ABELARD.

Abelard, who may well be selected as representing the twelfth century in the history of philosophy, represents only one phase of the mind of that century. It was a century of immense intellectual activity, of great intellectual unrest, of conflict and adjustment, and in all these Abelard was only one force. But by his originality of character, by the picturesque tragedy of his personal history and by the ideas and the method which he advocated, he stands out from among his contemporaries as the most conspicuous, versatile and influential, if not the most commendable or admirable figure in the history of the times. He lived through the Storm and Stress period of scholasticism, in an age of "dialectical madness," as it has been styled; and of all the fighters in the arena he was the most doughty; of all the dialecticians he was the most skillful and the most daring. John the Scot stood literally alone in the ninth century, Gerbert in the tenth had few rivals and no equal as a teacher, Anselm in the eleventh century dwelt in the peace and calm of the cloister, Abelard in the twelfth century was constantly in the midst of the fray, a fighter born, who loved above all things of the mind the clash of syllogistic argumenttation. He had no respect for authority, no reverence for established reputation, no regard for the traditional order. He was always in a storm center of one kind or another, so that, in order to understand his career and his fate, it is necessary to know something of the problems which interested the minds of his day and generation.

These problems were two. One was a question of method, the other a question of logic. The question of method involved the use of reason in the discussion of higher themes in philosophy and in the elucidation of the mysteries of faith. On this point two schools were already formed. The mystics decried and condemned the use of reason in the effort to grasp

spiritual truth. They despised and abhorred logic as a weapon in the warfare of the spirit or even as an instrument in the quest of higher truth. It was not by dialectic, said St. Peter Damian, that God was pleased to save His people. Dialectic, said the Victorines, is the "devil's art": it makes men proud and self-sufficient; it leads to the knowledge which, as St. Paul says, "puffeth up." It has never yet saved a soul, nor made a man better in the eyes of God. Far more profitable than logic is the humble prayer, the devout meditation and the unquestioning acceptance of truth on the authority of God and of His Church. Credo ut intelligam, "I believe in order that I may understand," "Faith aids Reason," was the motto of the mystic group. The rationalists, on the other hand, adopted as their motto Intelligo ut credam, "I understand in order that I may believe," "Reason aids faith." They had great confidence in the power of reason, in logic and argumentation and discussion. They were a product of the spirit of the times, of the new medieval mind that was strong in the freshness of its youth, that would try all things and seek a reasonable explanation of all spiritual truth. It was therefore, authority for the mystics, reason for the rationalists. It was piety and humility against skill and self-confidence. It was conservatism against progress, if you wish to put it that way, though not necessarily orthodoxy against free thought. For the age was lusty in its youthful vigor, but also inexperienced in its immaturity. There were excesses on both sides. The mystics were sometimes obscurantists, and the rationalists often overstepped the bounds of moderation and reverence. It was only a century later that, under more favorable circumstances, and under the guidance of master-minds like that of St. Thomas, these perplexing problems were solved, and the claims of authority reconciled with the legitimate demands of reason. Meantime, the twelfth century struggled with the problem and seethed with the disturbance which it engendered. Abelard, as we shall see, was with the rationalists, and, while he did much. to prejudice the cause which he advocated, it was his achievements that hastened the day when men could clearly see to

distinguish between what was excessive in his claims and what was moderate and justifiable.

The other question of the day was the problem of Universals. We learned long ago in grammar to distinguish two kinds of nouns, the singular, or proper, name and the general, or universal, name. Thus, "The highest mountain in the world" is a singular name, while "Mountain" is a universal, or general, name. The question is raised in logic whether there are, be sides the universal names, ideas which correspond to them, and farther, if there are universal ideas, or concepts, whether there are outside the mind, things which may be called universal. There are, therefore, three schools. The Nominalists maintain that the name, and the name alone, is universal. The Conceptualists hold that we have in our minds universal ideas, or concepts. The Realists contend that not only are there universal names and universal ideas but also real things outside the mind, which are truly universal. Plato was a realist of the extreme type. He taught that in the intelligible world above us there are real universal forms, or prototypes, according to which particular things in the world of our experience are fashioned. This appealed to the naïve mind of the ninth and tenth centuries. To John the Scot it recommended itself because it suited his Platonic temperament and fitted into his scheme of divine emanation. To John's contemporaries it appealed because, in their intellectual innocence, as one may call it, they took every word to stand for a reality. Thus, Fredegis of Tours gravely maintained the real substantial nature of "darkness" and "nothing," because of the Scriptural use of those terms. In Abelard's day the old realism was found unsatisfactory. Roscelin of Compiègne had arisen and declared himself an outspoken Nominalist. "Universals," he said, "are merely the breath of the voice," a word and nothing more. Abelard threw himself into the conflict with reckless ardor. He fought with equal brilliancy and skill both. the Realists and the Nominalists. What his own opinion was we shall see later. Here it is sufficient to remark that a great Ideal of his time and his labors was devoted to the discussion

of this topic. It is easy now for the critic to find fault and call the problem of universals a useless, even a frivolous dispute. But, to the minds of men in the twelfth century it was a question of paramount importance. It was "the question of the day," as evolution was some twenty years ago or pragmatism is at present. And it was by no means unimportant. If universals are mere names, and universal ideas, if there are any such, have no foundation outside the mind, then, to take merely one consequence, the principles of conduct, since they are universal, are merely a matter of words, or an affair of the mind, without any warrant in the nature of things; and the conclusions of science, for the same reason, have no relation to the world of reality. So, at least, it seemed to those twelfth century scholastics. They took up the question fearlessly, and discussed it with very great subtlety, the only drawback to their discussion being that they did not bring psychology to bear on the problem. All the more reason why Abelard should see here the opportunity to achieve success. He was a master of dialectical reasoning, and the problem of universals gave him the chance to display his extraordinary gifts.

Such were the problems which occupied the minds of philosophers in the twelfth century. Such was the intellectual milieu in which Abelard distinguished himself. His career has been touched by romance, in which, as in a golden light, he is seen and admired and somewhat idealized. The Abelard of romance does not interest us here, but rather the philosopher, the orator, the dialectician, whose biography has come down to us in documents dating from his own day and especially in the "Story of my Misfortunes," the pathetic title which he gave to the narrative of his own life.

He was born at Pallet, near Nantes, in Brittany in the year 1079. His parents, recognizing, perhaps, his talent for fighting, intended that he should adopt the military career. He himself was early inclined rather to that of scholarship, and so, as he tells us, he "deserted Mars for Minerva," without, we may add, entirely renouncing the god of battles. He was a disciple for a while of the celebrated Nominalist Roscelin,

and frequented also the schools of other teachers of rhetoric and dialectic. He was probably a wandering scholar, travelling on foot from town to town, seeking at the monasteries a hospitality which was always freely given, or earning a meal and a bed, sometimes by such menial service as sweeping or drawing water to the horses at the inn, or sometimes by playing the lute or singing. Abelard probably sang for his board and bed. He had, he tells us himself, the most beautiful voice in all France, and his songs later on made him famous among students all over Europe. After five or six years of this kind of life" I went wherever dialectic flourished," he says-he went for the first time to Paris where the renown of many great teachers had already made the schools famous throughout Christendom. The date must have been about 1100. At that time, by far the most renowned of the Parisian teachers was William of Champeaux, a champion of ultra-realism. To him Abelard repaired, bent, not so much on learning as on criticising. The fame of the great teacher, far from overawing the stripling from Brittany, seemed rather to make him all the more desirous of meeting the master in a dialectical encounter. They met on the question of the day, the problem of Universals. With merciless skill, Abelard exposed the weakness of realism such as his master taught, and showed by a brilliant display of erudition as well as by keen logical contention that the Universal cannot exist outside the mind as a full-fledged universal. His victory was complete. The teacher first changed his formula, then abandoned it altogether, and finally, in confusion, gave up his chair at Paris and retired to the monastery of St. Victor. Thereupon Abelard decided to open a school of his own, not at Paris, for there the followers of the defeated Master were too numerous and too resentful, but nearby at Melun and afterwards at Corbeil. After a few years spent in his native Brittany, he returned to Paris, where, first having made it very uncomfortable for William's successor, he finally secured that chair for himself, and became the best known teacher in Christendom. He was not satisfied, however, with his triumph in logic. He desired new laurels,