Elite friendship discourse in the Renaissance was shaped by a set of commonplaces inherited from classical antiquity according to which friends were virtuous, male, and few in number, and their relationships egalitarian and non-sexual. Neoplatonic love had the power to disrupt many of these received ideas. Ficino’s account of male friendship in his Lysis commentary emphasized the importance of spiritual desire in initiating relationships and foregrounded a pedagogical dimension more in keeping with a chaste version of Greek pederasty than the non-hierarchical models of friendship inherited from Aristotle and Cicero. In a poem on the Platonic androgyne, Antoine Héroët used the language of friendship to describe heterosexual unions as offering a potential step towards union with God. Bonaventure des Périers warned instead of the dangers of earthly erotic entanglements in a verse commentary to his translation of Plato’s Lysis, thereby concurring with the beliefs of his benefactor Marguerite de Navarre while suggesting that female community might offer the soul some solace before death provided the possibility of joining with God. Finally, Montaigne’s unorthodox account of his relationship with his deceased friend La Boétie engaged with the Neoplatonic tradition while eschewing the possibility it might facilitate spiritual ascent.

Texts that warn of the dangers of passionate or excessive love have a history in Western culture going back to antiquity. Writings in this contra-amorem tradition typically characterize obsessive love or lovesickness as a disease and then offer remedies for the sufferer. When interest in Marsilio Ficino’s doctrine of Platonic love began to spread from Florentine philosophical circles to aristocratic courts throughout Italy in the late fifteenth century, some authors writing in the contra-amorem tradition responded directly to the new enthusiasm for Ficino’s ideas. A comparison of two contra-amorem texts – Bartolomeo Platina’s ‘pre-Ficinian’ On Love (c. 1466) and Battista Fregoso’s ‘post-Ficinian’ Anteros (1496) – will illustrate the ways in which the later text directed its arguments against Ficino’s doctrine, and did so with an audience of aristocratic young men particularly in mind. It is noteworthy that Anteros predates the first vernacular popularizations of Platonic love in Pietro Bembo’s Asolans (1505) and Baldassare Castiglione’s Book of the Courtier (1528), and also that Castiglione’s Courtier responds, in turn, to Anteros by assimilating some elements from that work into its own treatment of Platonic love.

Augustine is rightly regarded as one of the major figures of Christianity. Through him Platonist and Neo-Platonist philosophy was appropriated in the new religious context and there is hardly another thinker of the early Christian tradition who can better illustrate Nietzsche’s remark on Christianity as a Platonism for the people than Augustine. Things are, however, more complicated than Nietzsche suggests. As Étienne Gilson has showed, there is a strong tension between medieval Aristotelianism and the necessity to respect the early foundational authority, which Saint Augustine incontestably was. Aquinas has in this sense a quite complicated relation to his predecessor. In order to understand what is at stake in Augustine’s understanding of the biblical message of love, heavily influenced by Paul, it is important not only to describe the Neoplatonist roots of Augustine’s thought, but also to take the wider ancient context into account – and in this way arrive at a more complete picture of the historical and intellectual setting. The modification Augustine brings to the Aristotelian conception of the soul is hereby particularly revealing. A closer study of the relation between desire and love can shed some light on this highly significant constellation.

This essay undertakes a study of the views of Pico della Mirandola on Platonic love, stimulated as they are by the publication of a poem on the subject published in the mid-1480s by Girolamo Benivieni, a friend of his and of Marsilio Ficino. In a discussion of the Renaissance background, the essay emphasizes the importance of defusing the homosexual element of Platonic love by substituting maidens for boys. It then provides an extended discussion of Pico’s commentary on Benivieni’s poem, in which he draws on, not only the Symposium and Phaedrus of Plato, but also Plotinus’ Ennead III 5: On Love, and Hermeias’ commentary on the Phaedrus. A number of passages from the poem itself are also quoted and discussed.

This chapter discusses the thought of Juan Luis Vives, who was a prominent voice in sixteenth-century debates on language and learning between humanists and scholastics. The chapter shows that, like Valla, Vives presents himself as a defender of common language and common sense. The notion of “common” turns out to be ambiguous. As the chapter makes clear, in most contexts the common language is Latin, but in Vives’s attacks on what he considered the linguistic and dialectical aberrations of his scholastic opponents, common language could also mean the usage and conventions of any linguistic community. Though his critique focuses on the Latin of his opponents, the point is sometimes phrased in terms that go beyond this particular language. This critique of scholastic language is part of a wider reform of language and learning that Vives thinks is necessary. The chapter therefore examines his views on the origins of language, its functions and purposes, and the role he assigns to the topics (loci) in thinking and argumentation. It is suggested that for Vives the topics form a grid through which we structure our thought and speech.

The introduction shows the importance of the theme of the critique of language in the Renaissance and early-modern times, placing particular emphasis on its philosophical importance.

This chapter studies Locke’s critique of scholastic language, but since this “learned gibberish” is, for Locke, only one form of insignificant speech, the chapter then proceeds to discuss his views about the requirements for significant speech and the remedies proposed in case these requirements are not met. Locke’s answer contains elements that, at first sight, cannot be reconciled with each other so easily: his linguistic thesis according to which words as arbitrary signs are imposed by the mind on its ideas has a mentalistic and even solipsistic ring to it, yet communication is a social activity, governed by rules, customs, and conventions. The chapter therefore ends by looking in more detail at the social dimension of language to see how the social world shapes our apparently private minds. It concludes that for Locke the mind is a social entity, embedded in social and linguistic practices that shape our views of the world and give expression to them. The social world is built on the ideas we receive and construct, and common linguistic usage, for all its imperfections, is essential in framing and conveying these ideas.

This chapter studies Lorenzo Valla’s critique of the language and thought of the scholastics. Valla contrasts classical Latin, as a natural, common language, with the so-called artificial, technical, and unnatural language of his opponents. He famously champions Quintilian’s view that one should follow common linguistic usage. Scholars, however, have disagreed about the precise interpretation of these qualifications of Latin. This chapter argues that, depending on the historical, rhetorical, and argumentative contexts, Valla uses notions such as common and natural in different ways to suit different purposes. After an examination of Valla’s notion of common linguistic usage, which is shown to refer mainly (though not always) to classical Latin, the chapter analyzes Valla’s Dialectical Disputations, which attacks metaphysical and logical concepts from Aristotelian philosophy. It is shown that Valla combines two levels of criticism: scholastic Latin is ungrammatical and it is unnatural. To make both points Valla moves between a strictly Latinate point of view, and a sociological perspective according to which use of language should follow the rules and conventions of the community. The chapter argues that this leads to a tension in Valla’s humanist project concerning Latin as a common language and the notion of the common people.

This chapter studies Hobbes’s use of common language not only in his attacks on the “insignificant speech” of the scholastics but also in the definitions of his own philosophy. Thomas Hobbes was a careful observer of linguistic usage, appealing often to “what we are used to say.” But he does not accept “common usage” in any simple way. Like so many of his contemporaries, Hobbes was ambivalent about common language. As a move in his polemical invectives against scholastic language, Hobbes chose the side of “the people” who used language in a “natural” and “common” way. But common language also reflected patterns of thinking that Hobbes found deeply disturbing. Since for Hobbes everything hinges on the right understanding of words and well-explained definitions, he often claims to have common language at his side, yet we also find him subtly redefining terms to match his own philosophical views. The chapter explores Hobbes’s balancing act of revising ordinary language while playing down the revising act itself. In the last section the chapter suggests that the revision of common usage is part of Hobbes’s wider tactic to persuade the people that his civil science comes close to what every reasonable person should endorse.

In this chapter two early critics of scholastic language are discussed: Petrarch and Leonardo Bruni. For Petrarch the revival of ancient Latin was an essential part of the moral, religious, and cultural reform of the late-medieval society in which he lived. As this chapter makes clear, this fundamentally humanist conviction also led to some tensions in Petrarch’s vision: Christian faith was difficult to combine with the pagan thought of Cicero, and even though Petrarch greatly admired the latter’s style, it was not always compatible with Petrarch’s own need for inner dialogue and meditation. Petrach’s rejection of scholastic language was further developed by Bruni in his criticisms of the medieval translation of Aristotle’s Ethics, and Bruni later developed his view in his treatise on the art of translation. The chapter analyzes the debate between Bruni and his critics, showing that both sides made valuable points about the use and abuse of philosophical language. As the debate makes clear, words such as “precise,” “exact,” and “faithful” as applied to translations are normative rather than descriptive terms, and there is no straightforward yardstick of fidelity. What is at stake is a discussion about the trade-off between popular accessibility and philosophical precision.

This chapter discusses the critique of scholastic language and philosophy by the Renaissance philosopher and medical writer Francisco Sanches, whose That Nothing Is Known is widely regarded as one of the most systematic expositions of philosophical skepticism produced in the sixteenth century. As this chapter shows, language plays an important role in Sanches’s critique: Aristotelian science does not pay attention to things or facts but is a merely verbal game. Appealing to “what most people say,” Sanches seems to endorse the common language as alternative to the technical terminology of the philosophers. Yet, his skeptical attitude prevents a wholesale endorsement. The chapter then examines Sanches’s critique of two Aristotelian definitions of knowledge. While scholars have attempted to locate Sanches’s discussion of perception and knowledge in the context of late-medieval discussions, the chapter makes clear that Sanches’s position is that of a Renaissance skeptic. He shared the humanists’ utter disdain for what they thought was abstract wordplay, but while their critique of Aristotelian dialectic was part of an educational, didactic project that aimed to transform the traditional trivial arts, bringing dialectic more in line with how people actually speak and argue, Sanches’s goal was to undermine certainty and absolute truth.

Though this book has studied only a limited set of authors and texts in considerable detail, some general conclusions may be drawn. First, we may note the historical continuity of the critique of scholastic language from the early days of humanism to the end of the seventeenth century. When Leibniz, for instance, praised Nizolio for his rejection of abstract terminology, he quoted an old dictum that had been made popular by his humanist sources: “Der Gebrauch ist der Meister”, endorsing the humanistic point that philosophical language should follow the common language of the people: the “passion for devising abstract words has almost obfuscated philosophy for us entirely.” Similarly, Gassendi was quite explicit about his debt to humanists, mentioning Vives, Charron, Ramus, and Gianfrancesco Pico, and referring to Valla’s program of ontological reduction in his own rejection of what he considered to be the useless superstructure of the scholastic conceptual armory: scholars should use “the common and accepted manner of speaking (communis et protritus loquendi usus).”

This chapter discusses the radical attack on some tenets of Aristotelian-scholastic philosophy by the sixteenth-century humanist Mario Nizolio. Focusing on his interesting but undervalued work, On the true principles and true way of philosophizing against the pseudo-philosophers (1553, edited by Leibniz in 1670), this chapter shows that his critique involves a radical de-ontologization of the conceptual armory of the scholastics, a turn toward the world of empirical things, a recognition of the central role that the human mind plays in our categorization of the world, and a plea for a clear, transparent language in doing philosophy and communication in general. Rejecting universals as essences as well as Aristotelian categories and transcendentals, Nizolio wanted to defend a horizontal ontology in which concrete things, grouped in classes by a creative act of the human mind, take center stage.Starting with Nizolio’s humanist credo, the chapter then offers an analysis of Nizolio’s criticisms of the traditional five predicables, and his account of the process of abstraction that led to the formation of these universals. After a brief discussion of proof and demonstration, and the relationship between dialectic and rhetoric, the chapter ends by discussing Leibniz’s reaction to Nizolio.

This chapter discusses the work of the humanist, poet, and statesman Giovanni Pontano, focusing on his ideas on language, grammar, history, and philosophy. It shows that Pontano shared Valla’s conviction that a proper discussion of philosophical questions requires a deep familiarity with Latin (and Greek). Like his humanist predecessors, Pontano held medieval scholars and translators of Aristotle responsible for the demise of classical learning and knowledge. But as this chapter shows, Pontano was much more than a critic of medieval scholasticism. Inspired by the literary and philosophical heritage of classical antiquity, Pontano began to explore the social, emotive, and active functions of language. Focusing on language as a tool for communication, persuasion, and practical deliberation, he underscored the intimate connection between language and sociability. This becomes clear from an examination of his treatise on speech, De sermone, which shows the high level of semantic precision Pontano achieved in adapting Aristotle’s virtue ethics to his own contemporary society. The chapter suggests that the underlying assumption of Pontano’s semantic and philosophical discussions is the idea that in marking the boundaries of things, words enable us to distinguish aspects of reality, including the past, as a discussion of his views of history shows.