CHAPTER XI
OF HIS TEACHING IN THE WILDERNESS
NO SOONER had scholars learned of my retreat than they began to flock thither from all
sides, leaving their towns and castles to dwell in the wilderness. In place of their
spacious houses they built themselves huts; instead of dainty fare they lived on the herbs
of the field and coarse bread; their soft beds they exchanged for heaps of straw and
rushes, and their tables were piles of turf. In very truth you may well believe that they
were like those philosophers of old of whom Jerome tells us in his second book against
Jovinianus.
"Through the senses," says Jerome, "as through so many windows, do vices
win entrance to the soul. The metropolis and citadel of the mind cannot be taken unless
the army of the foe has first rushed in through the gates. If any one delights in the
games of the circus, in the contests of athletes, in the versatility of actors, in the
beauty of women, in the glitter of gems and raiment, or in aught else like to these, then
the freedom of his soul is made captive through the windows of his eyes, and thus is
fulfilled the prophecy: 'For death is come up into our windows' (Jer. ix. 21). And then,
when the wedges of doubt have, as it were, been driven into the citadels of our minds
through these gateways, where will be its liberty? where its fortitude? where its thought
of God? Most of all does the sense of touch paint for itself the pictures of past
raptures, compelling the soul to dwell fondly upon remembered iniquities, and so to
practice in imagination those things which reality denies to it.
"Heeding such counsel, therefore, many among the philosophers forsook the
thronging ways of the cities and the pleasant gardens of the countryside, with their well
watered fields, their shady trees, the song of birds, the mirror of the fountain, the
murmur of the stream, the many charms for eye and ear, fearing lest their souls should
grow soft amid luxury and abundance of riches, and lest their virtue should thereby be
defiled. For it is perilous to turn your eyes often to those things whereby you may some
day be made captive, or to attempt the possession of that which it would go hard with you
to do without. Thus the Pythagoreans shunned all companionship of this kind, and were wont
to dwell in solitary and desert places. Nay, Plato himself, although he was a rich man let
Diogenes trample on his couch with muddy feet, and in order that he might devote himself
to philosophy established his academy in a place remote from the city, and not only
uninhabited but unhealthy as well. This he did in order that the onslaughts of lust might
be broken by the fear and constant presence of disease, and that his followers might find
no pleasure save in the things they learned."
Such a life, likewise, the sons of the prophets who were the followers of
Eliseus are reported to have led. Of these Jerome also tells us, writing thus to the monk
Rusticus as if describing the monks of those ancient days: "The sons of the prophets,
the monks of whom we read in the Old Testament built for themselves huts by the waters of
the Jordan, and forsaking the throngs and the cities, lived on pottage and the herbs of
the field" (Epist. iv).
Even so did my followers build their huts above the waters of the Arduzon, so that they
seemed hermits rather than scholars. And as their number grew ever greater, the hardships
which they gladly endured for the sake of my teaching seemed to my rivals to reflect new
glory on me, and to cast new shame on themselves. Nor was it strange that they, who had
done their utmost to hurt me, should grieve to see how all things worked together for my
good, even though I was now, in the words of Jerome, afar from cities and the market
place, from controversies and the crowded ways of men. And so, as Quintilian says, did
envy seek me out even in my hiding place. Secretly my rivals complained and lamented one
to another, saying: "Behold now, the whole world runs after him, and our persecution
of him has done nought save to increase his glory. We strove to extinguish his fame, and
we have but given it new brightness. Lo, in the cities scholars have at hand everything
they may need, and yet, spurning the pleasures of the town, they seek out the barrenness
of the desert, and of their own free will they accept wretchedness. "
The thing which at that time chiefly led me to undertake the direction of a school was
my intolerable poverty, for I had not strength enough to dig, and shame kept me from
begging. And so, resorting once more to the art with which I was so familiar, I was
compelled to substitute the service of the tongue for the labour of my hands. The students
willingly provided me with whatsoever I needed in the way of food and clothing, and
likewise took charge of the cultivation of the fields and paid for the erection of
buildings, in order that material cares might not keep me from my studies. Since my
oratory was no longer large enough to hold even a small part of their number, they found
it necessary to increase its size, and in so doing they greatly improved it, building it
of stone and wood. Although this oratory had been founded in honour of the Holy Trinity,
and afterwards dedicated thereto, I now named it the Paraclete, mindful of how I had come
there a fugitive and in despair, and had breathed into my soul something of the miracle of
divine consolation.
Many of those who heard of this were greatly astonished, and some violently assailed my
action, declaring that it was not permissible to dedicate a church exclusively to the Holy
Spirit rather than to God the Father. They held, according to an ancient tradition, that
'it must be dedicated either to the Son alone or else to the entire Trinity. The error
which led them into this false accusation resulted from their failure to perceive the
identity of the Paraclete with the Spirit Paraclete. Even as the whole trinity, or any
Person in the trinity, may rightly be called God or Helper, so likewise may It be termed
the Paraclete, that is to say the Consoler. These are the words of the Apostle:
"Blessed be God, even the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies, and
the God of all comfort; who comforteth us in all our tribulation" (II Cor. i. 3) And
likewise the word of truth says: "And he shall give you another comforter"
(Greek "another Paraclete," John, xiv. 16).
Nay, since every church is consecrated equally in the name of the Father, the Son and
the Holy Spirit, without any difference in their possession thereof, why should not the
house of God be dedicated to the Father or to the Holy Spirit, even as it is to the Son?
Who would presume to erase from above the door the name of him who is the master of the
house? And since the Son offered Himself as a sacrifice to the Father, and accordingly in
the ceremonies of the mass the prayers are offered particularly to the Father, and the
immolation of the Host is made to Him, why should the altar not be held to be chiefly His
to whom above all the supplication and sacrifice are made? Is it not called more rightly
the altar of Him who receives than of Him who makes the sacrifice? Who would admit that an
altar is that of the Holy Cross, or of the Sepulchre, or of St. Michael, or John, or
Peter, or of any other saint, unless either he himself was sacrificed there or else
special sacrifices and prayers are made there to him? Methinks the altars and temples of
certain ones among these saints are not held to be idolatrous even though they are used
for special sacrifices and prayers to their patrons.
Some, however, may perchance argue that churches are not built or altars dedicated to
the Father because there is no feast which is solemnized especially for Him. But while
this reasoning holds good as regards the trinity itself, it does not apply in the case of
the Holy Spirit. For this Spirit, from the day of Its advent, has had its special feast of
the Pentecost, even as the Son has had since His coming upon earth His feast of the
Nativity. Even as the Son was sent into this world, so did the Holy Spirit descend upon
the disciples, and thus does It claim Its special religious rites. Nay, it seems more
fitting to dedicate a temple to It than to either of the other Persons of the Trinity, if
we but carefully study the apostolic authority, and consider the workings of this Spirit
Itself. To none of the three Persons did the apostle dedicate a special temple save to the
Holy Spirit alone. He does not speak of a temple of the Father, or a temple of the Son, as
he does of a temple of the Holy Spirit, writing thus in his first epistle to the
Corinthians: "But he that is joined unto the Lord is one spirit." (I Cor. vi.
17). And again: "What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit
which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?" (ib. 19).
Who is there who does not know that the sacraments of God's blessings pertaining to the
Church are particularly ascribed to the operation of divine grace, by which is meant the
Holy Spirit? Forsooth we are born again of water and of the Holy Spirit in baptism, and
thus from the very beginning is the body made, as it were, a special temple of God. In the
successive sacraments, moreover, the seven-fold grace of the Spirit is added, whereby this
same temple of God is made beautiful and is consecrated. What wonder is it, then, if to
that Person to Whom the apostle assigned a spiritual temple we should dedicate a material
one? Or to what Person can a church be more rightly said to belong than to Him to Whom all
the blessings which the church administers are particularly ascribed? It was not, however,
with the thought of dedicating my oratory to one Person that I first called it the
Paraclete, but for the reason I have already told, that in this spot I found consolation.
None the less, even if I had done it for the reason attributed to me, the departure from
the usual custom would have been in no way illogical.
CHAPTER XII
OF THE PERSECUTION DIRECTED AGAINST HIM BY SUNDRY NEW ENEMIES OR, AS IT
WERE APOSTLES
AND so I dwelt in this place, my body indeed hidden away, but my fame spreading
throughout the whole world, till its echo reverberated mightily -- echo, that fancy of the
poet's, which has so great a voice, and nought beside. My former rivals, seeing that they
themselves were now powerless to do me hurt, stirred up against me certain new apostles in
whom the world put great faith. One of these (Norbert of Prémontré) took pride in his
position as canon of a regular order; the other (Bernard of Clairvaux) made it his boast
that he bad revived the true monastic life. These two ran hither and yon preaching and
shamelessly slandering me in every way they could, so that in time they succeeded in
drawing down on my head the scorn of many among those having authority, among both the
clergy and the laity. They spread abroad such sinister reports of my faith as well as of
my life that they turned even my best friends against me, and those who still retained
something of their former regard for me were fain to disguise it in every possible way by
reason of their fear of these two men.
God is my witness that whensoever I learned of the convening of a new assemblage of the
clergy, I believed that it was done for the express purpose of my condemnation. Stunned by
this fear like one smitten with a thunderbolt, I daily expected to be dragged before their
councils or assemblies as a heretic or one guilty of impiety. Though I seem to compare a
flea with a lion, or an ant with an elephant, in very truth my rivals persecuted me no
less bitterly than the heretics of old hounded St. Athanasius. Often, God knows, I sank so
deep in despair that I was ready to leave the world of Christendom and go forth among the
heathen, paying them a stipulated tribute in order that I might live quietly a Christian
life among the enemies of Christ. It seemed to me that such people might indeed be kindly
disposed toward me, particularly as they would doubtless suspect me of being no good
Christian, imputing my flight to some crime I had committed, and would therefore believe
that I might perhaps be won over to their form of worship.
CHAPTER XIII
OF THE ABBEY TO WHICH HE WAS CALLED AND OF THE PERSECUTION HE HAD FROM
HIS SONS THAT IS TO SAY THE MONKS AND FROM THE LORD OF THE LAND
WHILE I was thus afflicted with so great perturbation to of the spirit, and when the
only way of escape seemed to be for me to seek refuge with Christ among the enemies of
Christ, there came a chance whereby I thought I could for a while avoid the plottings of
my enemies. But thereby I fell among Christians and monks who were far more savage than
heathens and more evil of life. The thing came about in this wise. There was in lesser
Brittany, in the bishopric of Vannes, a certain abbey of St. Gildas at Ruits, then
mourning the death of its shepherd. To this abbey the elective choice of the brethren
called me, with the approval of the prince of that land, and I easily secured permission
to accept the post from my own abbot and brethren. Thus did the hatred of the French drive
me westward, even as that of the Romans drove Jerome toward the East. Never, God knows,
would I have agreed to this thing had it not been for my longing for any possible means of
escape from the sufferings which I had borne so constantly.
The land was barbarous and its speech was unknown to me; as for the monks, their vile
and untameable way of life was notorious almost everywhere. The people of the region, too,
were uncivilized and lawless. Thus, like one who in terror of the sword that threatens him
dashes headlong over a precipice, and to shun one death for a moment rushes to another, I
knowingly sought this new danger in order to escape from the former one. And there, amid
the dreadful roar of the waves of the sea, where the land's end left me no further refuge
in flight, often in my prayers did I repeat over and over again: "From the end of the
earth will I cry unto Thee, when my heart is overwhelmed" (Ps. lxi. 2).
No one, methinks, could fail to understand how persistently that undisciplined body of
monks, the direction of which I had thus undertaken, tortured my heart day and night, or
how constantly I was compelled to think of the danger alike to my body and to my soul. I
held it for certain that if I should try to force them to live according to the principles
they had themselves professed, I should not survive. And yet, if I did not do this to the
utmost of my ability, I saw that my damnation was assured. Moreover, a certain lord who
was exceedingly powerful in that region had some time previously brought the abbey under
his control, taking advantage of the state of disorder within the monastery to seize all
the lands adjacent thereto for his own use, and he ground down the monks with taxes
heavier than those which were extorted from the Jews themselves.
The monks pressed me to supply them with their daily necessities, but they held no
property in common which I might administer in their behalf, and each one, with such
resources as he possessed, supported himself and his concubines, as well as his sons and
daughters. They took delight in harassing me on this matter, and they stole and carried
off whatsoever they could lay their hands on, to the end that my failure to maintain order
might make me either give up trying to enforce discipline or else abandon my post
altogether. Since the entire region was equally savage, lawless and disorganized, there
was not a single man to whom I could turn for aid, for the habits of all alike were
foreign to me. Outside the monastery the lord and his henchmen ceaselessly hounded me, and
within its walls the brethren were forever plotting against me, so that it seemed as if
the Apostle had had me and none other in mind when he I said: "Without were
fightings, within were fears" (II Cor. vii. 5).
I considered and lamented the uselessness and the wretchedness of my existence, how
fruitless my life now was, both to myself and to others; how of old I had been of some
service to the clerics whom I had now abandoned for the sake of these monks, so that I was
no longer able to be of use to either; how incapable I had proved myself in everything I
had undertaken or attempted, so that above all others I deserved the reproach, "This
man began to build, and was not able to finish" (Luke xiv. 30). My despair grew still
deeper when I compared the evils I had left behind with those to which I had come, for my
former sufferings now seemed to me as nought. Full often did I groan: "Justly has
this sorrow come upon me because I deserted the Paraclete, which is to say the Consoler,
and thrust myself into sure desolation; seeking to shun threats I fled to certain
peril."
The thing which tormented me most was the fact that, having abandoned my oratory, I
could make no suitable provision for the celebration there of the divine office, for
indeed the extreme poverty of the place would scarcely provide the necessities of one man.
But the true Paraclete Himself brought me real consolation in the midst of this sorrow of
mine, and made all due provision for His own oratory. For it chanced that in some manner
or other, laying claim to it as having legally belonged in earlier days to his monastery,
my abbot of St. Denis got possession of the abbey of Argenteuil, of which I have
previously spoken, wherein she who was now my sister in Christ rather than my wife,
Heloise, had taken the veil. From this abbey he expelled by force all the nuns who had
dwelt there, and of whom my former companion had become the prioress. The exiles being
thus dispersed in various places, I perceived that this was an opportunity presented by
God himself to me whereby I could make provision anew for my oratory. And so, returning
thither, I bade her come to the oratory, together with some others from the same convent
who had clung to her.
On their arrival there I made over to them the oratory, together with everything
pertaining thereto, and subsequently, through the approval and assistance of the bishop of
the district, Pope Innocent II promulgated a decree confirming my gift in perpetuity to
them and their successors. And this refuge of divine mercy, which they served so
devotedly, soon brought them consolation, even though at first their life there was one of
want, and for a time of utter destitution. But the place proved itself a true Paraclete to
them, making all those who dwelt round about feel pity and kindliness for the sisterhood.
So that, methinks, they prospered more through gifts in a single year than I should have
done if I had stayed there a hundred. True it is that the weakness of womankind makes
their needs and sufferings appeal strongly to people's feelings, as likewise it makes
their virtue all the more pleasing to God and man. And God granted such favour in the eyes
of all to her who was now my sister, and who was in authority over the rest, that the
bishops loved her as a daughter, the abbots as a sister, and the laity as a mother. All
alike marvelled at her religious zeal, her good judgment and the sweetness of her
incomparable patience in all things. The less often she allowed herself to be seen,
shutting herself up in her cell to devote herself to sacred meditations and prayers, the
more eagerly did those who dwelt without demand her presence and the spiritual guidance of
her words.