Reference sites:

http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/01036b.htm
(Catholic Encyclopedia site)

http://www.gostaniago2004.com/santiago-pilgrimage-history.html
(a site that puts it "This site is dedicated to those modern
pilgrims who wish to make the journey in the modern comfort
of a motor coach."

Being the Possible Musings of Peter Abelard on the Pilgrimge

Author's note: Having only a sketchy idea of who Abelard is/was,
I was drawn to write this (projecting onto it many of my own
ideas, doubts, and beliefs) as a work of fiction in order
to explore certain themes. 

Dr. Henri Reux, 
    Oran, Algeria, 1937.

                             *  *  *

October 12.  It has been some 5 years now since Pope Calixtus II 
agreed in 1122 to grant indulgences to those who made the Santiago 
pilgrimage, with special consideration to those who made the
trip during a year in which the Feast of St. James fell on 
a Sunday. They refer to such years as Jubilee Holy Years".

I do not know whether to laugh or cry over this. I returned
earlier this year from my own pilgrimage to see what effect
the indulgences have made. 

When I first accompanied the father of a friend of mine 
along the route from Vezelay through Limoges, and then finally 
meeting up with the other routes in Puenta-la-Reina near
the border of Spain, I did this out of a sense of 
obligation. Sylphè had been a student of mine in Paris in
1118. She was much taken with me, but having known her
father for some time, I thought it best not to get
involved. Wise words that I should always remember to
heed. Upon her death in 1119 from consumption, her
father (Robert-Toulouse) blamed himself for not having
done more to save her. He took it upon himself to 
undertake the pilgrimage to cleanse his soul of the
guilt that he felt. Despite my attempts to disuade him
and his pronounced limp, he was adamant and so we began
the arduous journey.

As I reflect back on that trip now (and consulting my
journal entries), I can see how entirely daft the world
is now. Following the failure of our lord to reappear
in 1000 AD, many felt that there was something that 
we had done, and then this convenient discovery of
the body of St. James at Santiago de Compostela.

I was moved to teers by this constant stream of suffering.
The lame, the blind, some with barely a crutch to stand
on, hobbling along on this thousand mile journey. Beset
upon by thieves, and then often separated from what 
little fund they had inn keepers who ran their hostiles
more like a circus side show than anything else. Selling
countless bones as if they were relics. And the desparation
of these people who have suffered so much! In dispair
but ever with hope they would buy the relics, even
knowing that they were fake. These innocent pilgrims
thinking not to disillusion the charletans who were
palming off the bones by the hundred. (How many 
fingers did each saint have? How many hands? Surely
it is the dance of absurdity. The clothes have no
emperor).

Regardless of the falsity of the entire thing, when 
at last we did arrive in Santiago, you could see the
hope streaming out of the eyes of the people as they
bowed and prayed before the reliquiry. And many of
them were healed. Healed by their faith, not by this
false idol. Sad to think that learning is so lowly
looked upon. I oft thought to seek out the Abbot
and ask him if he was aware of the belief that
the body of St. Mark was entombed in a small town
outside of Ravena? But, I could not do it. How 
little hope these people had, why should I take
that from them?  And when all is said and done,
who am I to take that from them.

For many, the pilgrimige is the life-sustaining
illusion that gives them the strength to go. If only
their faith in their own faith was stronger, then 
they would realise that they did not this journey
to heal them. I had often debated with Bernard of
Clairvaux about these matters, that it was more
important to find out the meaning of scriptures.
That for each person, it was a personal journey
of enlightenment, and that it must be clearly
obvious that the scriptures will speak to each 
person in a different way. But, he maintains
this mystical interpretation of accepting the
bible as written and that some-how through 
pure purity, one will be able to directly
communicate with God. They wait for an answer
that will never come. 

Again and again I ask myself: If God gave us
faith and reason, then did he not intend for us
to use each in equal measure? Faith gives us
insight into the infinite and in turn humbles
us and makes us compassion. Reason begs us to
question the ways things are, to try to figure
IT out. I often remember one of my teachers
(I have forgotten whom it was), who said, 
"Pray for me St. Socrates". That piety and
logic were not adversaries, but the two forms
of light that can guide us to the truth.

Most of the above is from my journal of some
five years ago. Now that the Pope has seen fit
to allow indulgences, the pilgrimage attracts
a new kind of customer. The professional pilgrim.
A criminal by the name of Jacques-Louis when 
informed that if he made the pilgrimage to 
Santiago, that he would be forgiven for the
robberieies that he had committed. He chose
the simpler method of paying someone to under-
take the journey for him, and then retired to 
the South of France for the remainder of 
the year. The irony of this that the Pope
allows for the selling of indulgences, that
a theif can buy his way into heaven, and 
that yet another devout believer plays the
part of the go-between. That none of them
seem to stop for a moment to think that
surely God is not fooled by all of this.

The devout continue the pilgrimage -- old,
young, male, female, from as far away as 
Hildesheim north of the Rhine and even many
from Rome itself and the eastern provinces.
So, I hold my tongue; for those devout so 
much need a miracle. And many receive it;
but not from the relic, but from their faith.
I feel at times like laughing at the aburdity 
of it all, and then alternately like crying
for the beauty of the Creator who doles out
miracles to those who truely believe, so 
that they might inspire others.

And what of skeptics like me? Is my "struggle
of faith" a test? To see if in the end, I
abandon my attempt to use both faith and
reason and "give in", and become a blind-eyed
believer, spouting scripture without understanding
a whit of it?  Or perhaps, it is a taste of 
hell -- that for me Hell is the Indicision 
of Thought, and yet thought is a part of 
faith. It is faith that is the cart, but it
is reason that pulls the cart through this 
thing called life. 

Time will tell; it always does. 

                          * * *

It is late at night, and the plague continues un-abated. 
The young boy died this evening in the hospital. It makes
no sense, but the living seek meaning, I simply am so
tired, that I hardly find meaning or even feeling about
anything. And yet I go on, I attend and minister to those
who are in need. But, unlike Pantagloss, I make no 
ministrations of faith. I give them what little hope I
can; even though my hope is only sustained by the fact
that *all* plagues eventually run their course.