CHAPTER IX
OF HIS BOOK ON THEOLOGY AND HIS PERSECUTION AT THE HANDS OF HIS FELLOW
STUDENTS OF THE COUNCIL AGAINST HIM
IT SO happened that at the outset I devoted myself to analysing the basis of our faith
through illustrations based on human understanding, and I wrote for my students a certain
tract on the unity and trinity of God. This I did because they were always seeking for
rational and philosophical explanations, asking rather for reasons they could understand
than for mere words, saying that it was futile to utter words which the intellect could
not possibly follow, that nothing could be believed unless it could first be understood,
and that it was absurd for any one to preach to others a thing which neither he himself
nor those whom he sought to teach could comprehend. Our Lord Himself maintained this same
thing when He said: "They are blind leaders of the blind" (Matthew, xv. 14).
Now, a great many people saw and read this tract, and it became exceedingly popular,
its clearness appealing particularly to all who sought information on this subject. And
since the questions involved are generally considered the most difficult of all, their
complexity is taken as the measure of the subtlety of him who succeeds in answering them.
As a result, my rivals became furiously angry, and summoned a council to take action
against me, the chief instigators therein being my two intriguing enemies of former days,
Alberic and Lotulphe. These two, now that both William and Anselm, our erstwhile teachers,
we're dead, were greedy to reign in their stead, and, so to speak, to succeed them as
heirs. While they were directing the school at Rheims, they managed by repeated hints to
stir up their archbishop, Rodolphe, against me, for the purpose of holding a meeting, or
rather an ecclesiastical council, at Soissons, provided they could secure the approval of
Conon, Bishop of Praeneste, at that time papal legate in France. Their plan was to summon
me to be present at this council, bringing with me the famous book I had written regarding
the trinity. In all this, indeed, they were successful, and the thing happened according
to their wishes.
Before I reached Soissons, however, these two rivals of mine so foully slandered me
with both the clergy and the public that on the day of my arrival the people came near to
stoning me and the few students of mine who had accompanied me thither. The cause of their
anger was that they had been led to believe that I had preached and written to prove the
existence of three gods. No sooner had I reached the city, therefore, than I went
forthwith to the legate; to him I submitted my book for examination and judgment,
declaring that if I had written anything repugnant to the Catholic faith, I was quite
ready to correct it or otherwise to make satisfactory amends. The legate directed me to
refer my book to the archbishop and to those same two rivals of mine, to the end that my
accusers might also be my judges. So in my case was fulfilled the saying: "Even our
enemies are our judges" (Deut. xxxii. 31).
These three, then, took my book and pawed it over and examined it minutely, but could
find nothing therein which they dared to use as the basis for a public accusation against
me. Accordingly they put off the condemnation of the book until the close of the council,
despite their eagerness to bring it about. For my part, every day before the council
convened I publicly discussed the Catholic faith in the light of what I had written, and
all who heard me were enthusiastic in their approval alike of the frankness and the logic
of my words. When the public and the clergy had thus learned something of the real
character of my teaching, they began to say to one another: "Behold, now he speaks
openly, and no one brings any charge against him. And this council, summoned, as we have
heard, chiefly to take action upon his case is drawing toward its end. Did the judges
realize that the error might be theirs rather than his?"
As a result of all this, my rivals grew more angry day by day. On one occasion Alberic,
accompanied by some of his students, came to me for the purpose of intimidating me, and,
after a few bland words, said that he was amazed at something he had found in my book, to
the effect that, although God had begotten God, I denied that God had begotten Himself,
since there was only one God. I answered unhesitatingly: "I can give you an
explanation of this if you wish it." "Nay," he replied, "I care
nothing for human explanation or reasoning in such matters, but only for the words of
authority." "Very well, I said; "turn the pages of my book and you will
find the authority likewise." The book was at hand, for he had brought it with him. I
turned to the passage I had in mind, which he had either not discovered or else passed
over as containing nothing injurious to me. And it was God's will that I quickly found
what I sought. This was the following sentence, under the heading "Augustine, On the
Trinity, Book I": "Whosoever believes that it is within the power of God to
beget Himself is sorely in error; this power is not in God, neither is it in any created
thing, spiritual or corporeal. For there is nothing that can give birth to itself."
When those of his followers who were present heard this, they were amazed and much
embarrassed. He himself, in order to keep his countenance, said: "Certainly, I
understand all that." Then I added: "What I have to say further on this subject
is by no means new, but apparently it has nothing to do with the case at issue, since you
have asked for the word of authority only, and not for explanations. If, however, you care
to consider logical explanations, I am prepared to demonstrate that, according to
Augustine's statement, you have yourself fallen into a heresy in believing that a father
can possibly be his own son." When Alberic heard this he was almost beside himself
with rage, and straightway resorted to threats, asserting that neither my explanations nor
my citations of authority would avail me aught in this case. With this he left me.
On the last day of the council, before the session convened, the legate and the
archbishop deliberated with my rivals and sundry others as to what should be. done about
me and my book, this being the chief reason for their having come together. And since they
had discovered nothing either in my speech or in what I had hitherto written which would
give them a case against me, they were all reduced to silence, or at the most to maligning
me in whispers. Then Geoffrey, Bishop of Chartres, who excelled the other bishops alike in
the sincerity of his religion and in the importance of his see, spoke thus:
"You know, my lords, all who are gathered here, the doctrine of this man, what it
is, and his ability, which has brought him many followers in every field to which he has
devoted himself. You know how greatly he has lessened the renown of other teachers, both
his masters and our own, and how he has spread as it were the offshoots of his vine from
sea to sea. Now, if you impose a lightly considered judgment on him, as I cannot believe
you will, you well know that even if mayhap you are in the right there are many who will
be angered thereby and that he will have no lack of defenders. Remember above all that we
have found nothing in this book of his that lies before us whereon any open accusation can
be based. Indeed it is true, as Saint Jerome says: `Fortitude openly displayed always creates
rivals, and the lightning strikes the highest peaks.' Have a care, then, lest by violent
action you only increase his fame, and lest we do more hurt to ourselves through envy than
to him through justice. A false report, as that same wise man reminds us, is easily
crushed, and a man's later life gives testimony as to his earlier deeds. If, then, you are
disposed to take canonical action against him, his doctrine or his writings must be
brought forward as evidence, and he must have free opportunity to answer his questioners.
In that case if he is found guilty or if he confesses his error, his lips can be wholly
sealed. Consider the words of the blessed Nicodemus, who, desiring to free Our Lord
Himself, said: 'Doth our law judge any man before it hear him and know what he doeth?
(John, vii. 51).
When my rivals heard this they cried out in protest, saying: "This is wise
counsel, forsooth, that we should strive against the wordiness of this man, whose
arguments, or rather, sophistries, the whole world cannot resist!" And yet, methinks,
it was far more difficult to strive against Christ Himself, for Whom, nevertheless,
Nicodemus demanded a hearing in accordance with the dictates of the law. When the bishop
could not win their assent to his proposals, he tried in another way to curb their hatred,
saying that for the discussion of such an important case the few who were present were not
enough, and that this matter required a more thorough examination. His further suggestion
was that my abbot, who was there present, should take me back with him to our abbey, in
other words to the monastery of St. Denis, and that there a large convocation of learned
men should determine, on the basis of a careful investigation, what ought to be done. To
this last proposal the legate consented, as did all the others.
Then the legate arose to celebrate mass before entering the council, and through the
bishop sent me the permission which had been determined on, authorizing me to return to my
monastery and there await such action as might be finally taken. But my rivals, perceiving
that they would accomplish nothing if the trial were to be held outside of their own
diocese, and in a place where they could have little influence on the verdict, and in
truth having small wish that justice should be done, persuaded the archbishop that it
would be a grave insult to him to transfer this case to another court, and that it would
be dangerous for him if by chance I should thus be acquitted. They likewise went to the
legate, and succeeded in so changing his opinion that finally they induced him to frame a
new sentence, whereby he agreed to condemn my book without any further inquiry, to burn it
forthwith in the sight of all, and to confine me for a year in another monastery. The
argument they used was that it sufficed for the condemnation of my book that I had
presumed to read it in public without the approval either of the Roman pontiff or of the
church, and that, furthermore, I had given it to many to be transcribed. Methinks it would
be a notable blessing to the Christian faith if there were more who displayed a like
presumption. The legate, however, being less skilled in law than he should have been,
relied chiefly on the advice of the archbishop, and he, in turn, on that of my rivals.
When the Bishop of Chartres got wind of this, he reported the whole conspiracy to me, and
strongly urged me to endure meekly the manifest violence of their enmity. He bade me not
to doubt that this violence would in the end react upon them and prove a blessing to me,
and counseled me to have no fear of the confinement in a monastery, knowing that within a
few days the legate himself, who was now acting under compulsion, would after his
departure set me free. And thus he consoled me as best he might, mingling his tears with
mine.
CHAPTER X
OF THE BURNING OF HIS BOOK IF THE PERSECUTION HE HAD AT THE HANDS OF HIS
ABBOT AND THE BRETHREN
STRAIGHTWAY upon my summons I went to the council, and there, without further
examination or debate, did they compel me with my own hand to cast that memorable book of
mine into the flames. Although my enemies appeared to have nothing to say while the book
was burning, one of them muttered something about having seen it written therein that God
the Father was alone omnipotent. This reached the ears of the legate, who replied in
astonishment that he could not believe that even a child would make so absurd a blunder.
"Our common faith," he said, holds and sets forth that the Three are alike
omnipotent." A certain Tirric, a schoolmaster, hearing this, sarcastically added the
Athanasian phrase, "And yet there are not three omnipotent Persons, but only
One."
This man's bishop forthwith began to censure him, bidding him desist from such
treasonable talk, but he boldly stood his ground, and said, as if quoting the words of
Daniel: " 'Are ye such fools, ye sons of Israel, that without examination or
knowledge of the truth ye have condemned a daughter of Israel? Return again to the place
of judgment,' (Daniel, xiii. 48 The History of Susanna) and there give judgment on the
judge himself. You have set up this judge, forsooth, for the instruction of faith and the
correction of error, and yet, when he ought to give judgment, he condemns himself out of
his own mouth. Set free today, with the help of God's mercy, one who is manifestly
innocent, even as Susanna was freed of old from her false accusers."
Thereupon the archbishop arose and confirmed the legate's statement, but changed the
wording thereof, as indeed was most fitting. "It is God's truth," he said,
"that the Father is omnipotent, the Son is omnipotent, the Holy Spirit is omnipotent.
And whosoever dissents from this is openly in error, and must not be listened to.
Nevertheless, if it be your pleasure, it would be well that this our brother should
publicly state before us all the faith that is in him, to the end that, according to its
deserts, it may either be approved or else condemned and corrected."
When, however, I fain would have arisen to profess and set forth my faith, in order
that I might express in my own words that which was in my heart, my enemies declared that
it was not needful for me to do more than recite the Athanasian Symbol, a thing which any
boy might do as well as I. And lest I should allege ignorance, pretending that I did not
know the words by heart, they had a copy of it set before me to read. And read it I did as
best I could for my groans and sighs and tears. Thereupon, as if I had been a convicted
criminal, I was handed over to the Abbot of St. Médard, who was there present, and led to
his monastery as to a prison. And with this the council was immediately dissolved.
The abbot and the monks of the aforesaid monastery, thinking that I would remain long
with them, received me with great exultation, and diligently sought to console me, but all
in vain. O God, who dost judge justice itself, in what venom of the spirit, in what
bitterness of mind, did I blame even Thee for my shame, accusing Thee in my madness! Full
often did I repeat the lament of St. Anthony: "Kindly Jesus, where wert Thou?"
The sorrow that tortured me, the shame that overwhelmed me, the desperation that wracked
my mind, all these I could then feel, but even now I can find no words to express them.
Comparing these new sufferings of my soul with those I had formerly endured in my body, it
seemed that I was in very truth the most miserable among men. Indeed that earlier betrayal
had become a little thing in comparison with this later evil, and I lamented the hurt to
my fair name far more than the one to my body. The latter, indeed, I had brought upon
myself through my own wrongdoing, but this other violence had come upon me solely by
reason of the honesty of my purpose and my love of our faith, which had compelled me to
write that which I believed.
The very cruelty and heartlessness of my punishment, however, made every one who heard
the story vehement in censuring it, so that those who had a hand therein were soon eager
to disclaim all responsibility, shouldering the blame on others. Nay, matters came to such
a pass that even my rivals denied that they had anything to do with the matter, and as
for the legate, he publicly denounced the malice with which the French had acted. Swayed
by repentance for his injustice, and feeling that he had yielded enough to satisfy their
rancour he shortly freed me from the monastery whither I had been taken, and sent me back
to my own. Here, however, I found almost as many enemies as I had in the former days of
which I have already spoken, for the vileness and shamelessness of their way of living
made them realize that they would again have to endure my censure.
After a few months had passed, chance gave them an opportunity by which they sought to
destroy me. It happened that one day, in the course of my reading, I came upon a certain
passage of Bede, in his commentary on the Acts of the Apostles, wherein he asserts that
Dionysius the Areopagite was the bishop, not of Athens, but of Corinth. Now, this was
directly counter to the belief of the monks, who were wont to boast that their Dionysius,
or Denis, was not only the Areopagite but was likewise proved by his acts to have been the
Bishop of Athens. Having thus found this testimony of Bede's in contradiction of our own
tradition, I showed it somewhat jestingly to sundry of the monks who chanced to be near.
Wrathfully they declared that Bede was no better than a liar, and that they had a far more
trustworthy authority in the person of Hilduin, a former abbot of theirs, who had
travelled for a long time throughout Greece for the purpose of investigating this very
question. He, they insisted, had by his writings removed all possible doubt on the
subject, and had securely established the truth of the traditional belief.
One of the monks went so far as to ask me brazenly which of the two, Bede or Hilduin, I
considered the better authority on this point. I replied that the authority of Bede, whose
writings are held in high esteem by the whole Latin Church, appeared to me the better.
Thereupon in a great rage they began to cry out that at last I had openly proved the
hatred I had always felt for our monastery, and that I was seeking to disgrace it in the
eyes of the whole kingdom, robbing it of the honour in which it had particularly gloried,
by thus denying that the Areopagite was their patron saint. To this I answered that I had
never denied the fact, and that I did not much care whether their patron was the
Areopagite or some one else, provided only he had received his crown from God. Thereupon
they ran to the abbot and told him of the misdemeanour with which they charged me.
The abbot listened to their story with delight, rejoicing at having found a chance to
crush me, for the greater vileness of his life made him fear me more even than the rest
did. Accordingly he summoned his council, and when the brethren had assembled he violently
threatened me, declaring that he would straightway send me to the king, by him to be
punished for having thus sullied his crown and the glory of his royalty. And until he
should hand me over to the king, he ordered that I should be closely guarded. In vain did
I offer to submit to the customary discipline if I had in any way been guilty. Then,
horrified at their wickedness, which seemed to crown the ill fortune I had so long
endured, and in utter despair at the apparent conspiracy of the whole world against me, I
fled secretly from the monastery by night, helped thereto by some of the monks who took
pity on me, and likewise aided by some of my scholars.
I made my way to a region where I had formerly dwelt, hard by the lands of Count
Theobald (of Champagne). He himself had some slight acquaintance with me, and had
compassion on me by reason of my persecutions, of which the story had reached him. I found
a home there within the walls of Provins, in a priory of the monks of Troyes, the prior of
which had in former days known me well and shown me much love. In his joy at my coming he
cared for me with all diligence. It chanced, however, that one day my abbot came to
Provins to see the count on certain matters of business. As soon as I had learned of this,
I went to the count, the prior accompanying me, and besought him to intercede in my behalf
with the abbot. I asked no more than that the abbot should absolve me of the charge
against me, and give me permission to live the monastic life wheresoever I could find a
suitable place. The abbot, however, and those who were with him took the matter under
advisement, saying that they would give the count an answer the day before they departed.
It appeared from their words that they thought I wished to go to some other abbey, a thing
which they regarded as an immense disgrace to their own. They had, indeed, taken
particular pride in the fact that, upon my conversion, I had come to them, as if scorning
all other abbeys, and accordingly they considered that it would bring great shame upon
them if I should now desert their abbey and seek another. For this reason they refused to
listen either to my own plea or to that of the count. Furthermore, they threatened me with
excommunication unless I should instantly return; likewise they forbade the prior with
whom I had taken refuge to keep me longer, under pain of sharing my excommunication. When
we heard this both the prior and I were stricken with fear. The abbot went away still
obdurate, but a few days thereafter he died.
As soon as his successor had been named, I went to him, accompanied by the Bishop of
Meaux, to try if I might win from him the permission I had vainly sought of his
predecessor. At first he would not give his assent, but finally, through the intervention
of certain friends of mine, I secured the right to appeal to the king and his council, and
in this way I at last obtained what I sought. The royal seneschal, Stephen, having
summoned the abbot and his subordinates that they might state their case, asked them why
they wanted to keep me against my will. He pointed out that this might easily bring them
into evil repute, and certainly could do them no good, seeing that their way of living was
utterly incompatible with mine. I knew it to be the opinion of the royal council that the
irregularities in the conduct of this abbey would tend to bring it more and more under the
control of the king, making it increasingly useful and likewise profitable to him, and for
this reason I had good hope of easily winning the support of the king and those about him.
Thus, indeed, did it come to pass. But in order that the monastery might not be shorn
of any of the glory which it had enjoyed by reason of my sojourn there, they granted me
permission to betake myself to any solitary place I might choose, provided only I did not
put myself under the rule of any other abbey. This was agreed upon and confirmed on both
sides in the presence of the king and his councellors. Forthwith I sought out a lonely
spot known to me of old in the region of Troyes, and there, on a bit of land which had
been given to me, and with the approval of the bishop of the district, I built with reeds
and stalks my first oratory in the name of the Holy Trinity. And there concealed, with but
one comrade, a certain cleric, I was able to sing over and over again to the Lord:
"Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness" (Ps. iv. 7).
Pergite Legere
Pars Prima