The title of this present volume tends to be misleading. For it suggests that Nicholas’s didactic sermons are to be distinguished from his non-didactic ones—ones that are, say, more inspirational and less philosophical, or more devotional and less theological, or more situationally oriented and less Scripturally focused. Yet, in truth, all 293 of Nicholas’s sermons are highly didactic, highly pedagogical, highly exegetical.1 To be sure, there are inspirational and devotional elements; but they are subordinate to the primary purpose of teaching. (...) Likewise, only occasionally2 do the sermons show signs of addressing local circumstances that are idiosyncratic to the respective churches in Koblenz, Trier, Mainz, Augsburg, Frankfurt, Brixen, and Rome. Rather, their Scriptural focus more often than not yields up interpretations that are allegorical—or otherwise figurative—in a general way that allows Nicholas to draw inferences about the relationship between the intellect and the senses, about the unity of the virtues, the two natures in Christ, human freedom of will, the gifts of the Holy Spirit, the inter-relationship of faith and reason, the triune nature of God, the role of conscience, the precepts of the natural law, time as the image of eternity, the four stages of a knowledge of God, Christ as Wisdom Incarnate, God as Beauty, the Holy Spirit as Love, … and so on. Each of the sermons contains more than one major theme, so that no sermon dwells at length upon a single topic so as to sound pedantic and inappropriately academic. On the contrary: in a limited measure Nicholas’s sermons tend to entice through their extensive display of original metaphor, of striking imagery, of fresh vocabulary, and of erudite knowledge of earlier writers such as Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Anselm, Albertus Magnus, and Meister Eckhart. (shrink)
regions of Constantinople, was inflamed with zeal for God as a result of those deeds that were reported to have been perpetrated at Constantinople most recently and most cruelly by the King of the Turks.2 Consequently, with many groanings he beseeched the Creator of all, because of His kindness, to restrain the persecution that was raging more fiercely than usual on account of the difference of rite between the [two] religions. It came to pass that after a number of days—perhaps (...) because of his prolonged, incessant meditation—a vision was shown to this same zealous man. Therefrom he educed the following: the few wise men who are rich in the experiential knowledge of all such differences as are observed throughout the world in the [different] religions can find a single, readily-available harmony; and through this harmony there can be constituted, by a suitable and true means, perpetual peace within [the domain of ] religion. Hence, in order that this vision might one day become known to those who have a say in these especially important matters, he wrote down plainly, in what follows, as much of it as he recalled. For he had been caught up to an intellectual height where, as it.. (shrink)
Is there any such thing as the Cusan view of the relationship between faith and reason? That is, does Nicholas present us with clear concepts of fides and ratio and with a unique and consistent doctrine regarding their interconnection? If he does not, then the task before us is surely an impossible one: viz., the task of finding, describing, and setting in perspective a doctrine that never at all existed. For even with spectacles made of beryl stone or through (...) the looking glass of Lewis Carroll, we could not descry the totally nonexistent. Four lines of argument purport to show that the task before us is fundamentally impossible. 1. First of all, it may be argued (a) that Nicholas of Cusa can have a coherent doctrine of faith and reason only if he has a generally coherent theory of knowledge and (b) that since his theory of knowledge is generally incoherent, so too must be the aforesaid doctrine, which is an intrinsic part of the theory of knowledge. Let us grant—for the sake of the argument—the disputable logic of this reasoning, and let us focus on the question of whether Nicholas does or does not have a viable general theory of knowledge. Many philosophers judge the theory to be unviable. For example, the philosopher Hans Blumenberg writes: “I will not make what I believe would have to be a futile attempt at a unitary interpretation of the Cusan theory of knowledge. Here in particular the inner consistency of his philosophical accomplishment is doubtful. The reason for this can be specified: it lies, again, in the inability to deal with or successfully to evade the consequences of nominalism.” 2 Other philosophers are quick to agree that Cusa’s epistemology consists of a host of glaring contradictions: Cusa’s theory of representative perception is said to be incompatible with his doctrine of homo mensura—i.e., with his doctrine that man is the measure of the reality that is perceived and conceived by him. Cusa’s notion that empirical concepts are abstracted from perceptual and imaginative images is asserted to be contradicted by his further claim that all concepts are derived a pri- ori from the mind itself.. (shrink)
Giovanni Santinello in his insightful analysis and Italian translation2 of Nicholas of Cusa’s sermon “Tota Pulchra Es, Amica Mea” (Sermon CCXLIII) rightly points out that this sermon is the only work in which Nicholas deals systematically with the theme of beauty. Yet, he also points out that this theme pervades Nicholas’s other works, even though it does not surface in them extensively. Santinello goes on to exhibit the direct borrowings that Nicholas makes from Pseudo-Dionysius’s De Divinis (...) Nominibus and from Albertus Magnus’s commentary Super Dionysium De Divinis Nomin- ibus. Santinello then explores the issue of Nicholas’s originality and concludes that “il pensiero estetico del Cusano ha una sua notevole originalità, e … il concetto albertista del bello … trova la sua giustificazione nel sistema filosofico e nelle convinzioni estetiche che sono proprie del Cusano.”. (shrink)
Anselm (b. 1033; d. 1109) flourished during the period of the Norman Conquest of England (1066), the call by Pope Urban II to the First Crusade (1095), and the strident Investiture Controversy. This latter dispute pitted Popes Gregory VII, Urban II, and Paschal II against the monarchs of Europe in regard to just who had the right—whether kings or bishops—to invest bishops and archbishops with their ecclesiastical offices. It is not surprising that R. W. Southern, Anselm’s present-day biographer, speaks of (...) Anselm’s life as covering “one of the most momentous periods of change in European history, comparable to the centuries of the Reformation or the Industrial Revolution” (1990, p. 4). Yet it is ironic that Anselm, who began as a simple monk shunning all desire for fame, should nonetheless today have become one of the most famous intellectual figures of the Middle Ages. And it is even more ironic that this judgment holds true in spite of the fact that he wrote only eleven treatises or dialogues (not to mention his three meditations, nineteen prayers, and 374 letters). (shrink)
To the venerable and devout man, Lord John of Gelnhausen,2 formerly abbot in Maulbronn, intercessor for one of his own. Most lovable Father, I was recently presented with Learned Ig- norance, which consists of three books (each incomplete in itself) and which is written in a sufficiently elegant style. It begins with the words “Admirabitur, et recte, maximum tuum et iam probatissimum ingeni- um” and ends “Eo aeternaliter fruituri qui est in saecula benedictus. Amen.” Having looked over [this work], I (...) feel called upon to write Un- known Learning. Here—by means of [a view] opposed to the points which the aforementioned Learned Ignorance deals with (in my judgment, harmfully) in regard to God, the universe, and Jesus Christ— an entrance opens unto the powers of the Lord so that we may be mindful of His justice.3 Those who lack the knowledge of this justice have disobediently established their own, as the apostle says in Romans 10.4 The promise of eternal life will perhaps lighten the burden of this work which I have undertaken. [ This promise] concerns the repayment of supererogation (Luke 10)5 and was made by God to the clarifiers of truth—[made] in what is written in Ecclesiasticus 24: “Those who explain me shall have eternal life.”6 From an innate desire for health the minds of my readers will be vigilant with regard even to this Unknown Learning. With spiritual weapons, however, I am going to rebut certain statements from Learned Ignorance-—[rebut them] as being incompatible with our faith, offensive to devout minds, and vainly leading away from obedience to God. At the head of what must be said comes the [command] in Psalms 45 (“Be still and see that I am God”)7 as being the legitimate enlistment of all our mental activity. For if I behold the mind of the prophet: after the elimination of malevolent wars. which are repugnant to our God, and, moreover, after the weapons of treachery have been broken8 and knowledge is to be had of Christ, our peacemaker and defender, then comes the command “Be still and see that.... (shrink)
ABBOT:1 You know that we three, who are engaged in study and are permitted to converse with you, are occupied with deep matters. For [I am busy] with the Parmenides and with Proclus’s commentary [thereon]; Peter [is occupied] with this same Proclus’s Theology of Plato, which he is translating from Greek into Latin; Ferdinand is surveying the genius of Aristotle; and you, when you have time, are busy with the theologian Dionysius the Areopagite. We would like to hear whether or (...) not there occurs to you a briefer and clearer route to the points which are dealt with by the aforenamed [individuals]. NICHOLAS: In our respective directions we are busy with deep mysteries. And it seems to me that no one can speak of these matters more briefly and clearly than those whom we are reading. Nonetheless, I have sometimes thought that we have neglected a [point] which would lead us closer to what is sought. PETER: We ask that this [point] be made known [to us]. (shrink)
During this sexcentenary of the birth of Nicholas of Cusa, there is an almost ineluctable temptation to super-accentuate Cusa’s modernity—to recall approvingly, for example, that the Neokantian Ernst Cassirer not only designated Cusa “the first Modern thinker”1 but also went on to interpret his epistemology as anticipating Kant’s.2 In this respect Cassirer was following his German predecessor Richard Falckenberg, who wrote: “It remains a pleasure to see, on the threshold of the Modern Age, the doctrine already advanced by Plotinus and (...) Scotus Eriugena, received [by Cusanus] so forcefully that time, numbers, spatial figures, and all categories ... are brought forth out of the creative power of the mind.”3 Others have proclaimed Nicholas to be a forerunner of Spinoza,4 of Leibniz,5 of Hegel,6 and, indeed, of German Idealism generally. (shrink)
Nicholas of Cusa’s Coniectura de Ultimis Diebus contains Nicholas’s attempt to specify a time-frame within which the world will come to an end. His inferences are speculative and are based largely on passages from the Bible. In assessing Nicholas’s proposal, one needs to keep in mind nine key considerations.
In the notes to the translations the numbering of the Psalms accords with the Douay version and, in parentheses, with the King James (Authorized) version. A reference such as “S II, 264:18” indicates “F. S. Schmitt’s edition of the Latin texts, Vol. II, p. 264, line 18.”.
http://www.cla.umn.edu/jhopkins/ Taken together, twenty-four of these works constitute Nicholas of Cusa’s complete philosophical and theological treatises. They must be supplemented by studying his richly conceptual sermons, along with his ecclesiological and exegetical writings such as De Concordantia Catholica and Coniectura de Ultimis Diebus. His mathematical writings are also of interest, even though they are not of lasting importance, as Gottfried Leibniz rightly recognized.
Within Judeo-Christian theism many of the initially-sounding paradoxical and counter-intuitive expressions—such as Martin Luther’s description of the Christian believer as simul peccator et iustus—seem oftentimes contradictory, or at least pointless, to the unbeliever. Yet, these expressions play an important role within the theistic context of faith. The present essay promotes the view that such expressions should not be eliminatively reduced to “equivalent” restatements of them in non-paradoxical language. For the paradoxical formulations are themselves instinct with a rhetorical force that makes (...) their putative religious truth seem all the more penetrating and prepossessing. (shrink)
At first glance it seems strange to compare the views of two philosophers from such different contexts as are Harry G. Frankfurt1 and Aurelius Augustinus. After all, Frankfurt makes virtually no use of Augustine, virtually no mention of his philosophical doctrines—whether on free will or anything else.2 And yet, the two have more to do with each other than initially meets the eye. For in their own ways both of them sketch a respective theory of freedom that is similarly insightful; (...) moreover, the theories of both lapse into paradox (paradox of which each author is aware but from which neither seeks to escape). Of course, Frankfurt's articulation of his theory is more systematic, more focused than is Augustine's. Indeed, Augustine seems to make most of his points as if en passant; even in De Libero Arbitrio he shows little interest in sustained treatment of the topic heralded in the title. So what links Frankfurt and Augustine is not their philosophical style but rather (1) their putative triumph over the philosophical elusiveness and the conceptual impenetrability of the notion of freedom-of-will and (2) the fact that in coming to cognate conclusions, they share similar strategies. Thus, they admit of plausible comparison. (shrink)
The title of this present volume tends to be misleading. For it suggests that Nicholas’s didactic sermons are to be distinguished from his non-didactic ones—ones that are, say, more inspirational and less philosophical, or more devotional and less theological, or more situationally oriented and less Scripturally focused. Yet, in truth, all 293 of Nicholas’s sermons are highly didactic, highly pedagogical, highly exegetical.1 To be sure, there are inspirational and devotional elements; but they are subordinate to the primary purpose of teaching. (...) Likewise, only occasionally2 do the sermons show signs of addressing local circumstances that are idiosyncratic to the respective churches in Koblenz, Trier, Mainz, Augsburg, Frankfurt, Brixen, and Rome. Rather, their Scriptural focus more often than not yields up interpretations that are allegorical—or otherwise figurative—in a general way that allows Nicholas to draw inferences about the relationship between the intellect and the senses, about the unity of the virtues, the two natures in Christ, human freedom of will, the gifts of the Holy Spirit, the inter-relationship of faith and reason, the triune nature of God, the role of conscience, the precepts of the natural law, time as the image of eternity, the four stages of a knowledge of God, Christ as Wisdom Incarnate, God as Beauty, the Holy Spirit as Love, … and so on. Each of the sermons contains more than one major theme, so that no sermon dwells at length upon a single topic so as to sound pedantic and inappropriately academic. On the contrary: in a limited measure Nicholas’s sermons tend to entice through their extensive display of original metaphor, of striking imagery, of fresh vocabulary, and of erudite knowledge of earlier writers such as Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Anselm, Albertus Magnus, and Meister Eckhart. (shrink)
A. Historical Context. The ancient philosophers regarded wisdom (sofiva) as an excellence (ajrethv). Plato devoted much of the Pro- tagoras to a “proof” that holiness (oJsiovth"), courage (ajndreiva), justice (dikaiosuvnh), and self-control (swfrosuvvnh) are but variants of wisdom, which he there also sometimes referred to as knowledge (ejpisthvmh). In not distinguishing explicitly between either various notions of wisdom or various notions of knowledge, Plato—or, at least, the Platonic Socrates—found himself troubled as to whether moral excellence, i.e., moral virtue, could be (...) taught. Is it really teachable, really knowledge, or is it, instead, a special gift of the gods to some men but not to others?, he asked in the Meno. As we witness from the Laws, but also from the Republic, Plato came to favor the view that moral virtue is indeed teachable and is indeed a kind of knowledge. In general, he depicted the philosopher—the lover of wisdom—as desirous, foremostly, of knowing the Good. This pursuit of Goodness was thought to have both a contemplative1 and a noncontemplative dimension to it, so that the philosopher was characterized both as someone given to reflecting upon the eternal Form of the Good and as someone knowing how to behave well. Although in the Phaedrus the gods alone are said to be wise (278D), with the philosopher being described as striving to become ever more godlike as he draws intellectually nearer to wisdom, none of the other Platonic dialogues insist upon this exclusivistic use of the epithet “wise”. (shrink)
With the English translation of the two Latin works contained in this present book, which is a sequel to Nicholas of Cusa: Metaphysical Speculations: [Volume One],1 I have now translated all2 of the major treatises and dialogues of Nicholas of Cusa (1401-1464), except for De Concordantia Catholica.3 My plans call for collecting, in the near future, these translations into a two-volume paperback edition—i.e., into a Reader—that will serve, more generally, students of the history of philosophy and theology. Reasons of economy (...) dictate that footnotes and introductory analyses be left aside, so that the prospective Reader cannot be thought of as a replacement for the more scholarly previously published volumes. (shrink)
Like any important philosophical work, De Docta Ignorantia cannot be understood by merely being read: it must be studied. For its main themes are so profoundly innovative that their author's exposition of them could not have anticipated, and therefore taken measures to prevent, all the serious misunderstandings which were likely to arise. Moreover, the themes are so extensively interlinked that a misunderstanding of any one of them will serve to obscure all the others as well. In such case, the mental (...) effort required of the reader-who-interprets must approximate the effort expended by the author-who- instructs. No words are more self-condemning than are those of John Wenck, at the conclusion of whose critique of De Docta Ignorantia we read: “Et sic est finis scriptis cursorie Heydelberg”: “And this is the end to what was written cursorily at Heidelberg.”1 Nicholas has not made his reader's task easy. For in spite of his claim to have explained matters “as clearly as I could” and to have avoided “all roughness of style,” many of his points escape even the diligent reader, since the explanation for them is either too condensed, or else too barbarously expressed, to be assuredly followed. And yet, from out of the vagueness, the ambiguity, the amphiboly, the enthymematic movement of thought, there emerges—for a reader patient enough to solliciter doucement les textes—an internally coherent pattern of reasoning. The present translation of this reasoning aims above all at accuracy.2 To this end the rendering is literal, though with no deliberate sacrifice of literate English expression. Only a literal translation (but not word for word) permits the subtle twists and turns of Nicholas's arguments to shine forth.3 The earlier, radically inaccurate rendering by Germain Heron (1954) distorts Nicholas's arguments— and thus belies history by making the author of De Docta Ignorantia appear as someone mindlessly unable to develop even the semblance of a systematic line of thought.. (shrink)
Although the dimness of my intelligence is already known to Your Paternity,1 nonetheless by careful scrutiny you have endeavored to find in my intelligence a light. For when during the gathering of herbs there came to mind the apostolic text in which James indicates that every best gift and every perfect gift is from above, from the Father of lights,2 you entreated me to write down my conjecture about the interpretation of this text. I know, Father, that you have a (...) firm grasp of that which has been written by the most learned theologians but that I have read very little of their writings. Thus, I would rightly be ashamed were I to be unaware of the soundness of your mind. Read, then, with a suitable interpretation what my view is. (shrink)
regions of Constantinople, was inflamed with zeal for God as a result of those deeds that were reported to have been perpetrated at Constantinople most recently and most cruelly by the King of the Turks.2 Consequently, with many groanings he beseeched the Creator of all, because of His kindness, to restrain the persecution that was raging more fiercely than usual on account of the difference of rite between the [two] religions. It came to pass that after a number of days—perhaps (...) because of his prolonged, incessant meditation—a vision was shown to this same zealous man. Therefrom he educed the following: the few wise men who are rich in the experiential knowledge of all such differences as are observed throughout the world in the [different] religions can find a single, readily-available harmony; and through this harmony there can be constituted, by a suitable and true means, perpetual peace within [the domain of ] religion. Hence, in order that this vision might one day become known to those who have a say in these especially important matters, he wrote down plainly, in what follows, as much of it as he recalled. For he had been caught up to an intellectual height where, as it.. (shrink)
By permission of The Gale Group, this article is reprinted (here on-line) from “Nicholas of Cusa,” pp. 122-125, Volume 9 of the Dictionary of the Middle Ages, edited by Joseph R. Strayer (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1987 ). The short bibliography at the end of the original article has been omitted; and the page numbers of the article are here changed.
Not many years ago Carl Jung levelled the charge of “ crackpot psychology” against the philosophical writings of Hegel.1 There is, of course, an element of truth in Jung’s stricture; for one has only to read again the Phenomenology of Spirit in order to realize anew that the conceptual matrix of this work is an account of the self’s psycho-social development. Thus, both Hegel’s notion that the Other is a necessary condition of my selfidentity and his account of the master-slave (...) relationship draw upon psychological insights which become transformed into metaphysical utterances in the doctrine that the Logical Idea must pass over into Nature—that Nature, as other than Idea, is estranged Idea. Though Jung’s criticism is intended negatively, it serves positively to point up the interrelationship that has often (though not always) existed between philosophy and psychology—the former paying house calls (not sick calls) to the latter. In recent years psychology has returned the visit. A growing group of psychologists have turned to philosophy in order to borrow categories for interpreting various patterns of neurosis and psychosis. And here and there isolated voices have accused them of “ crackpot philosophy.” I am referring, of course, to the school of existential psychotherapy, which has by and large adopted Heidegger’s categories of being-in-the-world, facticity, thrownness, care, temporality, lived-space, authenticity, everydayness, project, freedom, anxiety, utensility, and being-unto-death as ready-made schemes for focusing neurotic and psychotic syndromes. Such reliance upon Heidegger’s existential analysis of human reality has tended to minimize the use of Sartre’s philosophy. (shrink)
Is there any such thing as the Cusan view of the relationship between faith and reason? That is, does Nicholas present us with clear concepts of fides and ratio and with a unique and consistent doctrine regarding their interconnection? If he does not, then the task before us is surely an impossible one: viz., the task of finding, describing, and setting in perspective a doctrine that never at all existed. For even with spectacles made of beryl stone or through the (...) looking glass of Lewis Carroll, we could not descry the totally nonexistent. Four lines of argument purport to show that the task before us is fundamentally impossible. 1. First of all, it may be argued (a) that Nicholas of Cusa can have a coherent doctrine of faith and reason only if he has a generally coherent theory of knowledge and (b) that since his theory of knowledge is generally incoherent, so too must be the aforesaid doctrine, which is an intrinsic part of the theory of knowledge. Let us grant—for the sake of the argument—the disputable logic of this reasoning, and let us focus on the question of whether Nicholas does or does not have a viable general theory of knowledge. Many philosophers judge the theory to be unviable. For example, the philosopher Hans Blumenberg writes: “I will not make what I believe would have to be a futile attempt at a unitary interpretation of the Cusan theory of knowledge. Here in particular the inner consistency of his philosophical accomplishment is doubtful. The reason for this can be specified: it lies, again, in the inability to deal with or successfully to evade the consequences of nominalism.”2 Other philosophers are quick to agree that Cusa’s epistemology consists of a host of glaring contradictions: Cusa’s theory of representative perception is said to be incompatible with his doctrine of homo mensura—i.e., with his doctrine that man is the measure of the reality that is perceived and conceived by him. Cusa’s notion that empirical concepts are abstracted from perceptual and imaginative images is asserted to be contradicted by his further claim that all concepts are derived a pri- ori from the mind itself.. (shrink)
In an intrepid article entitled “Why Anselm's Proof in the Proslogion Is Not an Ontological Argument,”45 G.E.M. Anscombe takes issue with the traditional reading of Anselm's text. According to this reading Anselm's proof in Proslogion 2 depends upon the premise that existence is a perfection; and as a result of this dependency it has been given the label “ontological argument.” I In challenging the traditional reading, Anscombe proposes a corrected version of Anselm’s proof—a version which eliminates the premise that existence (...) is a perfection and which thereby undermines the rationale for considering the proof to be an “ontological argument.” Her corrected version runs as follows: 26 Anscombe on Anselm.. (shrink)
There is no more prominent atheist today than Jean-Paul Sartre. Yet serious students of Sartre’s philosophy are struck by his unabashed use of theological idiom. This use is so extensive that Professor Hazel Barnes in her translator’s introduction to Being and Nothingness comments: Many people who consider themselves religious could quite comfortably accept Sartre’s philosophy if he did not embarrass them by making his pronouncement, “ There is no God,” quite so specific.1 The present chapter will explore the theological idiom (...) of Sartre’s philosophy of man and pose the question whether—once the “embarrassing atheistic pronouncement” is removed—Sartre’s philosophical anthropology has any systematic value for the theologian. The chapter proceeds along six lines: (1) to investigate Sartre’s conception of human nature; (2-4) to illustrate his employment of theological language in describing man as desiring to be God, guilty of original sin, and incarnate in love; (5) to appraise his arguments for atheism; and (6) to assess particular aspects of his description of human reality. (shrink)
Ever since Ernst Cassirer in his epochal book Individuum und Kosmos in der Philosophie der Renaissance1 labeled Nicholas of Cusa “the first modern thinker,” interest in Cusa’s thought has burgeoned. At various times, both before and after Cassirer, Nicholas has been viewed as a forerunner of Leibniz,2 a harbinger of Kant,3 a prefigurer of Hegel,4 indeed, as an anticipator of the whole of..
C. Stanley Kane’s book, Anselm’s Doctrine of Freedom and The Will, is the only monograph in English on this topic. It will therefore influence a wide array of students and scholars. The book advances five theses: (1) that Anselm operates with a general ontological principle to the effect that the essential nature of anything is determined by its purpose in existing; (2) that Anselm’s theory of the will is not determinist but a variant of indeterminism; (3) that human freedom, for (...) Anselm, consists in the ability either to do or not do what is unjust; (4) that, on Anselm’s view, God alone directly causes all just volitions in human beings; and (5) that Anselm regards the imparting of grace as solely dependent upon God’s offer and man’s response, without regard to the influencing effect of circumstances.I show that Anselm does not adhere to a single one of these allegedly Anselmian theses. (shrink)
Gaunilo, monk of Marmoutier, is known almost exclusively for his attempted refutation of Anselm’s ontological argument around 1079. Indeed, both his counter-example about the alleged island which is more excellent than all others and Anselm’s rebuttal thereof have nowadays become standard items for courses in medieval philosophy. Over the past decade or so, which has witnessed a revival of interest in the ontological argument, Gaunilo has been either lauded for his brilliancy or disparaged for his mediocrity. Thus, R. W. Southern (...) judges that, “in words which are as trenchant as, and in some details strikingly similar to, those of Kant,” Gaunilo pointed out the main difficulty in accepting Anselm’s argument.1 By contrast, the most Charles Hartshorne can say on Gaunilo’s behalf is that he is “a clever, but essentially commonplace mind.”2 Those who praise Gaunilo tend to do so because he “wisely” discerned the illegitimacy of inferring a factual statement from an a priori description. Those who speak derogatorily of his achievement tend to side with Anselm’s two criticisms: (1) that he misunderstood the phrase “aliquid quo nihil maius cogitari potest”—replacing it by “maius omnibus”—and (2) that his definition of “understanding” is inconsistent with his having maintained that what is unreal can be understood.3 Now, if Gaunilo did commit himself to two blatantly inconsistent statements within a few lines of each other, as the second criticism maintains, then to call him a clever mind would itself be an overstatement. (shrink)
