logic in defending them. They did not establish premises; that was not
their concern or mission. Assuming that the sun revolved around the
earth, all their astronomical speculations were worthless, even as the
assumption of the old doctrine of atoms in our times has led scientists
to the wildest conclusions. The metaphysics of the Schoolmen, whether
they were sceptical or reverential, simply sharpened the intellectual
faculties without advancing knowledge.

Abélard belonged by nature to the sceptical school. He delighted in
negations, and in the work of demolition. So far as he demolished or
ridiculed error he rendered the same service as Voltaire did: he
prepared the way for a more inquiring spirit. He was also more liberal
than his opponents. His spirit was progressive, but his method was
faulty. Like all those who have sought to undermine the old systems of
thought, he was naturally vain and conceited. He supposed he had
accomplished more than he really had. He became bold in his
speculations, and undertook to explain subjects beyond his grasp. Thus
he professed to unfold the meaning of the prophecies of Ezekiel. He was
arrogant in his claims to genius. "It is not by long study," said he,
"that I have mastered the heights of science, but by the force of my
mind." This flippancy, accompanied by wit and eloquence, fascinated
young men. His auditors were charmed. "The first philosopher," they
said, "had become the first divine." New pupils crowded his
lecture-room, and he united lectures on philosophy with lectures on
divinity. "Theology and philosophy encircled his brow with a double
garland." So popular was he, that students came from Germany and Italy
and England to hear his lectures. The number of his pupils, it is said,
was more than five thousand; and these included the brightest intellects
of the age, among whom one was destined to be a pope (the great Innocent
III.), nineteen to be cardinals, and one hundred to be bishops. What a