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the stream divides
[ 89 ]
charismatic teacher, he was hired by the uncle of a gifted and beautiful young
student, Heloise (1101-1162), to be her tutor. Abelard and Heloise became lovers,
Heloise became pregnant, and with the uncle’s grudging consent, she and Abelard
married. Then, while Heloise was away, the uncle took his revenge on Abelard by
hiring several thugs to castrate him. Rather than Abelard’s then trying in his
condition to play the role of husband and parent, he decided to enter the Abbey of
Saint Denis, where he became a monk. Heloise went to a nunnery. The two
communicated little for about fifteen years.
Eventually Abelard wrote a long letter, subsequently entitled
The Story of My
Misfortunes
(1132?), in which he related in great detail these troubling events.
For present purposes, his narration is noteworthy in its describing the emotional
responses of various people involved in the tragedy, whose points of view dif-
fered, as well as in its speculations about their motivations. Not intended for
Heloise’s eyes, his letter had been written to console a third party who had
recently experienced
a grave misfortune. But a friend of Heloise obtained a copy
of the letter and sent it to her. Heloise then initiated a remarkable correspon-
dence with Abelard, in which she not only described her own misfortunes but
expressed her still burning love for
him in language that is at the same time
philosophical and erotic—no easy task.
Overall, Heloise’s letters may be more nuanced psychologically than anything that
had been written previously in the West. For example:
How can it be called repentance for sins, however great the mortification of the flesh, if
the mind still retains the will to sin and is on fire with its old desires? It is easy enough
for anyone to . . . [exhibit an] outward show of penance, but it is very difficult to tear
the heart away from hankering after its dearest pleasures. . . . In my case, the pleasures
of lovers which we shared have been too sweet—they can never displease me, and
can scarcely be banished from my thoughts. Whenever I turn, they are always there
before my eyes, bringing with them awakened longings and fantasies which will not
even let me sleep. Even during the celebration of the Mass, when our prayers should
be purer, lewd visions of those pleasures [take possession of ] . . . my unhappy soul.
Philosophically also, Heloise pushed the envelope:
Men call me chaste; they do not know the hypocrite I am. They consider purity of the
flesh a virtue, though virtue belongs not to the body, but to the soul. I can win praise in
the eyes of men, but deserve none before God, who searches our hearts and loins and
sees in our darkness. . . . Wholly guilty though I am, I am also, as you know, wholly
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