, imagination, reason, intellect (intellectus), intelligence (intelligentia) and the ‘summit of the mind’ or ‘spark of synderesis’. Bonaventure also provides various scriptural parallels: the six days of creation, the six steps of Solomon’s throne, the six wings of the Seraphim seen by Isaiah, the six days after which God called Moses from the midst of darkness and the six days after which Christ summoned his disciples on the mountain where he was transfigured (I, 5–6). This elaborate set of parallels and analogies is itself merely the framework for the analogies which make up each of the individual steps. So, for example, the fourth stage of ascent—contemplating God in his image—involves considering the Trinity in the image of man reformed by grace, his soul purified, illumined and perfected by the three theological virtues of faith, hope and charity. ‘Hierarchized’ in this way, the human spirit is compared to the hierarchy of angels (three groups of three), and a parallel is drawn between the three laws (of nature, of the Old Testament and of grace) and the three senses of Scripture, moral, allegorical and anagogical, which purify, illumine and perfect (IV, 1–6). All the great Franciscan theologians of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries looked back to Bonaventure with respect, and often his positions influenced their discussions of individual questions. But they did not share his fondness for reading signs and elaborating patterns as opposed to constructing and criticizing arguments; and it is on this point of difference, rather than on any of the intellectual debts they owed to the founder of their tradition, that depends their importance as philosophers. ALBERT THE GREAT Born in Swabia at the turn of the thirteenth century (1193, c. 1200, 1206–7 have been suggested), Albert died in extreme old age in 1280, outliving by six years his most famous pupil, Thomas Aquinas. After studying in Italy and Germany, and joining the Dominicans, he was a master of theology in Paris from 1245 to 1248 and then taught theology at Cologne until he became provincial of the German Dominicans (1254–7). Although he had no fixed teaching position after this, Albert continued his work on natural science, philosophy and theology with great energy until after 1270. His writings are among the most voluminous of any medieval thinker. They include, among many others, two comprehensive theological textbooks, a commentary on the Sentences completed in 1249, long paraphrase commentaries (in the manner of Avicenna) on many of Aristotle’s works, including On the Soul (c. 1254–7), the Ethics (1252–3) and the Metaphysics (1263–7), a work On the Causes and Procession of the Universe based on the Book about Causes and on al-Ghazzālī (after 1263) and commentaries on pseudo-Dionysius (some, at least, written between 1248 and 1250). As even this bare list indicates, Albert’s attitude to the translations of Aristotle and of the related Arab material was, quite unlike Bonaventure’s, one of unrestrained enthusiasm. Historians have indeed been agreed in giving him a central role in making Aristotle the supreme human authority for university theologians. Yet a glance at his Aristotelian commentaries shows that Albert’s Aristotelianism is mixed with a host of characteristically Neoplatonic themes and views, and this—combined with the variety of his interests and works—has led to the impression that Albert was a muddled writer, overwhelmed by the mass of new material and unable to resolve the incompatible positions of his various sources or reach any coherent theories of his own. Thanks to Alain de Libera, however, it is now clear that, at least in one main aspect of his work, Albert is putting forward a bold and clear view, not so much about any individual problem in philosophy as about the nature and aim of the very practice of philosophizing.8 For Albert, Aristotelian metaphysics, the study of being, needed to be complemented and completed by an Aristotelian theology, the study of God. Albert found his Aristotelian theology in the Book about Causes which he took, along with his contemporaries, to be a work by Aristotle himself. When, late in Albert’s life, Thomas Aquinas, using William of Moerbeke’s translation of Proclus’ Elements of Theology, showed that the Book about Causes was an adaptation of this Neoplatonic work, Albert took no notice. No wonder—for, had he done so, he would have had to give up the claim which runs through his life’s work that he is expounding what he calls the ‘peripatetic’ position. Albert’s peripateticism, then, builds on Aristotle, on the Book about Causes and on Avicenna’s interpretation of Aristotle, which posits a hierarchy of Intelligences, each lower Intelligence emanating from the higher. Albert adapts these models, however, striving to maintain an absolute distinction between God, who is the being of all things only in so far as he is the cause of their being, and his creation, and to avoid any implication that the universe emanates eternally from God—a view which could not fit the Christian doctrine, which Albert accepted, of a created universe with a beginning. Through our intellects, Albert believed, even in the present life we belong to the hierarchy of Intelligences. Here Albert both used and broke with his Arab mentors. Avicenna had identified the lowest of the Intelligences with the active intellect which Aristotle had mentioned briefly in On the Soul as being necessary if the potential intellect (intellectus possibilis), in itself purely receptive, is to be able to think. Averroes, in the view of Albert and all his Latin interpreters from the 1250s onwards, had gone even further and supposed that there was only one potential intellect for all men. Avicenna’s position could easily be adapted to Christianity by taking the active intellect as God himself; Averroes’, which precluded individual immortality, could not. Albert, however, holds that each human has its own individual active and potential intellect; like Bonaventure and Aquinas, he attacks the Averroist theory of a single intellect for all men; and yet he also proclaims his closeness to Averroes’ theories about the intellect. These positions are not, as they might seem, in conflict with one another. Albert, like Averroes, held that human thought involves contact with an eternal, single intellect. But he considered that this came about through each human’s individual agent intellect which was itself an emanation from the single, separate agent intellect. We engage in thought through the joining of our individual agent intellects to our individual potential intellects, which are predisposed to receive intelligible forms in the same way as our senses are predisposed to receive sensory ones. The conjunction is not a simple matter. Although the agent intellect is part of our soul, and in this sense is joined to it, the conjunction Albert has in mind is of its ‘light, by which it activates the things understood’ to the potential intellect. By describing how this conjunction takes place, Albert sketches a view of the highest human happiness, which it is for philosophers to achieve ([10.49] III: 221–3). He bases himself on Aristotle’s comments in Nicomachean Ethics X about theoretical contemplation as the best life for man. We can engage in intellectual speculation in two ways, he explains: through thinking the self-evident truths which we know simply by thinking of them, and through what we choose to learn by investigating and by listening to those who are learned. In both routes, we grasp intelligibles only because our agent intellect makes them intelligible, and ‘in making them actually understood, the agent intellect is joined to us as an efficient cause’. What we are contemplating in this process, Albert believes, are not—as the description so far might suggest—eternal truths, but separate substances. The more our potential intellect is filled with these intelligibles, the more it comes to resemble the agent intellect, and when it has been filled with every intelligible thing, the light of the agent intellect has become the form to its matter, and the composite of agent and potential intellect is called the ‘adopted’ (adeptus) or divine intellect: ‘and then the man has been perfected to carry out the work which is his work in so far as he is man—to contemplate perfectly through himself and grasp in thought the separate substances’ ([10.49] III: 222:6–9). ‘This state of adopted intellect’, Albert adds, ‘is wonderful and best, for through it a man becomes in a certain way like God, because in this way he can activate divine things and bestow on himself and others divine understandings and in a certain way receive everything that is understood’ ([10.49] III: 222:80–4). ALBERT’S SCHOOL: THE GERMAN DOMINICANS Albert’s influence worked on three different groups in three different directions. Most explicitly associated with him, though most distant in time, are the fifteenth-century thinkers who set up Albert as their authority and described themselves as ‘Albertists’; they are discussed below in Chapter 18. Albert was also an important figure for those in the arts faculties who looked to Averroes as the most faithful interpreter of Aristotle and who, while respecting Christian doctrine, considered their own role as arts masters was to reason without resort to revelation. Some of these thinkers from the thirteenth century are discussed below in Chapter 12; the movement they began lasted through to the end of the Middle Ages. John of Jandun (1285/9–1328) was one of the most outspoken advocates of Averroes (and learned from Albert), and Averroism was then taken up in Bologna and Padua, in Erfurt in the late fourteenth century and in Krakow in the mid-fifteenth.9 But Albert’s closest followers—those who carried on his tradition chronologically and developed what was most characteristic in his thought—were a group of thinkers who were all, like him, German Dominicans.10 They knew Albert’s work well, both directly and through Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg’s Compendium of Theological Truth (c. 1260–8) which drew up some of the main themes of his work in textbook fashion. The first important member of the group was Ulrich of Strasbourg (born c. 1220–5), a student of Albert’s at Paris and then Cologne. He returned to Paris in 1272 to complete his studies in theology, but died before he was finished. He had already written a large summa, On the Highest Good, which uses, and develops even more explicitly than Albert himself, the idea of the divinization of the intellect. In the work of Dietrich of Freiberg, Albert’s thinking is given a new and highly original twist. Dietrich (c. 1250–1318/20) belonged to a younger generation. He was active in Germany (from 1293 to 1296 he was provincial of the Dominican Province of Teutonia) but also in the University of Paris, where he studied between 1272 and 1274 and some time between 1281 and 1293, and where he was master of theology in 1296–7. He is an important figure in the history of natural science (see [10.73]), but his most remarkable philosophical ideas concern the human intellect. As mentioned above, medieval theologians generally accepted the view that God knows (and produces) his creation through ideas in his intellect. Dietrich accepted this common view with regard to the relation between God and all things except for intellects. The human intellect, he argues in On the Intellect and the Intelligible, is related to God in a different, closer way, which it has in common only with other intellects, such as (if they exist) the Intelligences posited by the philosophers. An intellect proceeds from God ‘in so far as it is an image of God’. Like God’s thinking, the object of the intellect’s thinking is God himself. It is just this knowing God which constitutes the intellect; in the same act of knowing the intellect knows itself as that which knows God, and through knowing its essence it also knows all other things outside itself, since it is their exemplar: ‘in one look (intuitus) knowing its origin and thus coming into being it knows the entirety of things.’11 In this way, Dietrich argues that intellects exist in a special sort of way, which he describes as ‘conceptional being’: an intellect should not be considered as a something, which has a certain power—that of intellectually thinking. Rather, the thinking by which an intellect knows God is what the intellect is. Whereas Albert had explained how the human intellect could become God-like through what it could contemplate (the separate substances), Dietrich emphasizes the God-likeness of the intellect in its very manner of being. In another work (On the Origin of the Things which belong to the Aristotelian Categories), Dietrich argues that, in an important sense, the objects which we encounter in experience, and which can be described according to Aristotle’s ten categories, are made by our intellects. Since the intellect knows these objects, it must bear a relation to them. The only three possible relations are that (1) it is identical to them, (2) they cause it, or (3) it causes them. Dietrich dismisses (1) and rejects (2) because a cause must have a ‘greater power of forming’ (formalior virtus) than that which it causes, whereas the intellect is ‘incomparably more form-like and simpler than these things’.12 Although Dietrich goes on to qualify his position, allowing that the intellect is not the only cause of these objects, he has given, to say the least, a surprisingly large role to the human intellect in constituting the world it grasps.13 The most celebrated of the German Dominicans is Eckhart (1260– 1328). But Eckhart’s fame has been linked more to his reputation as a mystic and as the instigator of a popular mystical movement, especially among women, than to his philosophical arguments. Unlike any other of the Western thinkers treated in this volume, Eckhart produced a body of work in the vernacular (Middle High German); and it is in these sermons that he develops some of his most striking ideas. Yet, until shortly before his death, when the process began which would lead to his posthumous condemnation in 1329, Eckhart had followed an outstanding career as a university theologian. He was a master of theology in Paris from 1302 to 1303 and, a rare honour, master again (magister actu regens) in 1311–13; from 1322 to 1325 he was in charge of the Dominican studium in Cologne. Recent scholars have emphasized the philosophical aspects of Eckhart’s work (found both in the Latin Parisian Questions and Three-part Work, and in the German sermons and treatises) and have seen it as part of the tradition going back to Dietrich of Freiberg and Albert. Here there is room to touch on just three of these aspects of Eckhart’s rich and many-faceted work. In the second of his Parisian Questions (1302–3), Eckhart argues the position that in God, being (esse) and thinking (intelligere) are the same. In itself, there is nothing unusual about this position; Aquinas had held it too, and Eckhart quotes Aquinas’ arguments for it. But Eckhart develops the idea in a particular direction, arguing—in a way which parallels what Dietrich of Freiberg says about the human intellect—that God is intellect, and his being follows from this: it is not ‘because he is, that God thinks but because he thinks that he is; so that God is intellect and thinking and this thinking is the basis of his being’. The Gospel of John does not begin, Eckhart goes on to remark, with the words ‘In the beginning was an existing thing (ens) and the existing thing was God’, but ‘In the beginning was the Word’; but the Word is ‘in itself entirely relative to the intellect’. ‘Neither being nor being existent (ens) is appropriate for God but something higher than what is existing.’ Eckhart’s line of argument threatens to undermine the whole tradition of theology based on God as supreme being; although it too is rooted in theological tradition, the tradition of negative theology which goes back to pseudo-Dionysius.14 Eckhart’s idea of the ‘basis’ (grunt) or the ‘spark’ (vunke) of the soul, developed especially in his German sermons, is even more daring, especially according to the interpretation recently advanced by Burkhard Mojsisch who, more than previous writers, has explored the philosophical, rather than the mystical, aspects of these writings.15 Dietrich of Freiberg had already described the active intellect as the basis of the soul: the cause from which it springs. For Eckhart, however, the grunt or vunke does not belong to the soul, although it is in it. Eckhart must insist on this because he also claims that this ‘something’ is ‘uncreated and uncreatable’ (see [10.69] 133–4). When, in order to leave behind the false I and discover the true one, our possible intellect turns away from forms—wishing nothing, knowing nothing, letting nothing act upon it—it is to this ‘something in the soul’ which it must turn. Eckhart is willing to identify the uncreated grunt with God, but also, it seems, to go even further: the idea of God, he argues, implies a relation to something else, to creation; the grunt, or the ‘I as I’, by contrast, bears no relation to anything but itself. It is its own cause and even the cause of God (see [10.70] 27). Eckhart thus transforms the theme he inherited from the tradition of Albert, according to which the highest part of man’s soul, the intellect, is divinized through its ability to be filled with intelligible contents derived from God’s thought itself. For Eckhart, the spark in the soul is itself divine or even more than divine, and only by turning away from anything outside myself and from any content whatsoever, do I discover myself as this ‘I as I’. He also makes a parallel transformation of the moral outlook linked to Albert’s theme. In place of the philosophical ideal of nobility, found in the contemplation enjoyed by the philosopher, Eckhart substitutes a nobility of renunciation which he expresses by the word ‘detachment’ (abegescheidenheit), and an ideal of poverty and humility: ‘Were a man truly humble’, he writes, ‘God would have either to lose his own divinity and be entirely bereft of it, or else diffuse himself and flow entirely into this man. Yesterday evening I had this thought: God’s greatness depends on my humility; the more humble I make myself, the more God will be raised up.’16 The tradition of Albert takes a different twist in the writings of Berthold of Moosburg (fl. c. 1335–c. 1361). His known work comprises just an incomplete, but none the less vast, commentary on Proclus’ Elements of Theology. This choice of a life’s work was no accident. Berthold believed that the ‘Platonic philosophers’, of whom he considered Proclus an outstanding example, had arrived at the true philosophy, by contrast with Aristotle and his followers. For Berthold, the main distinction to be considered is no longer between the teachings of the philosophers and those of Christian faith, but between the two main schools of ancient philosophy: the Aristotelians, whose metaphysics, the knowledge of being qua being, is seen in opposition to the theology developed by Christians and Neoplatonists alike (see [10.63] 317–442). NOTES 1 Readers of this chapter are requested to look at what I say in my Introduction (above, p. 9, n. 8) about its aims and, especially, its limitations. 2 Aristotle was also studied intensively in Oxford: see above, Chapter 9, and Marenbon [10.34]. 3 It is not certain that William was responsible for the revision of Grosseteste’s translation that became standard. 4 For an authoritative summary of present knowledge about the translations of Aristotle, see Dod [10.30]. The preceding paragraph and a half is based especially on this study. 5 On Latin versions of Avicenna, see d’Alverny [10.27]. 6 Part of the Parmenides was to be found in the lemmata of William of Moerbeke’s translation of Proclus’ commentary, but neither the commentary nor the text was generally known: see Steel [10.35] 306. 7 See Weber [10.47]. On the history of these arguments based on the idea of infinity, many of which appear to go back to the sixth-century Greek Christian thinker John Philoponus, see R.Sorabji, Time, Creation and the Continuum, London, 1983, esp. pp. 210–31. 8 See de Libera [10.64]. My comments on Albert draw especially from de Libera, but they offer only a crude reflection of de Libera’s subtle views. See also de Libera [10.63] for a development of his views about Albert within a wider context. 9 See Schmugge [10.71] for John of Jandun and Kuksewicz [10.62] for later Averroism. 10 An excellent guide to this tradition, and argument for its unity, is provided in de Libera [10.63]. 11 De intellectu et intelligibili II, 36; for the whole discussion, see II, 34–6, and III, 37; cf. Mojsisch [10.68]. 12 De origine rerum praedicamentalium V2. 13 Flasch was the first scholar to bring out the nature and importance of Dietrich’s position here: see [10.59]. 14 For a thorough study of the background to the Parisian questions 1 and 2, see Zum Brunn and others [10.74] and Imbach [10.60]. 15 See Mojsisch [10.69] and [10.70]. Not all Eckhart scholars accept Mojsisch’s views: for a critique, see [10.72], esp. 307–12. 16 Sermon 14 [10.53, Deutsch. Werke, I 237:1–5], quoted by de Libera [10.65] 325; on Eckhart’s transformation of the ideal of nobility, see de Libera [10.65] 299– 347. BIBLIOGRAPHY Editions of Latin Translations from Greek, Arabic and Hebrew This is a list of some of the most important translations of philosophical works: for fuller lists, see Marenbon [Intr. 10] 194–7, with additions noted in Marenbon [10.33] 1009, n. 1. 10.1 Al-Ghazzālī (Algazel) Intentions of the Philosophers, sections on physics and metaphysics, in J.Muckle (ed.) Algazel’s Metaphysics, Toronto, 1933. 10.2 Al-Ghazzālī (Algazel) Intentions of the Philosophers (complete text), Venice, 1506. 10.3–10.8 Aristotle: Logic (translations by Boethius, William of Moerbeke and others), ed. L.Minio-Paluello et al. (AL 1–6) Bruges and Paris, 1961– 75). 10.9 ——Metaphysics (translations by James of Venice, translatio vetus, translatio media), ed. G.Vuillemin-Diem (AL 25), Bruges and Paris, 1970, 1976. 10.10 ——Nicomachean Ethics (various translations), ed. R.Gauthier (AL 26), Bruges and Paris, 1972–4. Aristotle’s On the Soul (Michael Scotus’s version) appears as lemmata in his translation of Averroes’ Great commentary [10.14]. 10.11 ——On the Soul (William of Moerbeke’s version), as lemmata in Aquinas’s commentary, ed. R.Gauthier (Leonine edition 45), Rome and Paris, 1984. 10.12 Ibn Rushd (Averroes) Aristotelis opera cum Averrois commentariis, Venice, 1560. (A large collection of his commentaries, uncritically edited.) 10.13 ——The 1562–74 edition of the above work, which contains fewer commentaries, has been reprinted in Frankfurt, 1962. 10.14 ——Great commentary on Aristotle, On the Soul, ed. F.Crawford, Cambridge, Mass., 1953. Averroes’ Great commentary on Aristotle, Metaphysics is published as a whole in [10.13] vol. 8, and on individual books as follows: 10.15 ——on Book II, ed. G.Darms, Freiburg, Switzerland, 1966. 10.16 ——on Book V, ed. R.Ponzalli, Berne, 1971. 10.17 ——on Book XI, ed. B.Burke, Berne, 1969. 10.18 Ibn Sina (Avicenna): book on On the Soul from the Shifā’, in S.van Riet (ed.) De anima, 2 vols, Bruges and Paris, 1968, 1972. 10.19 ——book on the Metaphysics from the Shifā’, in S.van Riet (ed.) Liber de philosophia prima sive scientia divina, 3 vols, Bruges and Paris, 1977–83. 10.20 Liber de causis (Book about Causes), ed. A.Pattin, Louvain, undated. 10.21 Maimonides Guide of the Perplexed, Latin translation of the Hebrew translation by al-Harisi, Dux seu director dubitantium vel perplexorum, Paris, 1520; repr. Frankfurt, 1964. 10.22 Plato Timaeus (Calcidius’ version, with his commentary), ed. J.Waszink, 2nd edn, London, 1975. 10.23 ——Meno, translated by Henry Aristippus, ed. V.Kordeuter and C. Labowsky, London, 1940. 10.24 ——Phaedo, translated by Henry Aristippus, ed. L.Minio-Paluello, London, 1950. 10.25 Porphyry Isagoge, translations by Boethius and others, ed. L.Minio- Paluello, (AL 1, fasc. 5–6), Bruges and Paris, 1966. 10.26 Proclus Elements of Theology, translated by William of Moerbeke, ed. H. Boese, Leuven, 1987. Bibliographies and catalogues Very full bibliographical information will be found in Daiber [10.29]. 10.27 d’Alverny, M.-T. ‘Avicenna Latinus’, Archives de l’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge (1961–72): 28, 281–316; 29, 217–33; 30, 221–72; 31, 271–86; 32, 259–302; 33, 305–27; 34, 315–3; 36, 243– 80; 37, 327–61; 39, 321–41. Studies 10.28 Brams, J. ‘Guillaume de Moerbeke et Aristote’, in Hamesse and Fattori [10.31] 315–36. 10.29 Daiber, H. ‘Lateinische Übersetzungen arabischer Texte zur Philosophie und ihre Bedeutung für die Scholastik des Mittelalters’, in Hamesse and Fattori [10.31] 203–50. 10.30 Dod, B.G. ‘Aristoteles Latinus’, in CHLMP, 45–79. 10.31 Hamesse, J. and Fattori, M. (eds) Rencontres de cultures dans la philosophie médiévale, Louvain and Cassino, 1990. 10.32 Kluxen, W. ‘Literaturgeschichtliches zum lateinischen Moses Maimonides’, Recherches de théologie ancienne et médiévale 2l (1954): 23–50. 10.33 Marenbon, J. ‘Medieval Christian and Jewish Europe’, in S.H.Nasr and O.Leaman (eds) History of Islamic Philosophy, vol. II, London, 1996. 10.34 ——(ed.) Aristotle in Britain during the Middle Ages, Turnhout, 1996. 10.35 Steel, C. ‘Plato Latinus’, in Hamesse and Fattori [10.31] 300–16. Bonaventure Original language editions 10.36 Opera omnia, ed. P.P.Collegii S.Bonaventurae, 10 vols, Quaracchi, 1882– 1902. 10.37 Collationes, ed. F.Delorme (Bibliotheca Franciscana medii aevi 8), Quaracchi, 1934. 10.38 Itinerarium mentis ad Deum (text of Opera omnia with French parallel trans. and notes by H.Duméry), Paris, 1960. Translations 10.39 Breviloquium, trans. J.de Vinck, Paterson, NJ, 1963. 10.40 Itinerarium mentis ad Deum (The mind’s journey to God), trans. P.Boehner, St Bonaventure, NY, 1956. (Other translations are also available.) 10.41 De reductione artium ad theologiam, trans. E.T.Healy, St Bonaventure, NY, 1955. 10.42 Collationes on the Hexaemeron, trans. (into French) M.Ozilon, as Les six jours de la. création, Paris, c. 1991. Studies 10.43 Bougerol, J. Introduction à l’étude de Saint Bonaventure, Tournai, 196l. 10.44 Gilson, E. La Philosophie de Saint Bonaventure, 3rd edn (Etudes de philosophie médiévale 4) Paris, 1953. (There is an English translation of the first, 1924, edn of this book: The Philosophy of St Bonaventure, trans I.Trethowan and F.J.Sheed, New York, 1938.) 10.45 Quinn, J. The Historical Constitution of St Bonaventure’s Philosophy, Toronto, 1973. 10.46 Van Steenberghen, F. La Philosophie au XIIIe siècle, Louvain, 1966. 10.47 Weber, E.H. Dialogue et dissensions entre Saint Bonaventure et Saint Thomas d’Aquin à Paris, 1252–73 (Bibliothèque thomiste 41), Paris, 1974. Albert the Great and his Influence Original language editions 10.48 Albert the Great Opera omnia, ed. A. and E.Borgnet, Paris, 1890–9. 10.49 ——Opera omnia, chief ed. B.Geyer, Münster, 1951–. 10.50 Berthold of Moosburg, Commentary on the Elements of Theology, partial ed. by L.Sturlese, Rome, 1974. 10.51 Dietrich of Freiberg Opera omnia, ed. K.Flasch et al., Hamburg, 1977–83. 10.52 ——De origine rerum praedicamentalium, ed. F.Stegmüller, ‘Meister Dietrich von Freiburg über den Ursprung der Kategorien’, Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen âge 24 (1957): 115–201. (This edition has been replaced by that in [10.51] but may be more readily available.) 10.53 Eckhart Die deutschen und lateinischen Werke, ed. J.Quint et al. (Stuttgart, 1930–). Translations 10.54 Eckhart, Sermons and treatises, trans. M.O’C.Walshe, London and Dulverton, 1979. 10.55 Meister Eckhart: the Essential Sermons, Commentaries, Treatises and Defence, trans. E.Colledge and B.McGinn, London, 1981. 10.56 Meister Eckhart: Teacher and Preacher, trans. B.McGinn, NJ, 1986. 10.57 Eckhart Parisian Questions and Prologues, trans. A.Maurer, Toronto, 1974. Bibliographies and catalogues 10.58 Larger, N. Bibliographie zu Meister Eckhart (Dokimion 9), Freiburg, Switzerland, 1989. A wide bibliography to the whole area is given in de Libera [10.63]. Studies 10.59 Flasch, K. ‘Kennt die mittelalterliche Philosophie die konstitutive Funktion des menschlichen Denkens? Eine Untersuchung zu Dietrich von Freiberg’, Kant-Studien 63 (1972): 182–206. 10.60 Imbach, R. Deus est intelligere, Freiburg, Switzerland, 1976. 10.61 Krebs, E. Meister Dietrich (Theodoricus Teutonicus de Vriberg): sein Leben, seine Werke, seine Wissenschaft (BGPT MA 5, 5–6), Münster, 1906. 10.62 Kuksewicz, Z. ‘L’influence d’Averroes sur les universités en Europe centrale: l’expansion de l’averroisme latin’, in J.Jolivet (ed.) Multiple Averroes, Paris, 1978, pp. 275–86. 10.63 Libera, A.de Introduction à la mystique rhénane d’Albert le Grand à Maître Eckhart, Paris, 1984. Repr. as La mystique rhénane, Paris, 1994. 10.64 ——Albert le Grand et la philosophie, Paris, 1990. 10.65 ——Penser au moyen âge, Paris, 1991. 10.66 Lossky, V. Théologie négative et connaissance de Dieu chez Eckhart, Paris, 1960. 10.67 Meyer, G. and Zimmermann, A. Albertus Magnus: Doctor Universalis 1280/1980 (Walberger Studien 6), Mainz, 1980. 10.68 Mojsisch, B. Die Theorie des Intellects bei Dietrich von Freiberg, Hamburg, 1977. 10.69 ——Meister Eckhart. Analogie, Univozität und Einheit, Hamburg, 1983. 10.70 ——‘“Le moi”: la conception du moi de Maître Eckhart: une contribution aux “lumières” du Moyen-Age’, Revue des sciences religieuses 70 (1996): 18–30. 10.71 Schmugge, L. Johannes von Jandun (1285/9–1328), Stuttgart, 1966. 10.72 Waldschütz, E. Denken und Erfahren des Grundes. Zur philosophische Deutung Meister Eckharts, Vienna, Freiburg and Basel, 1986. 10.73 Wallace, W.A. The Scientific Methodology of Theoderic of Freiberg (Studia Friburgensia, NS 25), Freiburg, Switzerland, 1959. 10.74 Zum Brunn, E., Kaluza, Z., Libera, A. de, Vignaux, P. and Wéber, E. Maître Eckhart à Paris. Une critique médiévale de l’ontothéologie (Bibliothèque de l’école des hautes études, sciences religieuses 86), Paris, 1984.

Routledge History of Philosophy. . 2005.

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