Two woes have been set forth, and lo, a third woe remains! The Faculties called liberal [i.e., free] have lost their old time liberty, and are devoted to a slavery so complete that long-haired youths shamelessly possess themselves of the offices in these Faculties, and beardless boys sit in the seat of the Elders, and those who do not yet know how to be pupils strive to be named Doctors. And they themselves compile their own summaries, reeking and wet with [their own] further drivellings, and not even seasoned with the salt of the philosophers. Neglecting the rules of the Arts and throwing away the standard works of the Makers of the Arts, they catch in their sophisms, as in spiders' webs, the midges of their empty trifling phrases. Philosophy cries out that her garments are rent and torn asunder; she modestly covers her nakedness with certain carefully prepared remnants [but] she is neither consulted by the good man nor does she console the good woman. These things, O Father, demand the hand of Apostolic correction, that the present unseemliness of teaching, learning, and debating may by your authority be reduced to definite form, that the Divine Word may not be cheapened by vulgar attrition; that it may not be said on the corners, Lo! Here is Christ, or Lo! He is there! that sacred things may not be cast before dogs or pearls before swine to be trampled under their feet.[77] (b) _The Monastic View_ To many of the monks of this period study and the search for truth through reason were repellent. In their view the way to spiritual truth was through retirement from the world, and the observance of religious exercises. This is the burden of a letter to John of Salisbury by Peter de la Celle, abbot of a monastery near Rheims, in 1164. Incidentally it gives his view concerning Paris. "Peter de la Celle to John of Salisbury concerning the perils that encompass souls at Paris and concerning the true school of truth." His own Abbot to his own clerk. You have, my well-beloved, chosen a sufficiently delightful exile, where joys, though they be vain, are in superabundance, where the supply of bread and wine exceeds in richness that of your own land where there is the frequent access of friends, where the dwelling together of comrades is common. Who else besides you is there beneath the sky who has not thought Paris the place of delights, the garden of plantations, the field of first fruits?