the more ardently I clung to them, and I became so enamored of them that, abandoning to my brothers the pomp of glory, together with my inheritance and the rights of the eldest son, I resigned from the Councils of War that I might be educated in the camp of Minerva. And since among all the weapons of philosophy I preferred the arms of logic, I exchanged accoutrements and preferred the conflicts of debate to the trophies of war. Thenceforward I walked through the various provinces engaging in debates wherever I had heard that the study of this art [logic] flourished, and thus became a rival of the Peripatetics.

At length [about 1100 A.D.] I reached Paris, where for some time this art had been prospering, and went to William of Champeaux, my instructor, distinguished at the time in this particular by his work and reputation as a teacher. Staying with him for a while, I was at first acceptable, but shortly after was very annoying to him, namely, when I tried to refute some of his opinions, and often ventured to argue against him and, not seldom, seemed to surpass him in debate.[4]

In scholis militare—to wage war in the schools—was the phrase aptly used to describe this mode of debate. William of Champeaux was then the head of the cathedral school of Notre Dame and the leading teacher of logic in France. "Within a few months Abelard made his authority totter, and set his reputation on the wane. In six or seven years he drove him in shame and humiliation from his chair, after a contest which filled Christendom with its echoes." By overcoming William in debate he established his own reputation as a teacher. At various times between 1108 and 1139 he taught in Paris, whither crowds of students came to hear him. His fame was at its height about 1117, shortly after his appointment to the chair which William himself had held. Few teachers have ever attracted a following so large and so devoted. His remarkable success in drawing to Paris students from all quarters is vividly described by a modern writer:

The pupil who had left Paris when both William and Abelard disappeared in 1113 would find a marvellous change on returning to it about 1116 or 1117. He would find the lecture hall and the cloister and the quadrangle, under the shadow of the great cathedral, filled with as motley a crowd of youths and men as any scene in France could show. Little groups of French and Norman and Breton nobles chattered together in their bright silks and fur-tipped mantles, with slender swords dangling from embroidered belts, vying with each other in the length and crookedness of their turned-up shoes. Anglo-Saxons looked on, in long fur-lined cloaks, tight breeches, and leathern hose swathed with bands of many colored cloth. Stern-faced northerners, Poles and Germans, in fur caps and with colored girdles and clumsy shoes, or with feet roughly tied up in the bark of trees, waited impatiently for the announcement of Li Mestre. Pale-faced southerners had braved the Alps and the Pyrenees under the fascination of "the wizard." Shaven and sandalled monks, black-habited clerics, black canons, secular and regular, black in face too, some of them, heresy hunters from the neighboring abbey of St. Victor, mingled with the crowd of young and old, grave and gay, beggars and nobles, sleek citizens and bronzed peasants….

Over mountains and over seas the mingled reputation of the city and the school were carried, and a remarkable stream set in from Germany, Switzerland, Italy (even from proud Rome), Spain, and England; even "distant Brittany sent you its animals to be instructed," wrote Prior Fulques to Abelard (a Breton) a year or two afterwards.[5]

What was there in the teaching of Abelard which brought together this extraordinary gathering? One may admit the presence of unanalysable genius in this master, and still find certain qualities indispensable to the efficient teacher of to-day,—a winning personality, fulness of knowledge, and technical skill as a teacher. These are admirably set forth in the following description:

It is not difficult to understand the charm of Abelard's teaching. Three qualities are assigned to it by the writers of the period, some of whom studied at his feet; clearness, richness in imagery, and lightness of touch are said to have been the chief characteristics of his teaching. Clearness is, indeed, a quality of his written works, though they do not naturally convey an impression of his oral power. His splendid gifts and versatility, supported by a rich voice, a charming personality, a ready and sympathetic use of human literature, and a freedom from excessive piety, gave him an immeasurable advantage over all the teachers of the day. Beside most of them, he was as a butterfly to an elephant. A most industrious study of the few works of Aristotle and of the Roman classics that were available, a retentive memory, an ease in manipulating his knowledge, a clear, penetrating mind, with a corresponding clearness of expression, a ready and productive fancy, a great knowledge of men, a warmer interest in things human than in things divine, a laughing contempt for authority, a handsome presence, and a musical delivery—these were his gifts.[6]

He takes his place in history, apart from the ever-interesting drama and the deep pathos of his life, in virtue of two distinctions. They are, firstly, an extraordinary ability in imparting such knowledge as the poverty of the age afforded—the facts of his career reveal it; and, secondly, a mind of such marvellous penetration that it conceived great truths which it has taken humanity seven or eight centuries to see—this will appear as we proceed. It was the former of these gifts that made him, in literal truth, the centre of learned and learning Christendom, the idol of several thousand eager scholars. Nor, finally, were these thousands the "horde of barbarians" that jealous Master Roscelin called them. It has been estimated that a pope, nineteen cardinals, and more than fifty bishops and archbishops were at one time among his pupils.[7]

Abelard's fame as a teacher, with the consequent increase of masters and students at Paris, undoubtedly paved the way for the formation of the University later in the century. This is not however his greatest distinction in the history of education. His most enduring influences came from (1) his independence in thinking, (2) his novel method of dealing with debatable questions, and (3) his contributions to scholastic philosophy and theology. The first two of these are considered below; the last belongs more properly to the history of philosophy.

(1) Nothing singles Abelard out more clearly among the teachers of his time than his intellectual independence. Most of his contemporaries accepted unquestioningly the view that in religious matters faith precedes reason. One might seek to justify one's faith by reason, but preliminary doubt as to what should be the specific articles of one's faith was inadmissible. As they supposed, these articles had been determined by the church fathers—Augustine, Jerome, and others—and by the Bible. Their view had been formulated by Anselm of Canterbury in the preceding century:

"I do not seek to know in order that I may believe, but I believe in order that I may know." "The Christian