Peter the Venerable, abbot of Cluny, was the second monk in France at that time. A few degrees lower in the scale of neural intensity than his canonised rival, he far surpassed him in the less exalted virtues of kindliness, humanity, and moderation. ‘The rule of St. Benedict,’ he once wrote to Bernard, ‘is dependent on the sublime general law of charity’; that was not the route to the honour of canonisation. He belonged by birth to the illustrious family of the Montboissiers of Auvergne, and was a man of culture, fine and equable temper, high principle, gentle and humane feeling, and much practical wisdom. He had had more than one controversy with the abbot of Clairvaux, and his influence was understood to counterbalance that of Bernard at times in the affairs of the Church and the kingdom.
It was, therefore, one of the few fortunate accidents of his career that brought Abélard to Cluny at that time. Abbot Peter knew that Bernard had actually in his possession the papal decree which ordered the imprisonment of Abélard and the burning of his books. He had a deep sympathy for the ageing master who was seeking a new triumph in Rome under such peculiarly sad circumstances. Peter knew well how little the question of heresy really counted for in the matter. It was a question of Church politics; and he decided to use his influence for the purpose of securing a tranquil close for the embittered and calumniated life. Abélard was beginning to feel the exactions of his journey, and remained some days at the abbey. The abbot, as he afterwards informs the pope, spoke with him about his purpose, and at length informed him that the blow had already fallen. It was the last and decisive blow. The proud head never again raised itself in defiance of the potent ignorance, the crafty passion, and the hypocrisy that made up the world about him. He was too much enfeebled, too much dispirited, even to repeat the blasphemy of his earlier experience: ‘Good Jesus, where art thou?’ For the first and last time he bowed to the mystery of the triumph of evil.
Abbot Peter then undertook the task of averting the consequence of Bernard’s triumph, and found little difficulty in directing the fallen man. It was imperative, in the first place, to effect some form of reconciliation between the great antagonists, so as to disarm the hostility of Bernard. We shortly find Raynard, the abbot of Cîteaux, at Cluny, and Abélard accompanies him back to his abbey. Peter has obtained from him a formal promise to correct anything in his works that may be ‘offensive to pious ears,’ and on this basis Bernard is invited to a reconciliation at Cîteaux. A few days afterwards Abélard returns to Cluny with the laconic reply that they ‘had had a peaceful encounter,’ as the abbot informs the pope, to whom he immediately writes for permission to receive Abélard into their community at Cluny, adding, with a calm contempt of the accusation of heresy, that ‘Brother Peter’s knowledge’ will be useful to the brethren. The abbot of Cluny had claims upon the pope’s consideration. Although the anti-pope, Anacletus, had been a monk of Cluny, Peter had been the first to meet Innocent when he came to France for support. In pointed terms he begged that Abélard ‘might not be driven away or troubled by the importunity of any persons.’ His request was granted; and thus the broken spirit was spared that ‘public humiliation’ in France that Bernard had demanded.
The basis of reconciliation with Bernard was probably a second and shorter apology which Abélard wrote at Cluny. It was convenient to regard this at the time as a retractation. In reality it is for the most part a sharp rejection of Bernard’s formulation of his theses and a new enunciation of them in more orthodox phraseology. His frame of mind appears in the introductory note.
‘There is a familiar proverb that “Nothing is said so well that it cannot be perverted,” and, as St. Jerome says, “He who writes many books invites many judges.” I also have written a few things—though little in comparison with others—and have not succeeded in escaping censure; albeit in those things for which I am so gravely charged I am conscious of no fault, nor should I obstinately defend it, if I were. It may be that I have erred in my writings, but I call God to witness and to judge in my soul that I have written nothing through wickedness or pride of those things for which I am chiefly blamed.’
Then, warmly denying Bernard’s charge that he has ever taught a secret doctrine, he passes to a detailed profession of faith on the lines of Bernard’s list of errors. With regard to the Trinity he denies all the heresies ascribed to him; this he could do with perfect justice. On the other points he makes distinctions, adds explanations and qualifications, and even sometimes accepts Bernard’s thesis without remark, though one can generally see a reserve in the background. Thus, on the question of sin committed in ignorance, he makes the familiar modern distinction between culpable and inculpable ignorance: he admits that we have inherited Adam’s sin, but adds ‘because his sin is the source and cause of all our sins.’ On the question of the prevention of evil by God, he merely says, ‘Yes, He often does’; and so forth. The only sentence which looks like a real retractation is that in which he grants ‘the power of the keys’ to all the clergy. In this he clearly dissociates himself from Arnold of Brescia, and perplexes his friends. But his earlier teaching on the point is by no means so clear and categorical as that of Arnold. There is nothing either very commendable or very condemnable about the document. It probably represents a grudging concession to the abbot of Cluny’s friendly pressure and counsel to withdraw from what was really only a heated quarrel with as little friction as possible. That Abélard was not in the penitent mood some writers discover in the letter is clear from the peroration. ‘My friend [!] has concluded his list of errors with the remark: “They are found partly in Master Peter’s book of theology, partly in his Sentences, and partly in his Scito te Ipsum.” But I have never written a book of Sentences, and therefore the remark is due to the same malice or ignorance as the errors themselves.’
However, the document had a sufficient air of retractation about it to allow Bernard to withdraw. In substance and spirit it was, as its name indicated, an apology, not a retractation. In fact Bernard’s zealous secretary and an unknown abbot attacked the apology, but Abélard made no reply, and the discussion slowly died away. Bernard had won a political triumph, and he showed a becoming willingness to rest content with empty assurances. Abélard’s personal force was dead; little eagerness was shown to pursue the seminal truths he had left behind, and which were once thought so abhorrent and pernicious. Later Benedictines virtually admit the justice of this. Mabillon says: ‘We do not regard Abélard as a heretic; it is sufficient for the defence of Bernard to admit that he erred in certain things.’ And the historian Noël Alexandre also says, ‘He must not be regarded as a heretic.’ Indeed, Bernard was strongly condemned at the time by English and German writers. Otto of Freising reproves his action in the cases of both Abélard and Gilbert, and attributes it to defects of character. John of Salisbury severely criticises him in the Historia Pontificalis; and Walter Map, another English writer, voices the same widespread feeling.
Another document that Abélard sent out from Cluny forms the last page of his intercourse with Heloise. If he had wearily turned away from the strange drama of life, his affection for her survives the disillusion in all its force. There is a welcome tenderness in his thought of her amidst the crushing desolation that has fallen upon him. She shall not be hurt by any unwilling impression of persistent calumny. He writes to her a most affectionate letter, and in the sanctuary of their love makes a solemn profession of the purity of his faith.
‘My sister Heloise, once dear to me in the world, and now most dear in Christ, logic has brought the enmity of men upon me. For there are certain perverse calumniators, whose wisdom leads to perdition, that say I take pre-eminence in logic but fail egregiously in the interpretation of Paul; commending my ability, they would deny me the purity of Christian faith.... I would not rank as a philosopher if it implied any error in faith; I would not be an Aristotle if it kept me away from Christ. For no other name is given to me under heaven in which I may find salvation. I adore Christ, sitting at the right hand of the Father.’ Then follows a brief confession of faith on the chief points of Christian belief—the Trinity, the Incarnation, baptism, penance, and the resurrection. ‘And that all anxiety and doubt may be excluded from thy heart,’ he concludes, ‘do thou hold this concerning me, I have grounded my conscience on that rock on which Christ has built His Church.’
It was Abélard’s farewell to her who had shared so much of the joy and the bitterness of his life. But what a different man it recalls through the mists of time from the ‘dragon’ of Bernard’s letters! One contrast at least we cannot fail to note between the saint and the sinner. We have seen Bernard’s treatment of Abélard; in this private letter, evidently intended for no eye but that of his wife, we have the sole recorded utterance of Abélard on the man who, for so little reason, shattered the triumph and the peace of his closing years.