A letter from Heloise, abbess of the Paraclete ()

Translated letter:

To her only love after Christ from his own in Christ.

    I am very much surprised, my love, that contrary to the custom in writing letters, indeed, contrary to the natural order of things, you have been so bold as to put my name before your own in the salutation of your letter. You have thus put the woman before the man, the wife before the husband, the maidservant before the master, the nun before the monk, the deaconess before the priest, and the abbess before the abbot. According to the rules, it is proper for those who write to their superiors to place before their own names the names of those to whom they are writing. But in writing to inferiors, those who take precedence in rank should take precedence in the order of writing.
    We have also been not a little amazed that you have added to the desolation of those whom you should have consoled and moved us to the tears you should have dried. Which of us could read or hear without weeping what you wrote at the end of your letter: "If the Lord should deliver me into the hands of my enemies, so that they prevail over me and slay me," and the rest? Oh, my dearest, what was your state of mind when you thought this? How could you bear to say it? May God never so forget us, his servants, as to let us survive you! May he never grant that life to us which would be harder to bear than any kind of death! It is for you to perform the last rites for us, to commend our souls to God, and to send ahead to him those whom you have gathered together for him, so that you may no longer be anxious about them and may follow us the more gladly as you have greater assurance of our salvation. Spare us, I beg you, my lord, spare us words like these, which make the wretched even more wretched. Do not take away from us before our death the very reason for our existence. "For today, today's troubles are enough," (Matt. 6:34) and that day, shrouded in every kind of bitterness, will bring with it enough sorrow to all those whom it may find here. Why is it necessary, as Seneca says, to anticipate evil and to lose one's life before death?'
     You ask me, my own, to have your body brought to our cemetery if by any chance you should end your life away from here, so that you may reap a richer fruit from our prayers in their constant remembrance of you. But how can you suspect that your memory could ever slip away from us? Will that be a time for prayer when our utter distress will give us no peace, when the mind will not retain its reason or the tongue its use of speech, when the demented spirit, enraged against God himself rather than at peace, will not so much appease him with prayers as besiege him with complaints? Then, in our misery, we shall have time only for weeping, we shall not be able to pray and we must hasten to folio, you rather than to bury you. When, in losing you, we shall have lost our life, we shall not be able to live at all after you have left us, and I hope that we may not live until then. The mere thought of your death is as death to us. What would the reality be, if it should find us living?

    May God grant that we never pay this debt to you as your survivors; that we never give to you at life's end the help for we hope from you! May we precede, not follow, you in death! Spare us, I implore you, at least spare her who is yours alone, by refraining from these words which pierce our souls as if the)' were swords of death, so that what precedes death is harder to bear than death itself. The heart crushed by sorrow knows no peace, and the mind enslaved by disturbing emotions cannot devote itself sincerely to God. Do not, I beg you, hinder the divine service to which you have especially dedicated us. When something is inevitable and will, when it comes, bring with it the most profound grief, we must hope that it will come suddenly and not torture us for a long time beforehand with useless fears that no foresight can remedy. The poet is well aware of this when he prays to God:

May what you have in store
Be swift and sudden
Let the minds of men
To future fate be blind.
Allow our fears to hope.*

    But what hope is left for me if I lose you? What reason have I for continuing in this pilgrimage, in which I have no solace but you, and the only comfort I have in you is that you are still alive? I am forbidden all other pleasure in you, and I am not allowed to enjoy your presence, which might at times restore me to myself again. If only it were not wicked to say that God has been cruel to me in every way! O cruel kindness: O luckless Fortune, who has used against me every weapon at her disposal, so that she now has none left with which to vent her anger on others. Her quiver was full and she has emptied it against me, so that others need not fear her attacks. If she had another weapon left, it could not find another place to wound me. Her only fear is that, with so many wounds, death may end my torments. Although she does not cease destroying me, she is still reluctant to hasten my death.
    Of all those who are wretched, I am the most wretched, of all the unhappy, the most unhappy, since the eminence I attained by your choice of me among all women is matched by the fall, so grievous for both of us, that has laid me low! The greater the height a person reaches, the heavier the fall in its crashing! What woman even among the noble and powerful has Fortune ever ventured to place before me or to make my equal? What woman has she then so cast down and overwhelmed with grief? What glory did she give me in you, and what disaster did she bring on you through me! And in both respects, to what extremes did she not go, observing no measure either in good or in evil? To make me the most miserable of women, she first made me the happiest, so that when I should think of what I had lost, the consuming bitterness of my sorrow should equal my overwhelming loss. The more I loved what I had possessed, the more I must grieve for what I have lost, and the most exquisite joy and pleasure must end in the extreme of sorrow.
    To make this outrage arouse still greater indignation, all the laws of equity have been utterly perverted in our case. While we were eagerly enjoying the delights oflove, and to use a stronger, if an uglier, expression, we were abandoning ourselves to fornication, the divine judgment spared us. But once we had made the unlawful lawful, and had covered the shame of fornication with the honor of marriage, the Lord in his wrath laid his heavy hand upon us, and he who had tolerated our unchaste bed would no longer tolerate it after it had become chaste. The suffering that you endured should have been punishment enough for any man caught in adultery. But what others deserve for adultery, you incurred as the result of a marriage by which you hoped to make amends for all your offense. The punishment that adulteresses bring on their lovers, I, your own wife, brought on you and not while we were giving ourselves up to those early pleasures, but when we were already separated and living chastely, when you were presiding over your school in Paris and, at your command, I was living with the nuns at Argenteuil.
    We had parted from one another so that you might give more attention to your classes and I might devote myself more freely to prayer and meditation on the Holy Scripture. It was while we were living more chaste and holy lives that you alone atoned in your body for the sins we had both committed. Although both of us were guilty, you alone were punished, and you who deserved less paid the whole penalty. Since you had made amends by humiliating yourself for me and by elevating me and all my family, you had rendered yourself less deserving of punishment, both before God and in the eyes of those betrayers.
    How unhappy I am, to have been born to be the cause of so great a crime! If only the ancient, baneful influence of women did not afflict most severely the greatest of men! So we have the warning against women in Proverbs (7:24—27): 

     Heed well, my son, let not this warning be given in vain; do not let her steal your heart away, do not be enticed with her beckoning.  Many the wounds such a woman has dealt; a brave retinue she has of men murdered; truly her house is the grave's antechamber, opens the door into the secret closet of death.

In Ecclesiastes (7:26—28), it is said:

    Here is a mind that has passed the whole world of things in review. And this I have ascertained, death itself is not so cruel as woman's heart that wheedles and beguiles, as woman's clutches that release their captive never. God's friends escape her; of sinners she makes an easy prey.

The first woman at once snatched away her husband captive from Paradise, and she who had been created by the Lord as his helpmate turned out to be his downfall. Unaided, Delilah overcame that strong Nazirite of the Lord whose conception had been announced by an angel. Blinded and betrayed to his enemies, his misery finally drove Samson to destroy himself in the destruction of his enemies Judg. 13:3; 16:4-31). Even Solomon, the wisest of all men, was so infatuated with a woman whom he had joined to himself, and she drove him to such a pitch of folly that he whom the Lord had chosen to build his temple—after he had rejected his father David, a just man—was plunged into idolatry to the end of his life. So he abandoned the worship of God that he had earlier devoted himself to preaching and teaching (3 Kings 11). It was from his wife, who nagged him into cursing God, that the holy Job sustained the last and most severe of his assaults (Job 2:9).
    For the most cunning tempter knew very well, as he had discovered time after time, that men's downfall is most easily brought about through their wives. He finally directed his accustomed malice against us and attacked you through marriage, when he could not overcome you through fornication. Not being permitted to make evil use of an evil thing, he made evil use of a good thing. Thank God that the evil one did not involve me in guilt through my own consent, as he did the women whom I have mentioned, though he did, as it turned out, make me the cause of the crime that was committed. But even if I am innocent at heart, and did not, by my own consent, incur guilt in the commission of that crime yet many sins had preceded it that do not leave me entirely free of guilt. For a long time beforehand I had been enslaved to the delights of carnal pleasure, and I earned then what I am suffering now. The consequences of my earlier sins have justly become a punishment for me. This tragic outcome must be attributed to our sinful beginnings.
     If only I could do sufficient penance for this crime, to compensate in some measure, by a long and sorrowful repentance, for the pain you suffered from the infliction of that wound! If only I might suffer throughout my life in sorrow of mind, as I deserve, what you endured for one hour and thus make amends to you at least, if not to God! If I honestly reveal the weakness of my miserable soul, I cannot think of any penance by which I could appease God, whom I am constantly accusing of extreme cruelty in that outrage. In my rebellion against his dispensation, I offend him by my indignation rather than appease him by the atonement of penance. However severely one may mortify the body, how can it be called penance for sins if the mind still retains the will to sin and seethes with its old desires?
    It is easy for anyone, by confessing, to accuse himself of his sins and even to mortify his body in external atonement. But it is most difficult to uproot from the heart the desire for the most intense pleasures. So when the holy Job says (10.1): "I will speak out, come what may," that is, I will unloose my tongue and open my mouth in confession to accuse myself of my sins, he immediately adds: “My soul is too embittered for silence." Explaining this text, St. Gregory says:

    There are some who confess their faults aloud, yet do not know how to lament what they confess and they tell with joy what should be deplored. For this reason, the man who detests his faults in words must needs do this in bitterness of soul, so that this bitterness may punish him for that which his conscience makes him accuse himself in words.

    Observing how rare this bitterness of true penance is, St. Ambrose says: "It is easier to find men who have kept their innocence than those who have done penance for their sins." Those delights of lovers that we enjoyed together were so sweet to me that I cannot condemn them; nor can I really banish them from my mind. Wherever I turn, they appear before my eyes to arouse my desires. Even when I am asleep, their illusions plague me. In the most solemn moments of the Mass itself, when prayer should be especially pure, the impure fantasies of those pleasures so obsess my wretched soul that I am more concerned with base acts than with my prayers. When I should be lamenting what I have done, I long instead for what I have lost. Not only what we did together, but the various times and places of our love-making are so entwined with you and so vividly impressed with your image in my mind, that in my thoughts I do everything again with you, and even sleep brings no release from these illusions.  Sometimes my thoughts are betrayed by the movements of my body, and they inspire words that slip out unawares.
    Truly I am wretched, and I may well utter the cry of a soul in pain (Rom. 7:24): "Pitiable creature that I am, who is to set me free from a nature thus doomed to death?" If only I could truthfully add what follows: "The grace of God, through Jesus Christ our Lord." This grace has come to you unsought, my dearest, and with one wound of your body has cured you of these stings of the flesh and healed many wounds in your soul. In that act in which God seemed most hostile to you, he proved most merciful, like the truest of physicians, who spares us no pain in his efforts to cure us.
    But my youthful ardor and my experience of the most intense pleasures inflame the longings of my body and the urgings of desire, and since I am so vulnerable, their assaults are the more severe. I am called chaste by those who do not see the hypocrite in me. They make a virtue of purity of the flesh, though virtue pertains to the soul rather than the body. If I have won some worldly praise, I deserve none from God, who examines our thoughts and desires and sees into the hidden places. I am considered religious in these times when there is little religious life that is not hypocrisy, when he is praised most who does not offend the opinions of men.
    Perhaps it seems to some degree praiseworthy and in a way acceptable to God, if a person, regardless of his intention, does not give scandal to the Church by his outward actions, and if the unbelievers do not, because of him, blaspheme the name of God, and if the order to which he belongs is not defamed among the worldly. This is also a kind of gift of God's grace, whose bounty makes it possible for us not only to do good, but also to refrain from evil. But refraining from evil is fruitless if it is not followed by doing good, as it is written (Ps. 36:27): "Offend no more, rather do good." Neither is of any avail if it is not done for the love of God.
    At every moment of my life, God knows, I have always feared offending you, not God. I have tried to please you, rather than him. It was your command and not the love of God that led me to the religious life. See how unhappy, how unspeakably wretched, is the life that I am living, if I endure all this for nothing here, and can look forward to no future reward. For a long time my pretense has deceived you, as it has deceived many others, into mistaking hypocrisy for piety. So you ardently commend yourself to my prayers, demanding of me what I expect of you. Do not, I beg you, have such confidence in me that you cease helping me by your prayers. Do not, I beg you, think that I am healthy and so withdraw the grace of healing from me. Do not believe that I am not in need and put off aiding me in my necessity. Do not consider me strong, or I may collapse and fall before you can sustain me.
    False praise of themselves has injured many and withdrawn the protection they needed. Through Isaiah, the Lord exclaims (3:12): "Those who call you happy, my people, are deceiving you, luring you into false paths." And he says through Ezekiel (13:18): "Out upon them...the women who stitch an elbow-cushion for every comer, make a soft pillow for the heads of young and old. Men's souls are their prey." On the contrary, Solomon says (Eccles. 12:11): "Sharp goads they are to sting us, sharp nails driven deep home, these wise words left to us by many masters"—that is to say, they do not know how to soothe wounds, but only how to make them. I beg you to stop praising me, for fear that you will deserve the base name of flatterer and be accused of lying, or that the wind of vanity may blow away whatever good you think there is in me if you praise it. No one skilled in medicine diagnoses an internal disease by examining merely the external appearance.
    No one earns any merit with God for what is common to the bad and good alike, such as external actions, which hypocrites perform with greater care than saints. "There is no riddle like the twists of the heart; who shall master them?" (Jer. 17:9). There are paths of men that seem right and in the end they lead to death. It is rash for men to judge concerning that which is reserved for the divine judgment alone (Prov. 16:25; 14:12). So it is written (Ecclus. 11:30): "Never call a man happy until he is dead," which means, do not praise a man while your praise can make him unpraiseworthy. Your praise is also more dangerous to me because it is so welcome, and the more completely it captivates and delights me, the more eager I am to please you in every way. Be fearful about me always, I implore you, rather than confident, so that I may always have the help of your anxious care.  You should be especially fearful now, when there no longer remains in you a remedy for my incontinence.
     I do not want you to say, by way of exhorting me to virtue and urging me to struggle, that "strength is perfected in infirmity" (cf. 2 Cor. 12:9), and that “the athlete will win no crown, if he does not observe the rules of the contest" (2 Tim. 2:5). I am not seeking any crown of victory. To keep out of danger is enough for me. It is safer to avoid danger than to engage in battle. No matter what corner of heaven God places me in, I shall be satisfied. No one there will envy anyone else, since everyone will be content with what he has. To add the weight of authority to my opinion, let us listen to St. Jerome: "I acknowledge my weakness; I do not wish to fight in the hope of victory, for fear that I may finally lose it. Why should one give up what is certain and pursue the uncertain?"**

Original letter:

Unico suo post Christum unica sua in Christo.

Miror, unice meus, quod praeter consuetudinem epistolarum, immo contra ipsum ordinem naturalem rerum, in ipsa fronte salutationis epistolaris me tibi praeponere praesumpsisti, feminam videlicet viro, uxorem marito, ancillam domino, monialem monacho et sacerdoti diaconissam, abbati abbatissam. Rectus quippe ordo est et honestus, ut qui superiores vel ad pares scribunt, eorum quibus scribunt nomina suis anteponant. Sin autem ad inferiores, praecedunt scriptionis ordine qui praecedunt rerum dignitate. 
    Illud etiam non parva admiratione suscepimus quod, quibus consolationis remedium afferre debuisti, desolationem auxisti, et quas mitigare debueras excitasti lacrymas. Quae enim nostrum siccis oculis audire possit, quod circa finem epistolae posuisti, dicens: "Quod si me Dominus in manus inimicorum tradiderit ut me scilicet praevalentes interficiant, etc." O carissime, quo id animo cogitasti, quo id ore dicere sustinuisti? Numquam ancillulas suas adeo Deus obliviscatur ut eas tibi superstites reservet. Numquam nobis illam vitam concedat quae omni genere mortis sit gravior. Te nostras exsequias celebrare, te nostras Deo animas convenit commendare, et quas Deo aggregasti ad ipsum praemittere ut nulla amplius de ipsis perturberis sollicitudine, et tanto laetior nos subsequaris, quanto securior de nostra salute iam fueris. Parce, obsecro, domine, parce huiusmodi dictis, quibus miseras miserrimas facias, et hoc ipsum quod utcumque vivimus ne nobis auferas ante mortem; Sufficit diei malitia sua, et dies illa omnibus, quos inveniet, satis secum sollicitudinis afferet omni amaritudine involuta. "Quid enim necesse est", inquit Seneca, "mala arcessere, et ante mortem vitam perdere?"
    Rogas, unice, ut, quocumque casu nobis absens hanc vitam finieris, ad coemeterium nostrum corpus tuum afferri faciamus ut orationum scilicet nostrarum ex assidua tui memoria ampliorem assequaris fructum. At vero quomodo memoriam tui a nobis labi posse suspicaris? Aut quod orationi tempus tunc erit commodum, quando summa perturbatio nihil permittet quietum, cum nec anima rationis sensum, nec lingua sermonis retinebit usum, cum mens insana in ipsum, ut ita dicam, Deum magis irata quam pacata, non tam orationibus ipsum placabit quam querimoniis irritabit? Flere tunc miseris tantum vacabit, non orare licebit, et te magis subsequi quam sepelire maturandum erit ut potius et nos consepeliendae simus, quam sepelire possimus. Quae, cum in te nostram amiserimus vitam, vivere te recedente nequaquam poterimus. Atque utinam nec tunc usque possimus. Mortis tuae mentio mors quaedam nobis est. Ipsa autem mortis huius veritas quid, si nos invenerit, futura est? Numquam Deus annuat ut hoc tibi debitum superstites persolvamus, ut hoc tibi patrocinio subveniamus, quod a te penitus exspectamus. In hoc utinam te praecessurae, non secuturae! Parce itaque, obsecro, nobis; parce unicae saltem tuae huiusmodi scilicet supersedendo verbis quibus tamquam gladiis mortis nostras transverberas animas ut quod mortem praevenit ipsa morte gravius sit. Confectus moerore animus quietus non est, nec Deo sincere potest vacare mens perturbationibus occupata. Noli, obsecro, divinum impedire servitium cui nos maxime mancipasti. Omne inevitabile, quod, cum acciderit, moerorem maximum secum inferet, ut subito veniat, optandum est ne timore inutili diu ante cruciet, cui nulla succurri providentia potest. Quod et poeta bene considerans Deum deprecatur, dicens:

      Sit subitum quodcumque paras; sit caeca futuri
      Mens hominum fati: liceat sperare timenti.

    Quid autem te amisso sperandum mihi super est? Aut quae in hac peregrinatione causa remanendi, ubi nullum nisi te remedium habeam, et nullum aliud in te nisi hoc ipsum quod vivis, omnibus de te mihi aliis voluptatibus interdictis, cui nec praesentia tua concessum est frui ut quandoque mihi reddi valeam? O si fas sit dici crudelem mihi per omnia Deum! O inclementem clementiam! O infortunatam fortunam, quae iam in me universi conaminis sui tela in tantum consumpsit ut, quibus in alios saeviat, iam non habeat; plenam in me pharetram exhausit ut frustra iam alii bella eius formident. Nec, si ei adhuc telum aliquod superesset, locum in me vulneris inveniret. Unum inter tot vulnera metuit ne morte supplicia finiam. Et cum interimere non cesset, interitum tamen quem accelerat timet. O me miserarum miserrimam, infelicium infelicissimam, quae quanto universis in te feminis praelata sublimiorem obtinui gradum, tanto hinc prostrata graviorem in te et in me pariter perpessa sum casum! Quanto quippe altior ascendentis gradus, tanto gravior corruentis casus. Quam mihi nobilium ac potentium feminarum fortuna umquam praeponere potuit aut aequare? Quam denique adeo deiecit et dolore conficere potuit? Quam in te mihi gloriam contulit? Quam in te mihi ruinam intulit? Quam mihi vehemens in utramque partem exstitit ut nec in bonis nec in malis modum habuerit? Quae ut me miserrimam omnium faceret, omnibus ante beatiorem effecerat ut, cum quanta perdidi pensarem, tanto me maiora consumerent lamenta, quanto me maiora oppresserant damna; et tanto maior amissorum succederet dolor, quanto maior possessorum praecesserat amor, et summae voluptatis gaudia summa moeroris terminaret tristitia.
    Et ut ex iniuria maior indignatio surgeret, omnia in nobis aequitatis iura pariter sunt perversa. Dum enim solliciti amoris gaudiis frueremur et, ut turpiore, sed expressiore vocabulo utar, fornicationi vacaremus, divina nobis severitas pepercit. Ut autem illicita licitis correximus, et honore coniugii turpitudinem fornicationis operuimus, ira Domini manum suam super nos vehementer aggravavit, et immacultum non pertulit torum qui diu ante sustinuerat pollutum. Deprehensis in quovis adulterio viris haec satis esset ad vindictam poena quam pertulisti. Quod ex adulterio promerentur alii, id tu ex coniugio incurristi per quod iam te omnibus satisfecisse confidebas iniuriis.  Quod fornicatoribus suis adulterae, hoc propria uxor tibi contulit, nec cum pristinis vacaremus voluptatibus, sed cum iam ad tempus segregati castius viveremus, te quidem Parisius scholis praesidente, et me ad imperium tuum Argenteoli cum sanctimonialibus conversante. Divisis itaque sic nobis adinvicem ut tu studiosius scholis, ego liberius orationi sive sacrae lectionis meditationi vacarem, et tanto nobis sanctius, quanto castius degentibus, solus in corpore luisti quod duo pariter commiseramus, Solus in poena fuisti, duo in culpa; et qui minus debueras, totum pertulisti. Quanto enim amplius te pro me humilando satisfeceras, et me pariter et totum genus meum sublimaveras, tanto te minus tam apud Deum quam apud illos proditores obnoxium poenae reddideras. O me miseram in tanti sceleris causa progenitam! O summam in viros summos et consuetam feminarum perniciem! Hinc de muliere cavenda scriptum est in Proverbiis: Nunc ergo, fili, audi me, et attende verbis oris mei. Ne abstrahatur in viis illius mens tua, neque decipiaris semitis eius. Multos enim vulneratos deiecit, et fortissimi quique interfecti sunt ab ea. Viae inferi domus eius penetrantes in inferiora mortis. Et in Ecclesiaste:  Lustravi universa animo meo . . . et inveni amariorem morte mulierem, quae laqueus venatorum est, et sagena cor eius; vincula enim sunt manus eius. Qui placet Deo, effugiet eam. Qui autem peccator est, capietur ab illa.
    Prima statim mulier de paradiso virum captivavit et, quae ei a Domino creata fuerat in auxilium, in summum ei conversa est exitium. Fortissimum illum Nazaraeum Domini et angelo nuntiante conceptum Dalila sola superavit, et eum inimicis proditum et oculis privatum ad hoc tandem dolor compulit ut se pariter cum ruina hostium opprimeret. Sapientissimum omnium Salomonem sola quam sibi copulaverat mulier infatuavit, et in tantam compulit insaniam ut eum quem ad aedificandum sibi templum Dominus elegerat, patre eius David, qui iustus fuerat, in hoc reprobato, ad idololatriam ipsa usque in finem vitae deiceret, ipso, quem tam verbis quam scriptis praedicabat atque docebat, divino cultu derelicto. Iob sanctissimus in uxore novissimam atque gravissiam sustinuit pugnam, quae eum ad maledicendum Deo stimulabat. Et callidi tentator hoc optime noverat, quod saepius expertus fuerat, virorum vide ruinam in uxoribus esse facillimam.
    Qui denique etiam usque ad nos consuetam extendens malitiam, quem de fornicatione sternere non potuit, de coniugio tentavit; et bono male est usui qui malo male uti non est permissus. Deo saltem super hoc gratias, quod me ille ut suprapositas feminas in culpam ex consensu non traxit, quam tamen in causam commissae malitiae ex effectu convertit. Sed et si purget anim meum innocentia nec huius reatum sceleris consensus incurrat, peccata tamen multa praecesserunt, quae me penitus immunem ab huius reatu sceleris esse non sinunt. Quod videlicet diu ante carnalium illecebrarum volupta? serviens, ipsa tunc merui quod nunc plector, et praecedentium in me peccatorum sequentia merito facta sunt poena; et malis initiis perversus imputandus est exitus.
    Atque utinam huius praecipue commissi dignam agere valeam poenitentiam ut poenae illi tuae vulneris illati ex longa saltem poenitentiae contritione vicem quoquo modo recompensare queam; et quod tu ad horam in corpore pertulisti, ego in omni vita ut iustum est in contritione mentis suscipiam, et hoc tibi saltem modo, si non Deo, satisfaciam. Si enim vere miserrimi mei animi profitear infirmitatem, qua poenitentia Deum placare valeam non invenio, quem super hac semper iniuria summae crudelitatis arguo, et eius dispensationi contraria magis eum ex indignatione offendo, quam ex poenitentiae satisfactione mitigo. Quo modo etiam poenitentia peccatorum dicitur, quantacumque sit corporis afflictio, si mens adhuc ipsam peccandi retinet voluntatem, et pristinis aestrat desideriis? Facile quidem est quemlibet confitendo peccata seipsum accusare, aut etiam in exteriori satisfactione corpus affligere. Difficillimum vero est desideriis maximarum voluptatum avellere animum. Unde et merito sanctus Iob cum praemisisset: Dimittam adversum me eloquium meum, id est, laxabo linguam, et aperiam os per confessionem in peccatorum meorum accusationem, statim adiunxit: Loquar in amaritudine animae meae. Quod beatus exponi Gregorius:

      Sunt, inquit, nonnulli, qui apertis vocibus culpas fatentur, sed tamen in confessione gemere nesciunt, et lugenda gaudentes dicunt. Unde qui culpas suas detestans loquitur, restat, necesse est,  ut has in amaritudine animae loquatur, ut haec ipsa amaritudo puniat quidquid lingua per mentis  iudicium accusat.
Sed haec quidem amaritudo verae poenitentiae quam rara sit beatus diligenter attendens Ambrosius:
      Facilius, inquit,  inveni qui innocentiam servaverunt,  quam qui poenitentiam egerunt.   

     In tantum vero illae, quas pariter exercuimus, amantium voluptates dulces mihi fuerunt ut nec displicere mihi, nec vix a memoria labi possint. Quocumque: loco me vertam, semper se oculis meis cum suis ingerunt desideriis. Nec etiam  dormienti suis illusionibus parcunt. Inter ipsa missarum solemnia, ubi purior esse debet oratio, obscena earum voluptatum phantasmata ita sibi penitus miserrimam captivant animam ut turpitudinibus illis magis quam orationi vacem. Quae cum ingemiscere debeam de commissis, suspiro potius de amissis. Nec solum quae egimus, sed loca pariter et tempora in quibus haec egimus, ita tecum nostro infixa sunt animo, ut in ipsis omnia tecum agam, nec dormiens etiam ab his quiescam. Nonnumquam etiam ipso motu corporis animi mei cogitationes deprehenduntur, nec a verbis temperant improvisis. O vere me miseram, et illa conquestione ingemiscentis animae dignissimam. Infelix ego homo, quis me liberabit de corpore mortis huius? Utinam et quod sequitur veraciter addere queam: Gratia Dei per Jesum Christum. Dominum nostrum. Haec te gratia, carissime, praevenit, et ab his tibi stimulis una corporis plaga medendo multas in anima sanavit, et in quo tibi amplius adversari Deus creditur, propitior invenitur, more quidem fidelissimi medici qui non parcit dolori ut consulat saluti.
    Hoc autem in me stimulos carnis haec incentiva libidinis ipse iuvenilis fervor aetatis, et iucundissimarum experientia voluptatum plurimum accendunt, et tanto amplius sua me impugnatione opprimunt, quanto infirmior est natura quam impugnant.  Castam me praedicant qui non deprehendunt  hypocritam. Munditiam carnis conferunt in virtutem, cum non sit corporis, sed animi virtus. Aliquid laudis apud homines habens, nihil apud Deum mereor, qui cordis et renum probator est, et in abscondito videt. Religiosa hoc tempore iudicor, in quo iam parva pars religionis non est hypocrisis, ubi ille maximis extollitur laudibus, qui humanum non offendit iudicium.   
    Et hoc fortassis aliquo modo laudibile, et Deo acceptabile quoquo modo videtur, si quis videlicet exterioris operis exemplo quacumque intentione non sit Ecclesiae scandalo, nec iam per ipsum apud infideles nomen Domini blasphemetur, nec apud carnales professionis suae ordo infametur. Atque hoc quoque nonnullum est divinae gratiae donum,  ex cuius videlicet munere venit non solum bona facere, sed etiam a malis abstinere. Sed frustra istud praecedit, ubi illud non succedit, sicut scriptum est: Declina a malo, et fac bonum. Et frustra utrumque geritur quod amore Dei non agitur. In omni autem (Deus scit) vitae meae statu, te magis adhunc offendere quam Deum vereor; tibi placere amplius quam ipsi appeto. Tua me ad religionis habitum iussio, non divina traxit dilectio. Vide quam infelicem, et omnibus miserabiliorem ducam vitam, si tanta hic frustra sustineo, nihil habitura remunerationis in futuro. Diu te, sicut et multos, simulatio mea fefellit ut religioni deputares hypocrisim; et ideo nostris te maxime commendans orationibus, quod a te exspecto a me postulas. Noli, obsecro, de me tanta praesumere ne mihi cesses orando subvenire. Noli aestimare sanam ne medicaminis subtrahas gratiam. Noli non egentem credere ne differas in necessitate subvenire. Noli valitudinem putare ne prius corruam quam sustentes labentem. Multis ficta sui laus nocuit et praesidium quo indigebant abstulit. Per Isaiam Dominus clamat: Popule meus, qui te beatificant ipsi te decipiunt, et viam gressuum tuorum dissipiarit. Et per Ezechielem: Vae qui consuitis, inquit, puvillos sub omni cubitu manus, et cervicalia sub capite aetatis universae ad decipiendas animas. E contra autem per Salomonem dicitur: Verba sapientium quasi stimuli, et quasi clavi in altum defixi, qui videlicet vulnera nesciunt palpare, sed pungere. Quiesce, obsecro, a  laude mea ne turpem adulationis notam et mendacii crimen incurras; aut si quod in me suspicaris bonum, ipsum laudatum vanitatis aura ventilet. Nemo medicinae peritus interiorem morbum ex exterioris habitus inspectione diiudicat.
    Nulla quidquam meriti apud Deum obtinent, quae reprobis aeque ut electis communia sunt. Haec autem ea sunt quae exterius aguntur, quae nulli sanctorum tam studiose peragunt, quantum hypocritae. Pravum est cor hominis, et inscrutabile, et; quis cognoscet illud? Et sunt viae hominis quae videntur rectae; novissima autem illius deducunt ad mortem. Temerarium est in eo iudicium hominis, quod divino tantum reservatur examini. Unde et scriptum est: Ne laudaveris hominem in vita. Ne tunc videlicet hominem laudes, dum laudando facere non laudabilem potes. Tanto autem mihi tua laus in me periculosior est, quanto gratior, et tanto amplius ea capior et delector, quanto amplius tibi per omnia placere studeo. Time, obsecro, semper de me potius quam confidas ut tua semper sollicitudine adiuver.  Nunc vero praecipue timendum est ubi nullum incontinentiae meae superest in te remedium.
    Nolo, me ad virtutem exhortans, et ad pugnam provocans, dicas: Nam virtus in infirmitate perficitur; et: Non coronabitur nisi qui legitime certaverit. Non quaero coronam victoriae. Satis est mihi periculum vitare. Tutius evitatur periculum, quam committitur bellum. Quocumque me angulo coeli Deus collocet, satis mihi faciet. Nullus ibi cuiquam invidebit, cum singulis quod habebunt suffecerit. Cui quidem consilio nostro ut ex auctoritate quoque robur adiungam, beatum audiamus Hieronymum:

    Fateor imbecillitatem meam; nolo spe victoriae pugnare ne perdam aliquando victoriam . . . . . Quid  necesse est certa dimittere, et incerta sectari?

Historical context:

Heloise’s feelings of guilt over what Abelard suffered as a result of their affair leads her to an attack on women as the ruin of great men. It should be noted, however, that Heloise’s anti-feminism frequently leads Abelard to strong defenses of women. On Abelard’s complicated feminism, see Mary M. McLaughlin, "Peter Abelard and the Dignity of Women: Twelfth Century ‘Feminism’ in Theory and Practice," Pierre Abélard, Pierre le Venerable (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifiques, 1975), 287-333.

Scholarly notes:

•  * Lucan, Pharsalia 2.14, 15
  ** Jerome, Ep. adversus Vigiliantium 16.

Printed source:

J.T. Muckle, "The Personal letters between Abelard and Heloise," Medieval Studies 15 (1953), ep.3, p.77-82.  Translation by Mary Martin McLaughlin, The Letters of Heloise and Abelard, ed. Bonnie Wheeler (Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), 63-69., reprinted here with the generous permission of the editor.  Also in Betty Radice, The Letters of Abelard and Heloise (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974), p.127-36.

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