which might be drawn from his misfortune. He tells him his
extraordinary talents, subtilty, eloquence and learning had drawn
from all parts an incredible number of auditors, and so filled him
with excessive vanity: he hints gently at another thing, which
contributed not a little towards making him proud, namely, that the
women continually followed him, and gloried in drawing him into their
snares. This misfortune, therefore, would cure him of his pride, and
free him from those snares of women which had reduced him even to
indigence, tho' his profession got him a large revenue; and now he
would never impoverish himself by his gallantries.
_Heloise_ herself, in some passages of her _Letters_,
says, that there was neither maid nor wife **, who in _Abelard's_
absence did not form designs for him, and in his presence was not
inflamed with love: the queens themselves, and ladies of the first
quality, envied the pleasures she enjoyed with him. But we are not to
take these words of _Heloise_ in a strict sense; because as she
loved _Abelard_ to madness, so she imagined every one else did.
Besides, that report, to be sure, hath added to the truth. It is not
at all probable that a man of _Abelard's_ sense, and who
according to all appearance passionately loved his wife, should not
be able to contain himself within some bounds, but should squander
away all his money upon mistresses, even to his not reserving what
was sufficient to provide for his necessities. Foulques owns, that he
speaks only upon hearsay, and in that, no doubt, envy, and jealousy
had their part.
** _Qua conjugata, que virgo non concupiscebat absentem, & non
exardescebat in presentem? Qua regina, vel prapotens foemina gaudiis
meis non invidebat, vel thalamis?_
Foulques tells him besides, that the amputation of a part of his
body, of which he made such ill use, would suppress at the same time
a great many troublesome passions, and procure him liberty of
reflecting on himself, instead of being hurried to and fro by his
passions: his meditations would be no more interrupted by the
emotions of the flesh, and therefore he would be more successful in
discovering the secrets of Nature. He reckons it as a great advantage
to him, that he would no more be the terror of husbands, and might
now lodge any where without being suspected. And forgets not to
acquaint him, that he might converse with the finest women without
any fear of those temptations which sometimes overpower even age
itself upon the sight of such objects. And, lastly, he would have the
happiness of being exempt from the illusions of sleep; which
exemption, according to him is a peculiar blessing.
It was with reason that Foulques reckons all these as advantages
very extraordinary in the life of an ecclesiastick. It is easy to
observe, that, to a person who devotes himself to continence, nothing
can be more happy than to be insensible to beauty and love, for they
who cannot maintain their chastity but by continual combats are very
unhappy. The life of such persons is uneasy, their state always
doubtful. They but too much feel the trouble of their warfare; and if
they come off victorious in an engagement, it is often with a great
many wounds. Even such of them as in a retired life are at the
greatest distance from temptations, by continually struggling with
their inclinations, setting barriers against the irruptions of the
flesh, are in a miserable condition. Their entrenchments are often
forced, and their conscience filled with sorrow and anxiety. What
progress might one make in the ways of virtue, who is not obliged to
fight an enemy for every foot of ground? Had _Abelard's_
misfortune made him indeed such as Foulques supposed, we should see
him in his _Letters_ express his motives of comfort with a
better grace. But though he now was in a condition not able to
satisfy a passion by which he had suffered so much, yet was he not
insensible at the sight of those objects which once gave him so much
pleasure. This discourse therefore of Foulques, far from comforting
_Abelard_ in his affliction, seems capable of producing the
contrary effect; and it is astonishing if _Abelard_ did not take
it so, and think he rather insulted him, and consequently resent it.
As to dreams, St. Austin informs us of the advantage Foulques
tells his friend he had gained. St. Austin implores the grace of God
to deliver him from this sort of weakness, and says, he gave consent
to those things in his sleep which he should abominate awake, and
laments exceedingly so great a regaining weakness.
But let us go on with this charitable friend's letter; it hath too
near a relation to this to leave any part of it untouched.
Matrimonial functions (continues Foulques) and the cares of a family,
will not now hinder your application to please God. And what a
happiness is it, not to be in a capacity of sinning? And then he
brings the examples of Origen, and other martyrs, who rejoice now in
heaven for their being upon earth in the condition _Abelard_
laments; as if the impossibility of committing a sin could secure any
one from desiring to do it. But one of the greatest motives of
comfort, and one upon which he insists the most is, because his
misfortune is irreparable. This is indeed true in fact, but the
consequence of his reasoning is not so certain; _Afflict not
yourself_ (says he) _because your misfortune is of such a nature
as is never to be repaired._
It must be owned, that the general topics of consolation have two
faces, and may therefore be considered very differently, even so as
to seem arguments for sorrow. As for instance, one might argue very
justly, that a mother should not yield too much to grief upon the
loss of a son, because her tears are unavailable; and tho' she should
kill herself with sorrow, she can never, by these means, bring her
son to life. Yet this very thing, that all she can do is useless, is
the main occasion of her grief; she could bear it patiently, could
she any ways retrieve her loss. When Solon lamented the death of his
son, and some friend, by way of comfort, told him his tears were
insignificant. _That_, said he, _is the very reason why I
weep_.
But Foulques argues much better afterwards; he says, _Abelard_
did not suffer this in the commission of an ill act, but sleeping
peaceably in his bed; that is he was not caught in any open fact,
such has cost others the like loss. This is indeed a much better
topic than the former, though it must be allowed that _Abelard_
had drawn this misfortune on himself by a crime as bad as adultery;
yet the fault was over, and he had made all the reparation in his
power, and when they maimed him he thought no harm to any body.
_Abelard's_ friend makes use likewise of other consolatory
reasons in his Letter, and represents to him, after a very moving
manner, the part which the Bishop and Canons, and all the
Ecclesiasticks of Paris, took in his disgrace, and the mourning there
was among the inhabitants and especially the women, upon this
occasion. But, in this article of consolation, how comes it to pass
that he makes no mention of _Heloise_? This ought not to appear
strange: she was the most injured, and therefore questionless, her
sorrows were sufficiently known to him; and it would be no news to
tell the husband that his wife was in the utmost affliction for him.
For as we observed before, though she was in a convent, she had not
renounced her husband, and those frequent visits he made her were not
spent in reading homilies. But let us make an end of our reflections
on Foulques's curious Letter, Foulques, after advising _Abelard_
not to think of carrying the matter before the Pope, by assuring him
that it required too great expence to obtain any satisfaction at that
court, concludes all with this last motive of consolation, that the
imagined happiness he had lost was always accompanied with abundance
of vexation; but if he persevered in his spirit of resignation, he
would, without doubt, at the last day obtain that justice he had now
failed of. 'Tis great pity we have not _Abelard's_ answer to
this delicate Letter, the matter then would look like one of Job's
Dialogues with his friends. _Abelard_ would generally have
enough to reply, and Foulques would often be but a sorry comforter.
However, it is certain this Letter was of some weight with _Abelard_;
for we find afterwards he never thought of making a voyage to Rome.
Resolved to hear his calamity patiently, he left to God the avenging
of the cruel and shameful abuse he had suffered.
But let us return to _Heloise_. 'Tis probable her friends of
the convent of Argenteuil concealed so heavy a misfortune from her
for some time; but at last she heard the fatal news. Though the rage
and fury of her uncle threatened her long since with some punishment,
yet could she never suspect any thing of this nature. It will be
saying too little to tell the reader she felt all the shame and
sorrow that is possible. She only can express those violent emotions
of her soul upon so severe an occasion.
In all probability this misfortune of _Abelard_ would have
been a thorough cure of her passion, if we might argue from like
cases: but there is no rule so general as not to admit of some
exceptions; and _Heloise's_ love upon this severe trial proved
like Queen Stratonice's, who was not less passionate for her
favourite Combabus, when she discovered his impotence, than she had
been before.
Shame and sorrow had not less seized _Abelard_ than _Heloise_,
nor dared he ever appear in the world; so that he resolved,
immediately upon his cure, to banish himself from the sight of men,
and hide himself in the darkness of a monastick life avoiding all
conversation with any kind of persons excepting his dear _Heloise_,
by whose company he endeavoured to comfort himself. But she at last
resolved to follow his example, and continue forever in the convent
of Argenteuil where she was. _Abelard_ himself confesses, that
shame rather than devotion had made him take the habit of a monk; and
that it was jealousy more than love which engaged him to persuade
_Heloise_ to be professed before he had made his vow. The
Letters which follow this history will inform us after what manner
and with what resolution they separated. _Heloise_ in the
twenty-second year of her age generously quitted the world, and
renounced all those pleasures she might reasonably have promised
herself, to sacrifice herself entirely to the fidelity and obedience
she owed her husband, and to procure him that ease of mind which he
said he could no otherwise hope for.
Time making _Abelard's_ misfortune familiar to him, he now
entertained thoughts of ambition, and of supporting the reputation he
had gained of the most learned man of the age. He began with
explaining the _Acts of the Apostles_ to the monks of the
monastery of St. _Dennis_ to which he had retired; but the
disorders of the abbey, and debauchees of the Abbot, which equally
with his dignity, were superior to those of the simple monks, quickly
drove him hence. He had made himself uneasy to them by censuring
their irregularity. They were glad to part with him, and he to leave
them.
As soon as he had obtained leave of the Abbot, he retired to
Thinbaud in Champaign, where he set up a school, persuading himself
that his reputation would bring him a great number of scholars. And
indeed they flocked to him, not only from the most distant provinces
of Prance, but also from Rome, Spain, England, and Germany, in such
number, that the towns could not provide accommodation, nor the
country provisions, enough for them*, But _Abelard_ did not
foresee, that this success and reputation would at the same time
occasion him new troubles. He had made himself two considerable
enemies at Laon, Alberic of Rheims, and Lotulf of Lombardy, who, as
soon as they perceived how prejudicial his reputation was to their
schools, sought all occasions to ruin him; and thought they had a
lucky handle to do so from a book of his, intituled, _The Mystery
of the Trinity_. This they pretended was heretical, and through
the Archbishop's means they procured a council at Soissons in
the year 1121; and without suffering _Abelard_ to make any
defence, ordered his book to be burnt by his own hands, and himself
to be confined to the convent of St. Medard. This sentence gave him
such grief, that he says himself, the unhappy fate of his writing
touched him more sensibly than the misfortune he had suffered through
Fulbert's means. Nor was it only his fatherly concern for his own
productions, but the indelible mark of heresy which by this means was
fixed on him, which so exceedingly troubled him.
* _Ad quas scholas tanta scholarium multitudo confluxit ut nec
locus hospitiis, nec terra sufficeret alimentis._ Abel.
Oper. p. 19
That the curious reader may have a complete knowledge of this
matter, I shall here give an account of that pretended heresy which
was imputed to _Abelard_. The occasion of his writing this book
was, that his scholars demanded * philosophical arguments on that
subject; often urging that it was impossible to believe what was not
understood; that it was to abuse the world, to preach a doctrine
equally unintelligible to the speaker and auditor; and that it was
for the blind to lead the blind. These young men were certainly
inclined to Sabellinism. _Abelard's_ enemies however did not
accuse him of falling into this, but another heresy as bad,
Tritheism; though indeed he was equally free from both: he explained
the unity of the Godhead by comparisons drawn from human things but
according to a passage of St. Bernard**, one of his greatest
enemies, he seemed to hold, that no one ought to believe what he
could not give a reason for. However _Abelard's_ treatise upon
this subject pleased every one except those of his own profession,
who, stung with envy that he should find out explanations which they
could not have thought of, raised such a cry of heresy upon him, that
he and some of his scholars had like to have been stoned by the mob***.
By their powerful cabals they prevailed with Conan bishop of Preneste,
the Pope's legate, who was president of the council, to condemn his
book, pretending that he asserted three Gods, which they might easily
suggest, when he was suffered to make no defence. 'Tis certain he was
very orthodox in the doctrine of the Trinity; and all this process
against him was only occasioned by the malice of his enemies. His
logical comparison (and logic was his masterpiece) proved rather the
three Divine Persons One, than multiplied the Divine Nature into
Three. His comparison is, that as the three proportions * in a
syllogism are but one truth, so the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, are
but one Essence; and it is certain the inconveniences which may be
drawn from this parallel are not more than what may be drawn from the
comparison of the three dimensions of solids, so much insisted on by
the famous orthodox mathematician Dr. Wallis of England. But great
numbers of pious and learned divines, who have not been over-subtile
in politics, have been persecuted and condemned as well as _Abelard_
by the ignorance and malice of their brethren.
* _Humanas & philosophicas rationes requirebant & plus
quae inteligi, quam quae dici poffenter, efflagitabant._ Abel
Op.
** _Benardi Epist._ 190.
*** _Ita me in clero & populo diffamaverunt, ut pene me populos paucosque
qui advenerant ex discipulis nostris prima die nostri anventus
lapidarent; dicentes me tres Deos praedicare & scripsisse, sicut
ipsis persuasum fuerat._ Abel Oper. p. 20.
* _Sicut eadem oratio est, propositio, assumptio &
conuclusio, ita eadem Essentia est Pater, Filius, and Spiritus
Sanctis._ Ibid.
A little after his condemnation, _Abelard_ was ordered to
return to St. Dennis. The liberty he had taken to censure the vicious
lives of the monks had raised him a great many enemies. Amongst these
was St. Bernard, not upon the same motives as those monks, but
because _Abelard's_ great wit, joined with so loose and sensual
a life, gave him jealousy, who thought it impossible the heart should
be defiled without the head being likewise tainted.
Scarce had he returned to St. Dennis, when one day he dropped some
words, intimating he did not believe that the St. Dennis their patron
was the Areopagite mentioned in the Scripture, there being no
probability that he ever was in France. This was immediately carried
to the Abbot, who was full of joy, that he had now a handle to
heighten the accusations of heresy against him with some crime
against the state; a method frequently used by this sort of gentlemen
to make sure their revenge. In those times, too, the contradicting
the notions of the monks was enough to prove a man an atheist,
heretic, rebel, or any thing; learning signified nothing. If any one
of a clearer head and larger capacity had the misfortune to be
suspected of novelty, there was no way to avoid the general
persecution of the monks but voluntarily banishing himself. The Abbot
immediately assembled all the house, and declared he would deliver up
to the secular power a person who had dared to reflect upon the
honour of the kingdom and of the crown. _Abelard_ very rightly
judging that such threatenings were not to be despised, fled by night
to Champaign, to a cloister of the monks of Troies, and there
patiently waited till the storm should be over. After the death of
this Abbot, which, very luckily for him happened soon after his
flight, he obtained leave to live where he pleased, though it was not
without using some cunning. He knew the monks of so rich a house had
fallen into great excesses, and were very obnoxious to the court, who
would not fail to make their profit of it: he therefore procured it
should be represented to his council as very disadvantageous to his
Majesty's interest, that a person who was continually censuring
the lives of his brethren should continue any longer with them. This
was immediately understood, and orders given to some great men at
court to demand of the Abbot and monks why they kept a person in
their house whose conduct was so disagreeable to them; and, far from
being an ornament to the society, was a continual vexation, by
publishing their faults? This being very opportunely moved to the new
Abbot, he gave _Abelard_ leave to retire to what cloister he
pleased.
_Abelard_, who indeed had all the qualities which make a
great man, could not however bear, without repining, the numerous
misfortunes with which he saw himself embarrassed, and had frequent
thoughts of publishing a manifesto to justify himself from the
scandalous imputations his enemies had laid upon him and to undeceive
those whom their malice had prejudiced against him. But upon cooler
thought he determined, that it was better to say nothing and to shew
them by his silence how unworthy he thought them of his anger. Thus
being rather enraged than troubled at the injuries he had suffered,
he resolved to found a new society, consisting chiefly of monks. To
this purpose he chose a solitude in the diocese of Troies, and upon
some ground which was given by permission of the Bishop, he built a
little house and a chapel, which he dedicated to the most Holy
Trinity.
Men of learning were then scarce, and the desire of science was
beginning to spread itself. Our exile was inquired after and found;
scholars crowded to him from all parts: they built little huts, and
were very liberal to their master for his lectures; content to live
on herbs, and roots, and water, that they might have the advantage of
learning from so extraordinary a man; and with great zeal they
enlarged the chapel building that and their professor's house with
wood and stone.
Upon this occasion _Abelard_, to continue the memory of the
comfort he had received in this desart, dedicated his new built
chapel to the Holy Ghost, by the name of the Paraclete, or Comforter.
The envy of Alberic and Lotulf, which had long since persecuted him,
was strangely revived, upon seeing so many scholars flock to him from
all parts, notwithstanding the inconvenience of the place, and in
contempt of the masters who might so commodiously be found in the
towns and cities.
They now more than ever sought occasion to trouble him; the name
of Paraclete furnished them with one. They gave out that this novelty
was a consequence of his former heresy, and that it was no more
lawful to dedicate churches to the Holy Ghost than to God the Father:
that this title was a subtile art of instilling that poison which he
durst not spread openly, and a consequence of his heretical doctrine
which had been condemned already by a council. This report raised a
great clamour among numbers of people, whom his enemies employed on
all sides. But the persecution grew more terrible when St. Bernard
and St. Norbet declared against him; two great zealots, fired with
the spirit of Reformation, and who declared themselves restorers of
the primitive discipline, and had wonderfully gained upon the
affections of the populace. They spread such scandal against him that
they prejudiced his principal friends, and forced those who still
loved him not to shew it any ways; and upon these accounts made his
life so bitter to him that he was upon the point of leaving
Christendom*. But his unhappiness would not let him do a thing which
might have procur'd his ease; but made him still continue with
Christians, and with monks (as himself expresses it) worse than
Heathens**.
* _Saepe autem (Deus scit) in tantam lapsus sum desperationem ut
Christianorum finibus excessis, ad Gentes transire disponerem, atque
ibi quiete sub quacunque tributi pactione inter inimicos Christi
christiane vivere._ Abel Op. p. 32.
** _Incedi in
Christianos atque monachos Gentibus longe saeviores atque pejores._
Abel Op. p. 20.
The Duke of Britany, informed of his misfortunes, and of the
barbarity of his enemies, named him to the abbey of St. Gildas, in
the diocese of Vannes, at the desire of the monks who had already
elected him for their superior. Here he thought he had found a refuge
from the rage of his enemies, but in reality he had only changed one
trouble for another. The profligate lives of the monks, and the
arbitrariness of a lord, who had deprived them of the greater part of
their revenues, so that they were obliged to maintain their
mistresses and children at their own private expence, occasioned him
a thousand vexations and dangers. They several times endeavoured to
poison him in his ordinary diet, but proving unsuccessful that way,
they cried to do it in the holy sacrament. Excommunications, with
which he threatened the most mutinous, did not abate the disorder. He
now feared the poniard more than poison, and compared his case to his
whom the tyrant of Saracuse caused to be seated at his table, with a
sword hanging over him, fastened only by a thread.
Whilst _Abelard_ thus suffered in his abbey by his monks, the
nuns of Argenteuil, of whom _Heloise_ was prioress, grew so
licentious, that Sugger, abbot of Dennis, taking advantage of their
irregularities, got possession of their monastery. He sent the
original writings to Rome; and having obtained the answer he desired,
he expelled the nuns, and established in their place monks of his
order.
Some censorious people upon reading this passage, will be apt to
entertain strong suspicions of _Heloise_, and judge it probable
that a governor does not behave well when dissoluteness is known to
reign in the society. I have never read that she was included by name
in the general scandal of the society, and therefore am cautious not
to bring any accusations against her. Our Saviour says, _No one
hath condemned thee, neither do I condemn thee._