Still We Speak

Still We Speak: On Medieval Philosophy, Resilience, and the Future of Academia

An Interview by Isabel Inzunza Gomez

April 2025 – I met this scholar, whom I’ll call Sophia (a name chosen to preserve her anonymity), over Zoom, very early in the morning her time. Despite the hour, the sun was already pouring through both of our windows, casting long shadows and bathing our screens in a kind of fierce clarity. It felt oddly symbolic. There we were, two people in different corners of the world, brought together by a shared concern, a shared vocation, and a shared commitment to keeping difficult conversations alive.

This interview was not spontaneous. It was long in the making, discussed carefully and at length within the editorial board of IPM Monthly, and more intimately between the two of us. We weighed the timing, the questions, the risks. We considered what it would mean to speak, and what it might mean to remain silent. Ultimately, we chose to speak—not out of recklessness, but because we believe that academia must remain a space where thought is free, where knowledge is pursued for its own sake, and where truth is not something to be feared.

The world is shifting around us. Budgets are being slashed, departments are under threat, and students are seeing their dreams derailed before they even begin. In recent months, international scholars have had their visas revoked or denied, while others face the threat of deportation. These are not abstract policy decisions; they are life-altering blows. The pressure to remain quiet, to self-censor, to retreat into the safety of silence, is real. But the moment we stop acknowledging the problems we face, the moment we surrender to that pressure, is the moment we’ve lost what makes scholarly life worth defending.

Let me be clear: this interview is not political. It is not a polemic, nor is it a manifesto. It is simply a portrait, an honest, nuanced reflection on what it means to be a medieval philosophy scholar in the United States today. It’s about how one person is navigating a field they love in a time of deep institutional and cultural uncertainty.

Sophia has chosen to remain anonymous. That choice, in itself, speaks volumes about the climate in which we are working. I reached out to others, too—young researchers who had initially agreed to speak, but later declined as the situation around them continued to unfold. And yet, Sophia chose to speak. She chose to share her story with candor, thoughtfulness, and grace.

For that, we owe her our thanks…and our attention.

The Interview

Isabel Inzunza Gomez: Philosophy sometimes faces skepticism about its contemporary relevance, especially in times of academic cutbacks. Why do you think it’s crucial today, perhaps more than ever, to preserve and defend research in medieval philosophy?

Sophia: First of all, my immediate thought is that our reality is so multifaceted that there’s hardly any field that can truly be considered irrelevant to our present moment. What matters more, I think, is the approach to research, how scholarship is conducted.

When it comes to medieval philosophy specifically—or, more broadly, the study of the medieval period—I believe it’s especially relevant right now. Over the last couple of decades, much of the scholarship has focused on bringing together authors from different cultural, linguistic, and religious backgrounds. That kind of work highlights the many fruitful ways in which people have collaborated across boundaries. Boundaries that today are, in some ways, being drawn more sharply than before.

This includes concrete collaborations, such as translation workshops involving Greek, Syriac, Aramaic, Arabic, Hebrew, and Latin. But it also includes the way thinkers influenced one another across centuries without ever having met. You see this, for example, with Avicenna and Averroes, and later philosophers like Albert the Great, who were deeply shaped by those earlier traditions.

Underlying all of this is a fundamental attitude, an openness to learning from someone who lived not only in a different cultural or linguistic context, but also in a distant time. That attitude, I think, is vital to preserve. And medieval philosophy, with its tremendous diversity across so many dimensions, is an incredible field in which to cultivate it. Absolutely.

IIG: Resources are increasingly limited across academia, and specialized areas like medieval philosophy often feel the pressure first. Have you seen direct impacts of these financial constraints on your own work or that of your colleagues, such as fewer conferences, seminars, or research opportunities?

S: No, I haven’t seen that yet, not directly, at least. I don’t think we’re quite at that point. I believe that’s mostly because many conferences are planned well in advance. They’re often approved and funded long before they actually take place. So a lot of the events we’re currently seeing had their beginnings—even their funding—before the last election, or at least before the current administration took office and new funding measures were introduced.

That said, I do think we’ll start to feel the effects more tangibly in the near future. Institutions like libraries, for instance, are now facing funding cuts, and they’re absolutely crucial to our field. They often host specialized seminars and research opportunities, and they also employ highly trained staff. These cuts affect not just universities—though those are often the first that come to mind—but also these broader support networks for research. So I do think that’s going to have an impact.

And of course, I imagine that with fewer resources available, the competition for what remains—especially when it comes to funding for larger projects, like international travel—will become even more intense than it already is.

IIG: I’m glad you haven’t seen the worst of it yet. Hopefully it won’t escalate too much. But with funding becoming tighter, do you feel any pressure—explicit or subtle—to justify the value of your work or even shift toward topics seen as more immediately relevant or fundable?

S: Personally, I haven’t experienced that pressure. I think that’s largely because I’m in a very fortunate position: the professors I work with are incredibly supportive, and my PhD funding is secure for the entire duration of the program. I know that’s not the case for everyone, though. I imagine people applying now may well be wondering whether they should shift toward topics perceived as more relevant—whatever that may mean to some audiences.

So yes, I recognize my privilege in that regard. But I also think this kind of pressure isn’t entirely new. As scholars in medieval philosophy, we’re used to having to justify our work. Any time we apply for a grant or a scholarship, one of the central tasks is to demonstrate how our research connects to contemporary issues, to show its relevance and, as you put it, make it “fundable.” So in many ways, I think people in our field have already been navigating that terrain for quite some time.

IIG: How do you make your research in medieval philosophy relevant—or fundable—today? Even beyond its historical value, how do you frame it in a way that makes it resonate with contemporary concerns, so that potential funders see it as something more than “just” historical work?

S: I always try to find connections to contemporary issues, partly because that’s just how my mind works. A lot of what I do leans more toward the practical than the purely theoretical, so I naturally approach topics from that angle. I’m often inspired by something happening in the present and then look for perspectives on it through the lens of medieval philosophy. So for me, it’s not something I do just to make the research fundable, it’s an organic part of how I think and work.

IIG: Great. So, have you started to rethink your future in academia? Maybe considering options abroad or outside traditional academic paths? Could you reflect a bit on how financial uncertainty is shaping your decisions and future plans?

S: I’ve always had a strong sense that I wanted to pursue an academic career, that hasn’t changed since I was very young. But whether I’ll pursue that path in the U.S., that’s where my perspective has shifted. Financial factors—not just uncertainty, but the overall cost and funding structure—have definitely influenced my decision-making and long-term planning.

One of the main reasons I applied to a U.S. program in the first place was because they offered guaranteed funding for the entire PhD. That was a major motivator. And I’ll be honest—when I first arrived here, before the last election, I found that I really enjoyed living in the U.S. I realized I wouldn’t have minded staying, provided I could find a place where I could realistically see myself living. Of course, there are some areas that feel a bit remote or isolating, but in general, I saw it as a strong opportunity, especially because academic positions here often come with important benefits like healthcare, which is a huge consideration.

That said, I’ve always believed that pursuing an academic career requires a great deal of flexibility, and one of the biggest aspects of that is being open to relocating. So I haven’t ruled out staying in the U.S., but whether I do will depend heavily on how the next few years unfold. If things continue in the current direction, I’ll likely be looking for a position in another country after I finish my PhD.

And that’s not just about money, though financial wellbeing is certainly a big factor. I think we need to recognize that financial stability is deeply connected to other aspects of wellbeing. If you don’t have a secure financial foundation, other parts of your life come under real strain. And that’s something we can’t afford to overlook.

IIG: Yeah, absolutely. I’ve been having similar conversations—not just with ancient or medieval philosophers, but with colleagues across different departments. A lot of them are anticipating a kind of reverse wave: whereas scholars used to flock to the U.S. because of strong opportunities and well-funded programs, now many are thinking about going to Europe. There’s this sense of growing caution—or even fear—about the academic future in the U.S., and people are preparing for a shift.

So if you’re considering going to Europe or elsewhere, are you also thinking about that potential influx of scholars and how it might make things even more competitive than they already are?

S: Yeah, that’s definitely something on my mind. I know I’m not the only one thinking about this in terms of long-term life planning—about potentially going to Europe, or at least keeping that option open. It’s something I’m aware of, and to be honest, I think the caution many people are feeling right now is totally justified.

At the same time, it’s not something I can do much about at this stage. I’m still quite a way off from finishing my PhD, so it’s not an immediate concern. I try not to drive myself crazy thinking too far ahead, especially about things I can’t control.

Right now, I’m focused on doing the work, on putting all my energy into my studies. And while I know this conversation has taken a bit of a “doom and gloom” turn, I’d say I’m an optimist at heart. I try to hold onto some hope that things might shift or improve. Maybe some of the current challenges will begin to correct themselves. So I’m trying to take the long view.

IIG: I’m really glad to hear that you’ve been able to stay optimistic. That actually leads into my next question, which is about mental health. Uncertainty in academia is already emotionally challenging under normal circumstances, and even more so given the situation we’re in now. I mean, we’ve all seen the PhD memes about burnout, stress, and depression, and unfortunately, there’s truth behind them. So I’d like to ask: how has the current situation affected your personal sense of motivation and your more basic sense of wellbeing? How are you managing these pressures?

S: That’s a really good and important question. I’ll try to address motivation and emotional or mental wellbeing as two separate things.

As for motivation, yes, the situation has definitely had an impact, but actually in a somewhat productive way. In my case, spite is a powerful motivator. The fact that research institutions, and fields like mine, are being targeted by funding cuts is, in a way, proof that the work we do matters. If they’re trying to get rid of it, it must hold some kind of power or value. So for me, when someone tries to take something away, my instinct is to double down and to preserve it. In that sense, yes, it’s affected my motivation, but not in a discouraging way.

But when it comes to emotional and mental wellbeing, the impact has been more negative, and it’s something I still feel. I remember very clearly the evening leading up to the election, and the days following it, as well as the inauguration. Each of those moments cast a real shadow, not just over my department, but over the entire campus. We were all deeply unsettled. And then, when the funding cuts were officially announced, it was horrifying to watch, not only because of what it meant in abstract terms, but because of the real and immediate consequences.

One of the most painful consequences has been recruitment. As I’m sure you’ve seen in the news, there have been many cases where students received invitation letters which then were rescinded because funding was relocated. And it’s important to say clearly: these cuts affect real people’s lives, often irreparably. These are people who have worked incredibly hard, sometimes in extremely difficult conditions, and they had opportunities pulled away from them at the last minute. I’ve heard heartbreaking stories from other departments, from other universities. So in a way, it almost feels silly to talk about the emotional toll this has taken on me personally, when others have suffered so deeply and unfairly.

That said, in my case, the most important source of resilience has been community. My fellow PhD students, both in my department and in related fields, are close friends, and that makes a big difference. Of course, it also means I worry about them in addition to myself, but knowing I’m not alone helps immensely. I also want to express real appreciation for my American colleagues. Many of them have been incredibly supportive and understanding about the situation, and that solidarity means a lot.

Having a strong, personal relationship with my professors has also helped. Knowing I can go to them—not just for academic matters, but also with personal concerns—has made me feel much more secure. They’ve been doing everything they can to keep us in the best possible position, and that really shows.

And finally, one concrete thing that’s been hugely reassuring: we’ve been told that, financially, nothing will change for us as PhD students. That stability has been a major source of relief. But of course, the emotional and psychological pressures are still there—especially for people who are part of marginalized or vulnerable groups. That dimension can’t be overlooked.

IIG: So, last question. Studying philosophers who themselves lived through difficult times might offer some perspective, right? Has engaging with medieval philosophy provided you with any comfort, resilience, or particular insights into how to cope with today’s academic challenges?

S: That’s a beautiful question. This is definitely not the first time that academia and scholarship have come under attack. We can think of things like condemnations, book bans—which are, sadly, also present in this country now—, and other forms of suppression. Even something like the prevalence of anonymous publishing in the past—which this interview mirrors in a way—is a response to those kinds of pressures.

And realistically, this won’t be the last time that academia faces this kind of pressure somewhere in the world. But because I try to stay optimistic, or at least to see the good where I can, I also think it’s important to recognize that, in many ways, conditions for doing research today are far better than they were in the past.

Just consider how much broader access to education is now. The fact that women, people from different religious or ethnic backgrounds, and those from low-income communities can now participate in these kinds of academic spaces—that’s a major achievement. It’s something we should be proud of, and something we need to actively defend and preserve.

And yet, even when conditions were far more restrictive, we still see medieval thinkers managing to create work of profound depth and meaning—work that continues to speak to us. I find myself thinking about them more and more these days. Apart from their works, many of them led lives in extremely difficult times, and I find their perseverance, dedication, and spirit deeply inspiring. That’s something I find deeply inspiring.

There are so many writings from the medieval period that deal directly with suffering, however it’s experienced, or that express bold, clear visions of how things might be made better. When you develop a sophisticated lens through which to engage these texts, you begin to see just how much they have to offer us today.

So I’d like to close by offering a kind of reassurance: medieval philosophy remains profoundly impactful, not only on a personal level, but also communally, as part of our scholarly community. And I think that community is exactly what we need to focus on right now. It’s what we need to nurture and protect.

If we can cultivate a strong sense of solidarity, if we can stand together, there’s so much good we can do.