Chapter 2

I came at length to Paris, where above all in those days the art of dialectics was most flourishing, and there did I meet William of Champeaux, my teacher, a man most distinguished in his science both by his renown and by his true merit. With him I remained for some time, at first indeed well liked of him; but later I brought him great grief, because I undertook to refute certain of his opinions, not infrequently attacking him in disputation, and now and then in these debates I was adjudged victor. Now this, to those among my fellow students who were ranked foremost, seemed all the more insufferable because of my youth and the brief duration of my studies.

At last I came to Paris, where the art of dialectics flourished more than anywhere else in those days. There I met my teacher, William of Champeaux. He was a man distinguished in his field, both for his reputation and his genuine merit. I stayed with him for some time, and at first he liked me. But later I caused him great distress because I tried to refute some of his opinions. I often challenged him in debate, and now and then I was judged the winner. This seemed all the more intolerable to the leading students among my fellow pupils because I was young and had studied for so short a time.

Out of this sprang the beginning of my misfortunes, which have followed me even to the present day; the more widely my fame was spread abroad, the more bitter was the envy that was kindled against me. It was given out that I, presuming on my gifts far beyond the warranty of my youth, was aspiring despite my tender, years to the leadership of a school; nay, more, that I was making read the very place in which I would undertake this task, the place being none other than the castle of Melun, at that time a royal seat. My teacher himself had some foreknowledge of this, and tried to remove my school as far as possible from his own. Working in secret, he sought in every way he could before I left his following to bring to nought the school I had planned and the place I had chosen for it. Since, however, in that very place he had many rivals, and some of them men of influence among the great ones of the land, relying on their aid I won to the fulfillment of my wish; the support of many was secured for me by reason of his own unconcealed envy. From this small inception of my school, my fame in the art of dialectics began to spread abroad, so that little by little the renown, not alone of those who had been my fellow students, but of our very teacher himself, grew dim and was like to die out altogether. Thus it came about that, still more confident in myself, I moved my school as soon as I well might to the castle of Corbeil, which is hard by the city of Paris, for there I knew there would be given more frequent chance for my assaults in our battle of disputation.

This was the beginning of my misfortunes, which have followed me to this day. The more widely my fame spread, the more bitter the envy it stirred against me. People said that I was overconfident in my abilities and, despite my youth, aimed to lead a school. They also said I was preparing a place for it at the castle of Melun, then a royal seat. My teacher had learned something of my plans and tried to keep my school as far as possible from his own. Before I left his circle, he worked secretly to ruin my plans for the school and its location. But he had many rivals in Melun, some of whom had influence with powerful people in the land. Relying on their help, I achieved my wish. His open envy won me the support of many people. From these small beginnings, my fame in the art of dialectics began to spread. Little by little, the fame of my fellow students and even our teacher faded and seemed likely to disappear altogether. Growing still more confident, I moved my school as soon as I could to the castle of Corbeil, near Paris. I knew I would have more frequent opportunities there to attack my teacher in our battles of disputation.

No long time thereafter I was smitten with a grievous illness, brought upon me by my immoderate zeal for study. This illness forced me to turn homeward to my native province, and thus for some years I was as if cut off from France. And yet, for that very reason, I was sought out all the more eagerly by those whose hearts were troubled by the lore of dialectics. But after a few years had passed, and I was whole again from my sickness, I learned that my teacher, that same William Archdeacon of Paris, had changed his former garb and joined an order of the regular clergy. This he had done, or so men said, in order that he might be deemed more deeply religious, and so might be elevated to a loftier rank in the prelacy, a thing which, in truth, very soon came to pass, for he was made bishop of Châlons. Nevertheless, the garb he had donned by reason of his conversion did nought to keep him away either from the city of Paris or from his wonted study of philosophy; and in the very monastery wherein he had shut himself up for the sake of religion he straightway set to teaching again after the same fashion as before.

Not long afterward, I fell seriously ill because of my excessive devotion to study. My illness forced me to return home to my native province. For some years, I was as if cut off from France. Yet for that very reason, people troubled by the study of dialectics sought me out even more eagerly. After a few years, I recovered from my illness. I then learned that my teacher, William, Archdeacon of Paris, had changed his clothing and joined an order of regular clergy. People said he had done this to appear more devout and rise to a higher position in the Church. Indeed, he soon did rise, becoming bishop of Châlons. Nevertheless, the clothing he had adopted after his conversion did not keep him away from Paris or his usual study of philosophy. In the very monastery where he had withdrawn for religious reasons, he soon began teaching again just as before.

To him did I return, for I was eager to learn more of rhetoric from his lips; and in the course of our many arguments on various matters, I compelled him by most potent reasoning first to alter his former opinion on the subject of the universals, and finally to abandon it altogether. Now, the basis of this old concept of his regarding the reality of universal ideas was that the same quality formed the essence alike of the abstract whole and of the individuals which were its parts: in other words, that there could be no essential differences among these individuals, all being alike save for such variety as might grow out of the many accidents of existence. Thereafter, however, he corrected this opinion, no longer maintaining that the same quality was the essence of all things, but that, rather, it manifested itself in them through diverse ways. This problem of universals is ever the most vexed one among logicians, to such a degree, indeed, that even Porphyry, writing in his "Isagoge" regarding universals, dared not attempt a final pronouncement thereon, saying rather: "This is the deepest of all problems of its kind." Wherefore it followed that when William had first revised and then finally abandoned altogether his views on this one subject, his lecturing sank into such a state of negligent reasoning that it could scarce be called lecturing on the science of dialectics at all; it was as if all his science had been bound up in this one question of the nature of universals.

I returned to him because I was eager to learn more about rhetoric from him. We had many arguments on various subjects, and my powerful reasoning forced him to change his earlier view of universals. Finally, I forced him to abandon it altogether. His old view of the reality of universal ideas held that the same quality was the essence of both the abstract whole and the individuals that made up that whole. In other words, there could be no essential differences among those individuals. They were all alike, except for differences arising from the many accidents of existence. Later, however, he revised his view. He no longer maintained that the same quality was the essence of all things. Instead, he held that it manifested itself in them in different ways. The problem of universals is always the most troublesome one among logicians. Indeed, even Porphyry, writing about universals in his "Isagoge," did not dare reach a final conclusion. Instead, he said, "This is the deepest of all problems of its kind." William first revised and then abandoned his views on this one subject altogether. Afterward, his reasoning in his lectures became so careless that they could hardly be called lectures on the science of dialectics. It was as if all his science had been bound up in this one question of the nature of universals.

Thus it came about that my teaching won such strength and authority that even those who before had clung most vehemently to my former master, and most bitterly attacked my doctrines, now flocked to my school. The very man who had succeeded to my master's chair in the Paris school offered me his post, in order that he might put himself under my tutelage along with all the rest, and this in the very place where of old his master and mine had reigned. And when, in so short a time, my master saw me directing the study of dialectics there, it is not easy to find words to tell with what envy he was consumed or with what pain he was tormented. He could not long, in truth, bear the anguish of what he felt to be his wrongs, and shrewdly he attacked me that he might drive me forth. And because there was nought in my conduct whereby he could come at me openly, he tried to steal away the school by launching the vilest calumnies against him who had yielded his post to me, and by putting in his place a certain rival of mine. So then I returned to Melun, and set up my school there as before; and the more openly his envy pursued me, the greater was the authority it conferred upon me. Even so held the poet: "Jealousy aims at the peaks; the winds storm the loftiest summits." (Ovid: "Remedy for Love," I, 369.)

As a result, my teaching gained such influence and authority that even my former master’s fiercest supporters came to my school. They had once attacked my doctrines most bitterly. The man who had succeeded my master as head of the Paris school offered me his post. He wanted to study under me along with everyone else, in the very place where our master had once reigned. When my master saw me directing the study of dialectics there after so short a time, he was consumed with envy and tormented by pain beyond what words can easily express. He could not long bear the anguish of what he felt were wrongs against him. So he cunningly attacked me, hoping to drive me out. Because he could find nothing in my conduct to attack openly, he tried to steal the school from me. He spread the vilest lies about the man who had given me his post and replaced him with a rival of mine. So I returned to Melun and opened my school there as before. The more openly my master’s envy pursued me, the more authority it gave me. As the poet said: "Jealousy aims at the peaks; the winds storm the loftiest summits." (Ovid: "Remedy for Love," I, 369.)

Not long thereafter, when William became aware of the fact that almost all his students were holding grave doubts as to his religion, and were whispering earnestly among themselves about his conversion, deeming that he had by no means abandoned this world, he withdrew himself and his brotherhood, together with his students, to a certain estate far distant from the city. Forthwith I returned from Melun to Paris, hoping for peace from him in the future. But since, as I have said, he had caused my place to be occupied by a rival of mine, I pitched the camp, as it were, of my school outside the city on Mont Ste. Geneviève. Thus I was as one laying siege to him who had taken possession of my post. No sooner had my master heard of this than he brazenly returned post haste to the city, bringing back with him such students as he could, and reinstating his brotherhood in their for mer monastery, much as if he would free his soldiery, whom he had deserted, from my blockade. In truth, though, if it was his purpose to bring them succour, he did nought but hurt them. Before that time my rival had indeed had a certain number of students, of one sort and another, chiefly by reason of his lectures on Priscian, in which he was considered of great authority. After our master had returned, however, he lost nearly all of these followers, and thus was compelled to give up the direction of the school. Not long thereafter, apparently despairing further of worldly fame, he was converted to the monastic life.

Not long afterward, William realized that almost all his students had serious doubts about his religious commitment. They whispered earnestly among themselves about his conversion, believing that he had not truly given up worldly life. So he withdrew with his brotherhood and his students to an estate far from the city. I immediately returned from Melun to Paris, hoping that he would leave me in peace from then on. But, as I have said, he had given my place to a rival. So I set up my school, as if pitching camp, on Mont Ste. Geneviève outside the city. In this way, I was like a man laying siege to someone who had taken over his post. As soon as my master heard about this, he brazenly rushed back to the city. He brought back as many students as he could and restored his brotherhood to their former monastery. It was as if he meant to free his soldiers, whom he had deserted, from my blockade. But if he meant to help them, he only hurt them. Before then, my rival had attracted a certain number of students of various kinds. This was chiefly because of his lectures on Priscian, for which he was considered a great authority. After our master returned, however, my rival lost nearly all these followers. He was therefore forced to give up running the school. Not long afterward, apparently having given up hope of worldly fame, he converted to the monastic life.

Following the return of our master to the city, the combats in disputation which my scholars waged both with him himself and with his pupils, and the successes which fortune gave to us, and above all to me, in these wars, you have long since learned of through your own experience. The boast of Ajax, though I speak it more temperately, I still am bold enough to make:

After our master returned to the city, my students fought debates against him and his pupils. You learned firsthand long ago about those battles and the victories fortune gave us, especially me. I still dare to make the boast of Ajax, though I put it more modestly:

But even were I to be silent, the fact proclaims itself, and its outcome reveals the truth regarding it.

But even if I said nothing, the fact would speak for itself, and its outcome would reveal the truth.

While these things were happening, it became needful for me again to repair to my old home, by reason of my dear mother, Lucia, for after the conversion of my father, Berengarius, to the monastic life, she so ordered her affairs as to do likewise. When all this had been completed, I returned to France, above all in order that I might study theology, since now my oft-mentioned teacher, William, was active in the episcopate of Châlons. In this held of learning Anselm of Laon, who was his teacher therein, had for long years enjoyed the greatest renown.

While these things were happening, I had to return to my old home because of my dear mother, Lucia. After my father, Berengarius, entered monastic life, she arranged her affairs so that she could do the same. Once all this was done, I returned to France, above all to study theology. My often-mentioned teacher, William, was now serving as a bishop at Châlons. In theology, his teacher Anselm of Laon had enjoyed the greatest renown for many years.